My mom was telling me about a dream she had where my dad was outside cleaning up the yard and burning the yard debris. We wee both happy that he seemed to be doing well even if it was only in her dream. That’s probably where we’d like him to be, puttering around in the yard, not sitting in front of the TV all day watching M*A*S*H. I’m not even sure M*A*S*H is on all the time like it used to be.
Right now I felt a sense of loss for something which matters a lot less: my bathroom. I was just thinking about how nice it would be to spend some quality time up there by myself, away from everything else. Also, how nice it would be to stumble out of my bed in the middle of the night and to be only a few feet to the bathroom rather than down a flight of stairs and through an obstacle course of a hallway.
The old bathroom, if you can imagine it, had a bathtub in the back. The purple towel is plugging up the drain for the toilet. The hole in the floor where the board is was where the sink was against the right wall. There was a cabinet that stretched back to the door.
The new imaginary bathroom is going to have the shower in the back left corner with expensive tile I picked out. The window is going to be much smaller (see where the tape is?) The toilet is moving closer to the door. The sink and the cabinet are going to be on the left side and the door is moving to the right side of the room. Holy crap I bet this is going to be expensive.
I was reading blog entries from some of the gym people and several of them were busy surfing today. Another guy who swears he isn’t a lazy load slept in until noon before hanging out with an ice cream man.
I can tell you how boring my life is. I got up and watched some football until I couldn’t stand it any longer and went and took a nap. Then I went back into my old room which is filled with cardboard boxes and looked for a book I was supposed to lend someone but all I found were countless boxes full of books that I haven’t thought about for years. Every box was covered in dust and was greeted by my exasperated blaspheming. “Jesus Christ! Another box full of books!” And except for my early engineering text books, I’ve read them all.
I’m glad I went from being a slackass student at MIT to a semi-conscientious one at Portland State because you know where that got me: to a job that is basically customer service. It’s not a bad job, but aren’t I supposed to be an investment banker or something by now? I guess it’s just not in me. Like my neighbor suggested, I’m going to set all the books free. Well, not so free, but probably to Powell’s Used Books. Too bad I can’t convert them directly into ice cream or fried chicken.