Making It Up As I Go Along #346

SUNDAY...
— Work is fairly slow paced but goes by fairly well. Just when you’re done one thing, you get a chance to breath and then move on to the next thing.
— Softball is brutal. 27-2 we lose. Perhaps we should start using gloves! I’m enjoying the field... playing the ball and all... but man... we have to play better.

MONDAY...
— Work goes pretty well for a fairly busy Monday.
— Supper and a movie with Melissa after work. I bring Field of Dreams on DVD. Great movie.
— Finally get a flash drive for computer storage. And it works like a charm. I get all the pictures on my computer... plus all my writing and many other records and such... all backed up with room to spare. And with that, the pictures are finally removed from my camera. I’ve had some pictures on there for more than a year.

TUESDAY...
— Another condo look in the early afternoon. Pretty interesting place in a great location although the financial aspects of things may make it a no go.
— Afternoon nap before the night of work. I get extra time off in the future because of today’s shift on Remembrance Day.

WEDNESDAY...
— Work the night again. Alone for a few hours. Tired by the end of it and home to find messages about condos... deep breath.

THURSDAY...
— Rainy day. Talk to the agent and considering the condo from Tuesday again. Dentist and some groceries... and I’m tired. Nice to be off.
— Talk things through with mom and dad... and via e-mail with Edena... and I think I’m just going to stay away from that condo. There’s an uneasy feeling about it.

FRIDAY...
— Warms up. Around 15 degrees today. I’m really tired though. Lazy... bordering on unconscious... for most of the morning. Go for a walk in the afternoon.
— Things that bug me... Friday edition...
(1) crap in the mailbox. I am sick to death of opening my front door to see so many fliers jammed in there that the lid won’t close and it’s an effort to lift the junk out. All this in the name of getting cheap prices on toothpaste! I’m seriously tempted to remove my mailbox entirely. Any real mail I get is going in that stupid Superbox anyway (the mailman’s lazy box).
(2) roudy kids. I went for two laps of the pond today. One lap takes 15 minutes... so you’re a good 500 yards from any point along the way at any given time. I heard two kids yelling at each other the entire time. And they’re “adult supervision” sat by like a zombie... not moving. I have no issues with play and kids being energetic outside. But if I can’t escape the screams from anywhere other than inside my own home, they’re being too loud for too long.
(3) tires. Four weeks ago some dick neighbour decided that the best idea for their worn out tires was to put them out on garbage day. Four weeks gone by and they’re still sitting there on the corner. My condo corporation has often sent out warning letters to not put out garbage too early and to quickly take in your recycling bins and what not... otherwise the guy they hire to keep the grounds clean will have to take it away. FOUR WEEKS of discarded TIRES! Where do I live? A dump?
(4) Mazda. Two weeks ago I got mail from them saying I’m due to get the car serviced. Three times in two weeks I’ve called them and left messages... three times my message has gone unanswered. Is it the plan of business to bend over backwards getting your business only to then piss on you once they’ve got it? See Rogers for the answer to that one. Scum bags.

SATURDAY...
— Rainy day. I sleep off and on in the morning. Watch a movie... then some football on TV.
— Then it’s time to read some of a book I recently got about one of my all-time favourite albums, Neutral Milk Hotel’s “In The Aeroplane Over The Sea”.
— From there it’s time to listen to my Neutral Milk Hotel collection while I do my weekly writing.


Suburban Darkness
Life in Avalon is normal. And normal, in this sense of the word, is mostly characterless. There are some unique lives. The old Asian couple who come out to walk the pond, her shoulder acting as a crutch for his laboured steps.

Then there is the older lady whose husband died shortly before her move to the neighbourhood. This move was a downsizing for her and she now remains alien to her neighbours... only leaving her home when her son comes to pick her up and take her back to where life doesn’t sit in a holding pattern.

For the most part, however, the rest of the neighbourhood is made up of boredom. However suburban boredom is the worst kind because the people don’t realize how mundane their lives are. Husbands and fathers put on cut off jean shorts that would be best served discarded. Instead, they spend hours in their driveway, hosing down the asphalt or wiping down the minivan... all the while bits of pocket spill out from underneath the denim which was cut a good three inches too short.

Women pluck at small stands of flowers, occasionally pulling their husbands away from the television long enough to get him to lug out a bag of soil. With a sigh, he returns to the innards of his house while she gently pats new soil underneath suburban shrubs.

The night brings out what little interesting bits that exist. And apart from a few teenagers who gather along the edges of greenspaces, smoking pot and keeping a suspicious eye on any passer by, the majority of that which is interesting isn’t even human.

Rabbits come out and hop along by those same shrubs the women were patting dirt around those few hours before. The women have no idea that the rabbits were ever there... they’re oblivious in their garden shows when the rabbits begin the invasion.

Skunks pass under windows on their way to open fields. Owls sit atop roofs in a lookout for a tasty critter. And over at the pond, muskrat and beaver swim around, busy with night.

However one of the homes hold dark originality. When others are sitting watching their sports on high def, this one stands in the darkness of a bedroom window, looking out. He is just as alien to his neighbours as the old husbandless woman is. Only where she carries sadness and the hope of her son’s arrival to carry her away, he holds anger and resentment.

A month before, he decided it was a good idea to discard his old summer tires at the curb for garbage day. He brought them out while the rest of the neighbourhood was sleeping and was pleased to be rid of the dirty clutter they created.

To his horror, the tires remained where he left them once all the other trash was taken away. And there they sit for weeks now. An eyesore that annoys the others of the area, they sit as a reminder to him. A reminder that society doesn’t accept him. Each time he looks out at the curb, he feels more isolated, more embarrassed, and more angry. If he goes to retrieve the tires, a neighbour will see. And then cold glances will come his way at the mailbox. Pond walkers will meet with their dogs, and while the animal drops smelly things that need to be plucked in plastic, the people will whisper about the guy who lives in the upper corner unit of the building across the street... how they saw him pulling tires into his front door and how they had a good mind to tell him what he should do with his tires.

Then they scoop the poop and continue around the pond, oblivious of the beaver and in love with the ducks.

So with such visions, the man leaves the tires where they lay. When he goes out at night, to wander the pond alone, he glares at the mound of dirty rubber and curses his misfortune.

One time, at the pond, he spots the white of a rabbit’s tale. He picks up a rock and hurls it towards the creature. To his horror, the rock strikes it’s target. A one in a million shot that drops the fluff where it stands. A few leg twitches spell the end.

The man doesn’t know what to do. First tires left to declare his stupidity to all and now a dead rabbit here at the pond.

Unable to think rationally, the man pulls out his pocket knife and crunches through the flesh and bone of the rabbit’s neck. He splays out the body on a rock. Leaving it there under the rose bushes as a sort of suburban sacrifice. And he pockets the head along with his knife. Returning home with a reminder of his continued bad luck.

Now from his bedroom window, the man can look out to still see the tires. They blare out to all like waving spotlights outside a cinema at a movie premier. Proclaiming how out of touch one is with the rest. And when he turns from his window, he looks to his bookshelf a the far wall. Where the fuzzy head sits with ears a gardening wife would stroke gently as she “aw’s” over the cute softness.

He curses himself for the rock and curses his bad luck that his aim was so perfect in the emotion of the moment.

Outside his window and here on his shelf sit reminders of how alone he is. Others walk dogs and spray the dirt from their driveways or spend the night watching high def sports or gardening shows. In this neighbourhood of sameness, he hides behind his door, only venturing out in the night for hopes that people don’t see his uniqueness. As he drifts off to sleep, his greatest wish is that he saw the world as they do. He longs to wake from his life and start living a dream.

Note:
Most of the things around this story are true. The tires, the jean shorts, the gardening, and yes the poor rabbit. The circumstances around the rabbit is a mystery to me.