My Place

2005-05-29 3:29 p.m.
So I look like a chunkier version of me in 1995. Not that having a lil weight is all that much a problem to me � the part that is, I�m working on. My old friend, C (who called out the blue after 2 years of no contact), was sweet enough to remind me that I was way too skinny back then anyways. I haven�t had 3 seconds to think much less wash every article of clothing I own, so here I am wearing my shit from 10 years ago getting ready to hit the laundrymat.

From what I can tell, I�ve been getting along fairly well out here, although I haven�t really going out too much so my meter is rather misaligned. I always hate to admit that lack of money stresses me, but it has been. Although the actual lacking isn�t the problem. It�s the things surrounding the empty pockets.

I think one of the major things rubbing me in the not-quite-so-right way is that this place is more of an apartment that I happen to be in than �My Place.� �My place� generally comes standard with photos and album covers on the walls, a pair of decks set up and ready to jam at any given moment, a bookcase full of technical books, a desk or similar surface sprawled with computers and miscellaneous electronic scraps, some DVDs, PS2 games and speakers in every room.

Granted these aren�t the things that make me, they�re the things that make my domain. The DVDs and games are required because I don�t watch TV. The books are reference and general bathroom material, the speakers ensure a harmony in every room (including the kitchen and bathroom), the turntables hold memories and distraction, as do the photos and album covers, and the desk a monument to continuing triumphs and failures which will eventually lead to triumphs or at least worthwhile �wastes� of time.

For now, our kitchen table is my desk. It�s partially bare � one, to keep it a surface worth eating from (which is why I bought a wireless keyboard and mouse, so they can be put to the side when necessary) � two, because UPS lost one of my flat panel monitors.

And so, the music only resides in my kitchen and living room. The lack of music in the kitchen and bedroom make them seem so empty. My roommate doesn�t have many movies or games, but we have his TV and cable, which has been holding up the entire distraction thing. The internet generally isn�t all that exciting to me, besides industry reading, as I�ve been wandering in cyberspace for more than 10 years now. And because I�ve been hustling my ass off for loot, my incredibly meek wardrobe is in one big pile in, what�s probably the largest closet I�ve ever had.

I have some requirements before I invite people I know well to �My Place.� The summary requirement is that the place has actually earned the title. And for now, it�s by default due to the name on the lease.

So, I�m flying my girl out for the weekend (next weekend). The only reluctance I had was because this isn�t quite �My Place� yet, but she doesn�t care and I can�t think of anything more important to me than seeing her right now. I have a list of things I want to try to get taken care of before she gets her (which truly rely on a check or two coming in and clearing on time).

I really want to have a fridge, so we can cook some shit up together. I think its pretty fun to cook with someone, it�s cheaper and generally a better experience, and you can do things like� cook enough beans to last a week for various dishes throughout, and um� buy enough meat (fish, chicken, beef, etc) for a few days rather than one night.

I�d also like a dresser or shelf of sorts. My dresser right now is just a 2� x 6� area of carpet near the wall opposite my bed. All that I have �on� my dresser for the moment is bills and paperwork and various plugs for various gadgets, but it�s nice to be able to organize things within reach.

I�ll need to get speakers or a radio of some sorts for my room. These walls are really thin, and I�m sure my roommate isn�t necessarily a fan of my 4 hour conversations with my girl, and especially won�t be a fan of any audible quality time we might have.

I need to get a decent blanket. It gets pretty cold in my room at night, and I can deal, but I wouldn�t feel right asking my girl to.

I need a haircut � badly. I realized how much of a bitch I�ve become recently as I looked in the mirror and picked out my fro. A bitch because I�ve become far too spoiled in keeping my shit tight. I snickered to myself for a moment realizing I actually have incredibly talented stylists on hand in New York and Chicago. Gonna have to find someone out here. The $5 cut just ain�t gonna do it. Oh no... nothing less than $400 scissors touch this fucked up head.

I�d like to get a new pair of jeans. I only have 2 and one has a hole in the ass about the size� well, actually the pocket is damn near gone. I also want to wash my roommate�s car.

When I mentioned that I had some shit to take care of before my girl got out here, she assured me that I don�t need to impress her. But it�s not necessarily that (not that I don�t want her to be impressed, but my impression is generally immaterial anyways). It�s just a matter of making sure my mind is on her and not �here�.

Most important, of all the shit I �need� in �My Place,� I need �My Shit.� �My Shit� is completely immaterial. It�s a collection of things that hold my stories and memories within. Like the wooden box that D made me before we stopped talking, and the beads G gave me from his trip to Mardi Gras, and movie stubs from the past 10 or so years and my shoe box of photos and a couple sketch books and poetry given to me by old friends and ex girlfriends. All this shit is sitting in one big box somewhere in my old apartment in Brooklyn.

So I called my ex on Thursday. She was out, which I was glad to hear, and asked her to call me back when she got home. Mind you, in the 4 years together, considering all the shit I�d given her and helped her with, I hadn�t asked for very much. I generally don�t need much from people. I�m also a big fan of making sure than when I do ask for something, it�s something worth asking for.

So when she called back, I asked her to find �My Shit.� She�s living amongst my boxes, and I�m sure she�ll be happy to get rid of anything she can. Unfortunately I can�t afford to ship it all right now, so I at least wanted �My Shit,� some DVDs and games and some of my books.

�So where is it?�

�I don�t know T, probably on top of the ikea dresser by the bed�

�Well, I moved stuff around�

�Then I definitely don�t know where it is�

She began giving me the attitude I would expect if I�d asked her to come deliver my shit in person. Now, I know it�s been a bit of a raw deal for her, in my leaving and all, but I still don�t deserve any shit. I haven�t been mean or too distant since I left. I�fe been there for her when she needed someone to talk to� I�m no gonna make some stupid list of shit I�ve done for her, but I promise I could write a fairly lengthy book on helping her out over the years.

�So what, the only time you�re gonna call me now is for favors?�

I had nothing to say to this at the time. I have 20 million things on my mind and whether or not I should ask her to find a box for me and give it to the UPS guy when he shows up is not one that should require any special attention.

�Look T, forget I asked. Just go about your evening, and I�ll figure something out later�

She proceeded to begin an argument about things we�ve covered hundreds of times, especially in the last couple months. As a man who could be solemnly defined as patient, I didn�t have the patience for it.

After we�d gotten off the phone (and after she�d called me twice to change her position in the argument and then apologize), I�d pretty much forgotten the whole ordeal. Too much other shit to think about�

I had to finish the site for my cousin (they recently found out he has leukemia, and we�re putting together a fund and benefit function to cover his medical and personal bills � which include taking care of 7 children). I have to finish my mom�s site, so she can work on putting money together to buy a building so she can have an easier time taking care of her incredibly needy mother. I have to finish my only currently running decent paying gig. I have to work with S and P to get some money from a client that balked on the contract. I have to write 6 proposals, a site plan for a fairly large project, a work summary for two other up and coming projects, and I have 3 meetings this weekend. I have to learn another programming language for a programming contest next weekend.

I have about 50 other things to think / worry about, work on and work towards this weekend. First and foremost rent and bills, which I was worried I wouldn�t be able to take care of.

My roommate got flown out for the week to be with his girl. While he was out there, his grandmother (wife of his recently deceased grandfather) seems to be on her way out, so he�s gonna be out there for a few extra days. I gave him and his family my best wishes and then started to figure how to replace his financial help for the moment.

Ok� my own hole, I�ve dug it, I�ll climb out. I know, and expect that happily. Yesterday and today I was actually clear headed enough to start climbing. I threw all my clothes in a bag, cracked a beer and got ready to look at my financial status. Ok, just enough to cover most of the bills and rent, with a touch to spare to enjoy my time with my girl. Done and done. My cousin�s site (the hard part anyways), done. Mom�s site, done. Project summaries and half my proposals, done. Dealing with S and P�s client� half finished, pending response.

And while sweeping up around my head, I ran into one of those dust bunnies that somehow got melted into the floor. You know, got wet somehow and now you need a sharp object to pick it off�

Who the hell does T think she is giving me shit about a favor?! Really. Who the fuck is she to question my asking a favor?!

I wanted to be patient. I wanted to let it slide. I�m a big fan of being selfish, but only when it�s called for. So I called her and had at it. A good, powerful, 10 minute rant about who the fuck she thinks she is. I apologized for raising my voice and suddenly I was clear. An entire half ton off of my 2 ton pile of shit. Generally, I take the world in long controlled strides, but when things start getting rocky, I�m just not the one to fuck with.

She knew she was in the wrong. She�s searching the apartment for �My Shit� right now.

And my stress is partially relieved. Hopefully by Thursday morning it�ll all be gone. I don�t want to have to think about anything besides quality time for 5 whole days. I deserve that shit. If I can�t necessarily have �My Shit,� at least I can spend some time here with my girl to make this more �My Place�