“your life is just some stupid story and no one really cares”
update:
I went to see that house. For all the reasons previously cited, I still like my plan. But not that house . . . I thought: men should not live alone. I thought: my father lives alone. I thought: to make that place livable I’d really need my father. And then I cried. All the way home.
Even for all the reasons previously cited, I could never live surrounded by that much accumulated despair. It wasn’t just the ugly (which words cannot describe how ugly it was – some of the walls were carpeted), it was abandoned by the person in it. We walked in through the kitchen, where he (Bob) was sitting. He’d gotten a new television and it too was in the kitchen. He sat on stool watching it. On the (burnt orange faux tile) counter sat clean clothes, in the corner were the dirty ones. In a line were snack foods within reach. He clearly never moves from that spot near the window where he watches the garden waiting for it to be spring (outside man chores) time again. The only sign of life was a 8x10 school picture of a little boy, for whom he’d bought the new television. “Oh you got a new tv?!” semi-shouts the real estate agent at him. He says, “Yeah the grandson wanted it, my son’s wife’s kid”, gesturing at the tooth-challenged face. Every other room but the kitchen was stacked with crap, like houseplants dead so long that they weren't dusty, they were dust.
update:
I went to see that house. For all the reasons previously cited, I still like my plan. But not that house . . . I thought: men should not live alone. I thought: my father lives alone. I thought: to make that place livable I’d really need my father. And then I cried. All the way home.
Even for all the reasons previously cited, I could never live surrounded by that much accumulated despair. It wasn’t just the ugly (which words cannot describe how ugly it was – some of the walls were carpeted), it was abandoned by the person in it. We walked in through the kitchen, where he (Bob) was sitting. He’d gotten a new television and it too was in the kitchen. He sat on stool watching it. On the (burnt orange faux tile) counter sat clean clothes, in the corner were the dirty ones. In a line were snack foods within reach. He clearly never moves from that spot near the window where he watches the garden waiting for it to be spring (outside man chores) time again. The only sign of life was a 8x10 school picture of a little boy, for whom he’d bought the new television. “Oh you got a new tv?!” semi-shouts the real estate agent at him. He says, “Yeah the grandson wanted it, my son’s wife’s kid”, gesturing at the tooth-challenged face. Every other room but the kitchen was stacked with crap, like houseplants dead so long that they weren't dusty, they were dust.
