Aug. 7th, 2010

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I got it into my head this afternoon to clean out the hallway closet. Who knows why? It's not as if, or so the Engineer said when he came home this evening and I forced him to go see, we go in there all that often. It's for storage; it's a closet.

But, the idea that he couldn't get to his comic books always chafed my ass, mostly because I knew that his not being able to easily reach his long boxes spells the comics being left on the kitchen table, which always equals a rather irritated me.

It's a fuckoff big closet, too, for those of you playing along at home who have never been to my apartment. And for those of you who haven't known me all that long, it's also my former bedroom. Which should do wonders in telling you that this is no ordinary closet.

It's about 12 feet by three feet, if I remember correctly. Or 9 by 3, I forget which. And I used to have the majority of my worldly possessions in there, along with my bed and a oscillating fan. I was so psyched when my mother and I originally looked at this apartment because, after having been kickbanned from the UK and torching my former life, I had been sleeping on her couch for many months. We couldn't afford a three bedroom between the three of us and I technically wasn't supposed to be permanently staying.

Almost ten years later and here I still am. And the closet is once again a closet. It's full of everything that the Engineer and I couldn't make fit into the rest of the apartment when we combined our habitats, all the belongings we refused to part with. His bass is in there, and its amp, neither of which have been touched in over a year. My turntable and all my mother's vinyl, which I haven't played in God knows how long. You get the picture.

Speaking of... )
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Also, after Timothy's vet visit this week, I was given the cremated remains of Baby and Tinker, which the vet's office had been holding for me since April. I hadn't been able to bring myself to pick them up, but I couldn't ignore it any longer.

Their loss screams at me every day whenever I see Timothy or Henry Lee. Every time I wake up without Baby's warm, purring bulk smashed against the side of my head; every time I take a bath without Tinker hunting for imaginary fish in the water.


It's amusing that Tinker's box is so much larger than Baby's. I put his teeth in there with his cremains.


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January 2011

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