Evermore

My mailboxes (physical and digital) are full. I hardly ever clean the toilet in the master bath and I couldn’t tell you the last time I changed the sheets on the queen.  The minutia of everyday life doesn’t register much with me.  When the trash gets too full, I light a harmony candle and my pillow works just fine even if the sham has peeled off.

It’s not that I don’t see it, who could miss the streaks in the bowl?  I just don’t give a flying fuck.  Honestly, in my situation, who would? I’m surrounded by useful things anyway, not piles of shit.  I’m not disgusting.  I’m just unkempt, I suppose.  I do pick up after myself.  Just not often enough for the average housewife’s standards.

I’m fine living like this.  Really.

My tea cup is on the end table. Take out tins, plastic forks, boxes of saltine crackers, chewable antacids, prescription pills, notebooks…my other stuff…is on the coffee bench.  And that’s fine with me.  Because I don’t mind and, evermore, it’s just me who would be minding.  If there were any minding being done that is.  And as I said before, there isn’t.  Because I, don’t mind.

If I ever do start worrying about these things, it’s probably time someone else starts worrying as well.  Or maybe time to take a note at the very least. Because I guess, that would be a sign that I’m getting better.

If my mind is filed with thoughts about dish sponges and laundry soaps instead of what lingers there now it’s probably a good day. Right?  Or hell has frozen over.  Or worse yet, the world as we know it has ended and we’re in a post-apocalyptic landscape where in spite of world-wide obliteration, cleanliness is still next to godliness.

But for now, it’s sunny and a comfortable 79 degrees here in Southern California and my rented 2.8 million dollar cottage hidden high in the Hollywood Hills looks more like a dorm room or a lonely writer’s garret than one of Carl Brown’s fabulous flips. And I’m still unemployed and living off of the settlement while everyone around me is living the dream.  

Los Angeles may sometimes appear like the appropriate backdrop for the last battle between good and evil, but that’s really just the result of the drought. Nothing more, nothing less. So, as you can see, nothing has changed.  You can all fucking relax. Especially since, I’ve said this before, I’m not the one you should be minding. When there’s something to mind, that is.

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