Tired...so tired

I did not prep for today at all. It's my fault. After the party ended last night(before 11), I got home and checked gmail. When my computer burnt out (again), I hooked up my old Sega Genesis. I suck at video games. I got whooped so bad on my Wrestlemania game, hockey never was good. I never did understand "off-sides" . Mortal Kombat, FATALITY!



So I got frustrated, found a B-movie on tv and fell asleep.



Ding!... Ding!



Two texts came in from 40404 at 2/2:30 AM. My Twitter chimes as late as an hour after a friend Tweets. Oh cool, one of them is a response to my message I sent from the party. I was complaining about porn being on so early in the evening. I responded back, then shut the sound off my phone.



I woke up with the sun. I thought it was later in the morning. My phone had a message from Carla. She was wondering how much heavy stuff I had left to move at mom's. She and her boyfriend are helping out. She used to hang out here all the time, especially with my brother. She sort of mentioned the memories that we're leaving behind with the house. I sort of blocked any happy or even infamous memories from this place, because it...sucks how this all had to happen.



But what am I leaving behind? Virginity.Pukey alcohol moments . Crazy flasher friend-of-friend (gross, believe me). Boyfriend therapy sessions for Jen. Rendezvous point for other adventures. These come to mind now.



When we moved in, we figured it would be hard work. There were rose bushes in the front, but dog poop left in the back. That's some sort of poetic justice right there, because that was the experience for me.



The previous owner left tons of car paint in the garage. There was a huge dirt mound in the back next to the garage from the people next door digging out a space to park their semi tractors. The dirt was pushing in the cinder blocks on the one side of the garage and mud seeped in. Eventually, the utility door in the garage did not close. Let's see.. missing or broken windows, no door on my bedroom ( I had to get crafty with a sheet).



The work that was needed did not get done. We painted outside the garage once because of city ordinance. I mowed when the grass got too long, I hacked tiny trees as they grew, and I pulled weeds when they got unbearable. It was always too hot, too cloudy, or too rainy for anyone else to do anything.



My mom lost the income that she had when she got the house. I felt scared for her, I felt obligated to stay. I could have contributed more money, more muscle.... But I didn't see the reason. I was tired of it all. When it was a sure thing she was "letting it go", I stuck for a bit longer. I realized "I don't want to be stuck with mom forever."




I left swiftly, so I could leave this problem behind. My friends and relatives asked questions about mom and the house. I hated answering them or even thinking about this situation.



Now that I'm helping her move , the reality of everything is back in the forefront of my consciousness. I hate it. Most of the move is done. Dad brought a produce truck and we loaded it up. I am not in pain from lifting now, just tired.





I'm leaving behind a hole in my bedroom wall. It originated from frustration with a certain someone dear to me at the time (see "virginity" above). It was a swift punch into the drywall. It expanded and peeled away over time. The crack goes all the way down to the base of the wall. It's like I inflicted a scar on the home.