Wednesday, May 18, 2011
I really don't feel like I am spending enough time alone in my house. I love it like a boyfriend, it's like being on vacation every day.
It's a hundred years old. It even has a name-the Scarbourough House, which makes me feel fancy. It was built by the Scarbourough family at the turn of the century so their daughters could go to UT. It's the most beautiful place I have ever lived.
My landlady is one of my best friends and she's in the yard for hours every day doing stuff. I don't really know what-watering things, building rock walls, but she looks happy in her galoshes and sunhat. And I like seeing her when I sit on the breezy porch in antique chairs drinking Penguin wine.
I found the chairs on the side of the road by the way, like most of what I own now. I didn't take much when I left.
In 10 days it will be a year since I told my husband I was leaving our miserable, "Whitney and Bobby" marriage. My life still feels completely surreal sometimes.
"I live here?" I will think as I walk into my house. "Is this a dream?"
It could be. I am not ruling that out. It has been, at times, a nightmare. Most of the time-at least recently-it's been a good dream though.
I will never, ever move. A problem when I am thinking I might be serious with a man someday.
But he can just move in to my house.
Oh? He already has a house? One he owns and likes?
Because I will never move.
I am never moving.
Sell your house-future boyfriend.
Rent it to college students.
Abandon it for a year until some crackheads squat in it and since there isn't any electricity or running water they make the kitchen into the bathroom and light fires in the bedroom on the wood floors to keep warm.
Then sell it.
I don't give a fuck.
I will never move.
When I got divorced I took my art, the two chairs I had before I met him, my clothes and a skillet. It reminded me of the scene in the Jerk where he is in his bathrobe leaving his house.
As he stands in his driveway he yells-
* Well I'm gonna go then. And I don't need any of this. I don't need this stuff, and I don't need you. I don't need anything except this.
[picks up an ashtray]
And that's it and that's the only thing I need, is this. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray. And this paddle game, the ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need. And this remote control. The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need. And these matches. The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control and the paddle ball. And this lamp. The ashtray, this paddle game and the remote control and the lamp and that's all I need. And that's all I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one - I need this. The paddle game, and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches, for sure. And this. And that's all I need. The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair.
And I don't need one other thing, except my dog.
I don't need my dog.
I also did not take the dog. I hated that dog.
Fuck you dog-people. Not all dogs are lovable.
So-when I moved in here last august I didn't have any furniture.
That was ok-because like I just told you-my house is THE COOLEST HOUSE EVER.
So-rooms completely empty-but hardwood floors, 1920's windows everywhere and tiny little hexagon shaped tiles in the kitchen.
Someone gave me a bed. Someone else gave me an amazing 100 year old dresser.
I found cool stuff on the street-cruising late at night during "Bulky Item Pick Up"
My mom bought me towels and dishes.
It all came together.
But.....somehow.....the one thing that didn't get acquired were sheets.
I had bought one sheet at the thrift store. A white, fitted sheet. Not even a top one. Just the bottom one.
Then-even though I go to the second hand shops every week for supplies-I never remembered to buy another sheet.
Even though-when you have one sheet, you have to wash it every other day. Sometimes every day-if you are doing it with someone or you eat chips in the bed.
Despite that inconvenience- I have not remembered to buy sheets since August.
"What Is wrong with me?' I thought the other day as I washed and bleached the sheet for the millionth time."Do I have early Alzheimers? WHAT?"
Yesterday I was at Target buying Ruby one of those 5 dollar movies because I had bribed her to go to school or whatever(she's difficult right now)and I had a credit so I bought a real set of sheets. the top one and the bottom one.
I could not believe I remembered to do this.
I bought "Full" sheets.
When I got home I washed them- because that is what you are supposed to do I heard-even if they aren't from the thrift store.
Then I went to put them on.
And discovered that I actually have a Queen sized bed.
instead of going back and returning the sheets-which lets be honest I would probably never get around to do-I decided to just cut the sheets in one place-thereby making them larger.
I cut them at the hem.
What I didn't anticipate was that the thin bamboo fabric(how cool is that? think about a stalk of bamboo. they make SHEETS out of that! WTF?)
---easily ripped with the slightest resistance for example sitting on the bed.
So i took a needle and thread to it. Which did not work really.
What I am trying to say is once again I did something that seems completely, incomprehensibly stupid to other adults because I am too lazy to return something at Target.
Now-I have a tan bamboo top sheet.
And the same white fitted sheet that I have had since August.
Since the man I like doesn't live here and long distance dating doesn't ever work out anyway-maybe he will never see the sheet-which is stained by Cheetos and what might be cat throw up.(I did bleach it-so it's clean just stained)
I don't think he reads my blog-so it's likely he won't ever see it.
The house, the sheet, the crush,
I am happy
Maybe if I ever move out of the Scarbourough House I will remember to buy another sheet.
Also from the Jerk. Why does this movie so closely resemble my life?
I don't think that is a good sign.
Marie, are you awake? Good. You look so beautiful and peaceful, you almost look dead. I'm glad because there is something that has always been very difficult for me to say. I slit the sheet, the sheet I slit, and on the slitted sheet I sit. I've never been relaxed enough around anyone to be able to say that. You give me confidence in myself. I know we've only known each other four weeks and three days, but to me it seems like nine weeks and five days. The first day seemed like a week and the second day seemed like five days and the third day seemed like a week again and the fourth day seemed like eight days and later on the sixth day, in then evening, when we saw each other, that started seeming like two days, so in the evening it seemed like two days spilling over into the next day and that started seeming like four days, so at the end of the sixth day on into the seventh day, it seemed like a total of five days. And the sixth day seemed like a week and a half. I have it written down, but I can show it to you tomorrow if you want to see it. You've made me very happy.