melworks

Fuck.
Apparently we have a mouse in the kitchen.
Again.
Jorg thinks its the mouse that was downstairs.
I found plastic flakes from my bag of bread where the little bastard had been nibbling. Which means the damned creature was on the countertop.
Jorg is very blase about the whole thing, but I'm grossed out.
So, no more leaving food or dirty dishes lying around on the kitchen counters.
And I'm going to see about getting a trash can with a lid.
Fucking rodents.

Wow. It's been a while, hasn't it?
Well, first things first: I sold my house. The sale was completed at the end of March and I moved into my new place on April 9th. I'm renting a basement room/bath from the guy I work with at the comic shop. It's a sweet deal. It's close to work, closer to downtown and downtown-type stuff, the rent is ridiculously low and the Swede gets someone to watch the house and the dog (Shadow!) when he has to go out of town.
Of course, there are a couple of cons. Parking here is ridiculous because of an abandoned car sitting on the lawn (Yes, I know that's common as hell) which the Swede has to have towed away but he hasn't done. YET. Also, in a related note, the local birds have apparently decided to use my car for target practice. Every morning I go out and circle the car, noting where the bird poo is so that I can clean it up before it damages my paint.
Also, the Swede is 420 friendly. He doesn't smoke a lot, mainly on the night's he has band practice and sometimes on the weekend. It's a very casual thing for him, and my biggest problem with it is the smell. I can't stand the smell.
Other than that, it's pretty okay. I'm trying not to intrude too much on his space/life style since we live/work together and that can make relationships get old pretty damn fast.
My mom's like, "Oh! I can come and see you now, since you're just 30 miles away instead of 50!"
Yeah. That's never going to happen.
And some of you might find this amusing. I have to put a sheet of wood across my bedroom door to keep the dog from popping in at all hours of the night and scaring the crap out of me. I refer to it as 'the barricade' and feel like I should be singing songs from Les Mis whenever I talk about it.
Other than that, life is pretty much the same as before.
I suppose that's a good thing?

Tonight, I realized that I have been in my new home for six months.
Six months and this house still doesn't feel like it's mine.
Six months and all I can think is that I've got a shrunken bank account and no sense of personal satisfaction.
Six months of accumulating debts and headaches and the secret fear that buying this place was a hideous mistake and that I should put it back on the market and sell it as quickly as possible.
Six months of this and I don't know if I can stand another six months of this bullshit.

So, I came home from work the other night and had a little meltdown.
It wasn't work related. Work has been fine. I like my job.
No, what triggered the meltdown was my garbage can. It was jammed with all sorts of crap that wasn't mine. It was the painter's. And I'd just put a new bag in the day before.
I know. I know. Why on Earth did that trigger my little meltdown? I think its because for the last three months I've been living in limbo, watching my bank account drop every couple of weeks and generally experiencing flashes of, not buyer's remorse, but something akin to it.
I've gotten into the habit, lately, of screaming in the car on the Interstate as a way of relieving stress. And, yes, I know that sounds crazy but it sort of works.
At least for me.
The house should be finished by the end of the month. This Monday I get new carpet put in upstairs. Wednesday, my furniture and window treatments arrive.
Oh! And just when all that gets done, I'll probably hear from this job I interviewed for in New Mexico. I had the interview this past Friday and it was one of the shortest goddamn interviews I have ever had. So either they loved me and had made up their minds to hire me before hand or, more likely, it was just a formality to appease HR and they're going with someone local.
I think it's the second.
I'm still thinking of selling the place. In my heart of hearts, I'm more of a renter than a home owner. Shit breaks down and I just want to call the landlord to fix it. I am not, after all, overly domestic.
And, well, that's my life lately.
More later. - MEL