23 January 2026

When I first got here, L and Neighbor had a sort of free-meat deal going with an Oregon charity that was just throwing out meat they couldn’t use. It was still good, it had just been rotated out of stock by four different grocery stores as being near expiration if not frozen. Anyway, in the course of events I ended up doing pickup for a while. Simultaneously, a local woman here who does odd jobs for Neighbor and sometimes for L had been doing a lot of those odd jobs, and in the process she would make my tools disappear or render them unusable. It was occasion for much swearing. Mine.

I hated losing the meat-hauling gig and hated even more losing the food but it was a relief when I didn’t have to see much of her anymore and my ability to do my job wasn’t riding on whether she was conscientious with my stuff.

Fast-forward to yesterday when I see her again because she was hauling in some firewood for L, since we were on our last legs.

First, she didn’t bother showing up until after dark.

Then, after she dropped it off, L left L’s vehicle in the turnaround spot along the driveway and I had to drive backwards all the way down to the gate at four-thirty this morning. In the dark. There was a place I could turn around down by the barn or else it would have been really interesting. I wouldn’t have liked having to open both gates, but that’s what I would have been looking at. (They’re kind of awkward at the best of times.)

THEN, I went out late this afternoon to check on the wood situation; I knew L had some pieces up on the porch from this morning but I didn’t know if I would have to split anything for her. And that’s when I saw the mess. Not only did Odd-Jobs Woman show up late with the wood, she dumped it in a pile outside the entrance to the woodshed instead of putting it away. We are not completely out of rainy season yet, although there doesn’t seem to be any in the very near future. No one has so much as asked me if I would move the stuff inside. It’s just there, in my way, because that’s where my chopping-block stump is for both splitting logs and breaking up kindling.

Thanks?

Unless someone does it before I can get to it, and I don’t think they will, I’ll get around to it when I get around to it. If people want me to get things done timely, they can fucking ask me instead of assuming. The nicer they ask, the sooner I’ll get it done, too.

I had offered to pay half on the wood, but if I have to move it into the woodshed then I’m not gonna. I remember when the wood guys came here last summer. They DID put it in the woodshed. I’m not paying for half a job if I have to finish it. L will probably understand, but even if she doesn’t, this will get turned into an object lesson if there are any questions at all.

Honestly though, I’m not sure this was the originally intended wood delivery. I suspect this is extra because the originally intended wood delivery is running so late. If I’m right, then when the wood guys get here they will probably put it all in the woodshed. In which case I will pay half. I guess we will just have to wait and see. If people want me to know what’s going on, they can… I dunno… tell me instead of making me guess. Or instead of making me ask. This situation affects me too, and telling me without being prompted indicates a certain level of respect. But that has been less than 100% since I got here, so I’m not holding my breath.

—

There’s been a certain amount of not understanding or remembering or caring about my schedule around work, too.

I get up at 3:30 in the morning because that gives me an hour to get ready with some wiggle room built in for if something delays me. (I push it back to 3am if I am dogsitting because something will delay me.) I aim for getting to bed between 7pm and 8pm to give myself a good seven hours or so. Weirdly, I tend to eat supper late relative to my bedtime. I don’t know why. It’s just wound up that way. So, usually sometime between 5pm and 6pm. It’s never elaborate stuff but I do usually have to cook.

I am less likely to have my wake-up prep fucked with than my going-to-bed prep, but both have happened.

It’s not unheard of for me to hear her going into the bathroom right after my alarm goes off. Often she’s been up for at least an hour prior, plenty of time to get it done before I’m awake. I know she hears my alarm going off, because she’s said so. I don’t get what the big mystery is. She has often woken me with dog issues or insomnia or both, too. Can’t help the dog issues but I’ve never understood why every light in the place has to go on. Sometimes that wakes me up more than the barking does.

More often, she will suddenly need the kitchen right during the time I’d normally do supper prep. Usually with Neighbor visiting. Neither of them has an away-from-home job. Both of them have kitchens. There’s no real rhyme or reason to when this happens, either, so I can’t predict it with accuracy.

Pushing my suppertime back an hour or so will probably solve the evening problem. I am not sure what to do about the morning problem. That one’s completely out of my hands.

—

My father seems to be trying to get a hold of me. I posted this on Facebook:

My dad called this morning. And when I say “this morning,” I mean “I had just parked at work and was sitting in the fucking truck waiting til fifty-four after to walk across the lot and go clock in.”

I think he forgets there’s a two-hour time difference.

I declined the call.

There’s a voicemail. Haven’t listened to that either.

This is the first time he has even tried to call me since our falling-out and I have no fucking idea why.

The general double standard between other people and me is just amazing. I criticize someone and I’m fucking Hitler. (You can read that phrase either way you like.) Someone else actually does something mean or bad to me, directly, and I’m supposed to forget it happened when they decide they want something. And if I don’t forget it happened, I’m fucking Hitler. (See above.) I’m not even talking about anything specific. There’s a whole fucking laundry list of examples from all across my lifespan. Throw a dart. It’ll hit one. Maybe even several. Sometimes there were multiple in a day. A week. A month.

(The early-to-mid aughts SUCKED.)

I suppose I have to hand it to him that he was willing to openly admit to not liking me. There have been, again, many occasions throughout my life where someone should have had the courtesy to say that to me and yet they thought it’d be funnier if they strung me along for the sake of their own egos. But he had sufficient spinal column with which to admit it. Good on him.

Likewise, maybe he feels like apologizing. Fuck knows there have been plenty of times in my life I’d have happily forgiven someone if I’d gotten a sincere apology. And yet here we are, with a strong possibility that one is on offer and y’all, I just cannot fucking be bothered. I’m giving him sufficient grace in guessing that he was considering offering one. I actually consider him capable. Hope that’s worth something.

I just don’t want to be on the fucking rollercoaster anymore. All these fucking people need to stop operating under the apparent belief that a vase glued back together holds as much water as one you’ve never shattered. Even if it does, you’re never going to be able to trust it not to fall apart again. And usually there’s some little spot been overlooked and it’ll leak all the time. It’s not fucking worth it.

Quit breaking my life. I drop it too often myself as it is.

And that’ll be two parents I ignore to death. Entirely preventable. Don’t worry. The kids will do the same to me. It’ll all sort itself out in the end.

I want a world in which people want to avoid hurting me in the first place rather than throwing a free-for-all and then wanting to fix it afterwards. I’m not even particularly breakable. But I’m also not invulnerable, and I’m tired of people not keeping that in mind before they speak or act.

For the record, he’s in a veterans’ retirement home. One, he’s been intending for years now to go live there, so this was expected. Two, he could have put it off indefinitely if he hadn’t alienated me; I was willing to take care of him and while I was allowed under his roof, I did so. His complaint where I was concerned was more about what I was doing with my own life than anything I was doing with his, and we’re not even talking drugs or generally horrible behavior. I wasn’t doing what he’d have done, the end. Three, I did make an overture to him two Decembers ago by sending him a Christmas card; he’s had my number for over a year and never bothered until now. So he did this to himself. I wash my hands of it.

At least he probably won’t be able to drink anymore. That’s been a thing since he was seventeen, and he is seventy-four now. Jesus Christ already.

—

I’m still debating with myself where I want to go after here.

Columbus, Ohio still seems the most likely candidate. I’m homesick. I lived there longer than anywhere else in my life, ever, and I love the place.

However, Minneapolis is becoming a strong contender.

That’s me and my friend John on the right. Probably 1994, definitely no earlier than 1993.

Last time I saw him was fall ‘94. He found me on the internet eight years later, and we did a bit of back and forth over the next few years I think, and then I didn’t hear from him again for a long time. But he popped back up last fall, not long before I got my current job. It was a near thing. If I hadn’t had a bunch of stuff to transport that I was not willing to let go of (think “family photos and other memorabilia”), I would be in Minnesota right now. He offered to buy me a Greyhound ticket and everything.

It’s not off the table. We’re still in touch and he keeps throwing hints about how cool it would be if I moved there. I can get you in touch with veteran services, he says. There are hospital jobs here in Minneapolis, he says.

I don’t think he’s the Answer To My Prayers or anything. (For one, I don’t pray. Agnostic.) But when we hung out as young people, he was one of the few guys I actually felt safe with and okay around. So yeah, when I start shopping around for a hospital job I’m going to “shop” there too. You never know.

Okay. I need to wrap things up. Work tomorrow.