There's something about routines that makes you feel safe. Knowing that you've done it before and what the consequences are, staying nice and secure in your little bubble. Then, when it's disrupted--it's always disrupted--it's so easy to feel lost.
I'm up in Dayton again. Ket's still in St. Louis, but she's due to arrive here late tonight. I may or may not be here to welcome her, depending on just how late she is.
Yesterday Vince taught me how to wash dishes. He demonstrated on a fork and then I got to clean out a bowl to eat my chips and salsa in. And, you know, it doesn't seem very sanitary, the whole dish-washing thing. How clean can they possibly get by just scrubbing them out with soapy hot water? I don't know what I thought happened when other people washed dishes. Maybe they dropped their silverware into boiling water and let it soak until it turned to gold. Who knows what impossible standards I held before--all I know is that my sparkly happy world seems a little dirtier.
One day soon I'm sure someone will teach me how to do laundry, and then I'll be horrified again.
If all things go according to plan (please God let things go according to plan), I'll be moving out of the house in less than a month. The idea is both mildly terrifying and exhilarating. If these trips to Dayton are tastes of what it's going to be like to live without Mommy, I think we'll do all right. I'm assuming that we won't have people having parties in their cars right outside the window and that I won't be able to hear a giant dog barking through the thin walls. Because that could get old pretty fast, all right. Otherwise, though, I love it here. Hopefully I won't drive Ket and Vince crazy.
I know conditions will be improved, because we'll each have our own bedroom and I'll have my own bathroom and we'll have a big kitchen and living room and a place to run outside if we wish--but even if I were stuck in a studio with someone, a setup like this, I think I could manage it. It's nice.
If, that is, someone would shut that goddamn dog up.
I'm up in Dayton again. Ket's still in St. Louis, but she's due to arrive here late tonight. I may or may not be here to welcome her, depending on just how late she is.
Yesterday Vince taught me how to wash dishes. He demonstrated on a fork and then I got to clean out a bowl to eat my chips and salsa in. And, you know, it doesn't seem very sanitary, the whole dish-washing thing. How clean can they possibly get by just scrubbing them out with soapy hot water? I don't know what I thought happened when other people washed dishes. Maybe they dropped their silverware into boiling water and let it soak until it turned to gold. Who knows what impossible standards I held before--all I know is that my sparkly happy world seems a little dirtier.
One day soon I'm sure someone will teach me how to do laundry, and then I'll be horrified again.
If all things go according to plan (please God let things go according to plan), I'll be moving out of the house in less than a month. The idea is both mildly terrifying and exhilarating. If these trips to Dayton are tastes of what it's going to be like to live without Mommy, I think we'll do all right. I'm assuming that we won't have people having parties in their cars right outside the window and that I won't be able to hear a giant dog barking through the thin walls. Because that could get old pretty fast, all right. Otherwise, though, I love it here. Hopefully I won't drive Ket and Vince crazy.
I know conditions will be improved, because we'll each have our own bedroom and I'll have my own bathroom and we'll have a big kitchen and living room and a place to run outside if we wish--but even if I were stuck in a studio with someone, a setup like this, I think I could manage it. It's nice.
If, that is, someone would shut that goddamn dog up.
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