I'm not getting a tattoo. Well, maybe I am, but this wouldn't necessarily be my first choice. Nothing wrong with it, except... well... I would eventually like to get laid. This tattoo wouldn't help in that effort and this digression isn't helping in my attempt to celebrate the special occasion. So, back on point: Happy Mother's Day, punk!
I may or may not be leaving in eight days. I will know for sure either way in three. Doesn't really leave me a whole lot of time to prepare if I am leaving, but I guess I really don't need much. I've been ready since December to do something - read as anything that pays - but I can't say I haven't enjoyed being a jobless bum. It's boring, but it's very calming. At least, it's calming when I'm not completely freaking out about my financial situation. I'm a little excited about this job and a little anxious. It definitely pays what I want - not just what I need - which is more than I can say for most of the jobs I've been reluctantly trying for recently. It will mean getting out in the world and putting distance between myself and the rest of it. I definitely like not being part of the collective. I can't imagine going a day, much less a week or possibly months at a time, without having to be polite and fake for the sake of keeping a job. In fact, my contact with the general public will be rather limited. I can't even wait. You have no idea. All of this is very exciting, but there are hoops to jump through just to make it through the screening process. I've cleared all of them so far with the exception of previous work experience which is what I should get a verdict on next week (Tuesday). Then I'm off, hopefully, to begin rigorous training. My only concern is the physical and only because I have no idea what my blood pressure or any of that is doing. That would be devastating, to make it all the way there and then be disqualified because I have an irregular heartbeat or diabetes. I don't have either of those. Those are just random health complications that could screw over if I were to have them. Which, again, I don't. I just like freaking myself out. Anyway, that will be an experience. That's exactly what I need, an adventure. The only real downside is going there will mean spending my birthday in a small hotel room in Indiana. Yay. That wouldn't be nearly as disappointing if I hadn't just moved back home - I use that term loosely. But, there are a number of sacrifices I would gladly make in order to start making real money once again. It's quite an impressive list actually. I won't be sharing that with anyone ever.
I spent Friday morning with the grandparents. That was prompted by a rather rudely toned voicemail I received on Thursday morning which I didn't return until late Thursday afternoon. Again, I really didn't care for the tone of the voicemail. It was from... (hmmmmm. I haven't named him yet. I just realized that.) It was from Toolbelt. (I'm going to take a few moments to smoke a cigarette and giggle like mad before coming back and finishing this post. You won't even notice the delay, but I had to underscore my amusement. The break is for real. I'm doing it. Be right back with you after the parentheses close.) He said something to the effect of:
"Hello, Mr. J. It would be so nice if you could find the time in your busy schedule to call your dear grandmother. She would love to hear from you. Today. In case you forgot the number, it's ###-###-####."
I could be more certain if I hadn't immediately deleted the message upon hearing him actually reciting my grandmother's phone number - including area code - to me. There may have even been more of the message. I'll never know. I don't actually care. It wasn't so much the phrasing and the attempt at invoking guilt (which is most definitely an inherent family ability that you can't just marry into and expect to pull off with the same passive-aggression or subtlety) as it was simply the tone he used. Actually, it was equal parts of all of that. I didn't care for any of it. But the tone was especially enraging. Also, the Mr. J thing is peculiar. He's technically my uncle now by marriage, so... I don't know. Whatever. It's bizarre, but none of my aunt's husbands have ever been anything but that. I do have to say that Toolbelt is a slight upgrade from Soup, but only very slight. They were friends at one point, afterall. Wow. Even I sometimes get completely lost and confused in my attempts to explain the ever changing ranks of my family and the various allegiances and relationships of the people within it. I'll just move on, I think. In summation:
Toolbelt called me and left me an asshole voicemail. He and my aunt were going out of town to retrieve his son from college in Toledo. They wanted to know if I could be at my grandmother's house on Friday morning to assist her in moving my grandfather about. Which I very well could having absolutely nothing to do ever. It was an interesting and horrifying experience. I now know that I could never be a caretaker for the elderly. I possibly could, but I won't. Anyway, I didn't have to look through thousands of photos having already taken care of that on a previous visit. I was prompted to look around and take anything I wanted. I had also already taken care of that on a previous visit. But if I hadn't, that would have been the perfect opportunity to remove something from the house without the intervention of the family hoarders who have taken up residence there - namely my aunt and Toolbelt. I should also mention that I was a little late arriving that morning. I had woken up two hours before I was scheduled to arrive and decided I could go back to sleep and still wake up on time. I was obviously wrong. I woke up half an hour after I should have already been there, but I have a valid excuse. When I went back to sleep, I had a very lucid sort of dream. In this dream, I did wake up at the appropriate time and was actually engaged in a very heated argument with my grandfather at his house when I woke up to realize I was alone, still at mine, and late. The fact that I was exchanging words with my grandfather was what alerted my unconscious brain that my subconscious, while very cunning and deceitful, wasn't entirely educated in my personal current events and family history. In short, my subconscious is a tricky idiot. At least I finally did show up and perform my duty with varied levels of enthusiasm. I suppose that's something. My sister had intended to go as well, but she also slept in and did not wake up until I returned from the visit.
I haven't spoken to the subject of my last post since the events of the last post. Before yesterday, I had only an idea of when I might be leaving. Now I have a very defined, but not yet confirmed, time frame. I think it would be fitting to simply leave it as it is. It won't be the first time I've simply exited his life for an indefinite amount of time. It may or may not be the last. Alot of my life can be summarized as a sentence fragment concluded with a comma or hyphen. To be continued? Fuck if I know.
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