Fear the Crab

I remember the second night of living alone.  My ears were still not accustomed to the sounds of an empty house, and I’m sure sleeping in the master bedroom accounted for a different perspective than where I used to bed.  It still put my body in alert-mode, wondering if the noises I’d hear meant something wicked was afoot.

Just so happened to have woken up at 0015.  I wasn’t sure what jarred me from slumber, but I immediately went silent and started to listen.  I needed to hear if there was a burglar, a ghost, or maybe even cockroaches!  And in that moment of traversing the list of things that could kill me, my ears picked up a strange, haunting note.

It sounded like a very very low whistle.  Or was it the sound of the beating of wings?  A buzzing vibration?  The sound was too clear to be what I figured a ghost would make, and I never heard of a burglar with a portable fan, so it had to be the #1 destroyer of sanities, the cockroach!

My first thought was, “Do cockroaches make noise?”  I heard tales of roach sounds shattering the minds of men, but no one really told me what that noise was (further proof that roaches are a bane to human existence; no one who heard the sound lived to tell).   And in this thought process, I heard it again.

That strange, alien sound.  It was coming from another part of the house, it seemed.  Fainter, yet distinct.  This thing was moving.  It was casing the house, determining the best angle of attack.  Oh, things are going to get dicey.

But I didn’t hear it again.  I turned my head, listened some more.  Nothing.  Uneasy, and a bit creeped out, I went back to sleep.

0145.  Bolted awake.  That sound!  I heard it in my dreams!  Quickly I listened, but it was quiet.  Too quiet.  It had to be a cockroach, or some other strange insect fluttering around my house.  Maybe it was the beating of wings, or maybe it was the chomping of mandibles.  The only thing certain was that it was alive, and it was INSIDE.

It sounded again.  That buzzing noise, that low whistle, echoing above the beating thunder of my heart.  It was close!  It was so distinct, so vivid, that it could come from no other place but in my room!  It was HERE!

…

It was my nose.  Seems my nasal passage congested to the point where every exhale made the boogers vibrate.  My nose was fucking snoring.

What we have here is the “first” posting in the new location for the termite droppings of my mind. It’s a new location for the caffeinated headaches of my imagination. It’s a new look, a new codebase (Word the Press, y’all!), and a new reflection of the changes going on in my life.

In the archives are the older postings from my days at LiveJournal. They have been lovingly exported here and given non-relevant titles so they don’t feel left out.

I’m still trudging through the newness, and it’s very likely that things will change again. I just figured I ought to begin with something.

Many thanks to Galbraith for leading me by the hand. This awesomeness could not have sauced forth without.

During the initial wedding plans, Maile’s brother was tapped to help out on the registration table. An easy task to involve him in the event.In the months following, there was a bit of hemming and hawing about how he wasn’t going to go, then he was going to go, and back to not going. Shiny, just let me know a decision before it’s too late.

Soon afterward, he relapsed by taking a hit of crack. He felt guilty about it afterward, and turned himself in to his PO, and spent a couple of nights in jail.

At that point, we took him off table duty. I asked two of my friends if their daughters would like to help, and they all agreed. I then had 4 people on the registration table; more than enough to handle the crowd.

Turns out the hemming and hawing by Maile’s brother and other concerns stemmed from issues unrelated to the wedding, involving mainly the immediate family and their relationship with his girlfriend. As that came to light, there were talks and discussions and I guess everything was worked out, so that’s fine.

But now I am being told that he wants his “job” back. He felt hurt that he was taken off table duty because he really wanted to be involved and help out. Maile’s mom has suggested that I put him AND his girlfriend on the registration table, and from what I can gather, Maile agrees (though I don’t know if it’s just out of agreement or any other reason). At the time this was brought to my attention, I sorta acquiesced, without really saying anything or suggesting alternatives. I had to think about it.

Last night, I spent the better part of an hour considering everything. I believe I have come to the conclusion that I will not be changing my mind. It’s not because I don’t feel that I can trust him around the gifts; I feel I can’t trust his reliability.

It’s quite possible that he can do an excellent job at the table, and that there would be no problems and everything will go smoothly. However, at this point in the wedding plans I cannot take the chance that something will happen between now and then, leaving me stranded. I do not expect any amount of vouchers from either Maile or her mom can sway me in this, too.

He feels hurt that we took him off the job. My thought is that maybe he needs to remember this “hurt” and turn it into “experience.” Take it as a lesson in how his behavior can have an impact on others, and how sometimes, certain actions cannot be undone. Perhaps if he remembers this, if he remembers how he felt when he had to suffer the consequences of what he did, it can serve him in the future when faced with the temptation to use drugs again.

The drama is in trying to convince him of that, and in a way that he doesn’t use it as an excuse to go back to drugs (the old “woe is me” attitude). And, too, I will most likely be suffering the consequences of this decision. Whether it’s from him, or Maile or her mom, I can’t tell.

In retrospect, this is precisely why I said I didn’t want to talk to any “media” prior to or during the wedding. Situations like these are best discussed after some time has passed, I think.

For example, I spoke to one the “interested parties” about the situation, and now it seems like just a big misunderstanding. It’s a lot easier to look back and laugh at our emotions, but when it occurred there were a lot of hurt feelings and lashing out.

Maybe this is what being a groomzilla is about.

Today begins the first day of living alone. The Parents have moved into the new “smart house” for the most part, leaving me responsible for my own daily upkeep and maintenance. For the time being, I have to content myself with leaving the house as it is now and hold off on any reorganization. One reason is because I don’t have the time just yet to devote to moving furniture and cleaning out closets; another is that I need new storage compartments like file cabinets and bookshelves to start organizing. I also have a wedding coming up, and Maile-plans to arrange for her moving in.

So currently I just use three rooms in the house: bedroom, bath, and kitchen. The kitchen will prove interesting, as I am a complete moron when it comes to cooking (see earlier post about Rice Krispie treats). At this point I wouldn’t trust myself with frozen pizza, and I’ve had bad experiences with THAT.

I was made aware that some people aren’t going to be attending the wedding reception. Shiny, just get me the RSVP card so I have a record. What I did notice was that this drops the guest count to a point where we lose some hotel compensation; that is, the amount of money we spend has dropped below the threshold for certain freebies. To me, it’s not a big deal, but Maile wants to add more people. I’m fine with that, and I made the suggestion that maybe we can invite the rest of the people from The Dental Lab, since we couldn’t before due to the cost. If anyone asked, we could just say that we got our tax returns and can now afford to bring everybody else. Maile agreed. Maile went to The Lab and hand deliver some invitations we had prepared.

Afterward, I was privy to the activity that occurred. Seems the invitation for one person at The Lab was “altered” by request of other parties. Instead of inviting that one person plus a guest, these other parties made Maile change the invitation to just include that person. Some of the reasons for this change were given to Maile as, “She doesn’t have a boyfriend and isn’t married, so you only need one” and “You’ll probably only get $20.00 from her AND her guest.”

That set me off. Maile found my reaction extremely funny, but I am most upset with this interference of our wedding reception. I find it quite rude to not only force me to choose who I don’t invite, but also imply that the reason I want to invite people is to score some money. That’s fucking offensive to me.

I don’t fucking care if person B irritates person A; that’s the personal property between those two. If I don’t have a problem with either, why should I not invite the both of them? I’m not going to make the decision to attend for either person. If both sincerely want to attend our wedding, I’m sure they can both act civil for 2 or 3 hours even if I seat them on different tables. If either feels they can’t put aside their differences for me, then they can decline their attendance.

I’m inviting people whom I feel I want to share in this special moment. I do appreciate those that suggest I should invite another person I didn’t previously consider, since I am forgetful and might not remember that Ms Jane Doe helped pay my way through college or something. What I don’t appreciate is any suggestion that I DON’T invite someone because of a personal problem someone else has. In fact, I’ve already NOT invited someone from The Lab because of pressure from outside sources.

And to tell me that I’m only going to get $20.00? Ridiculous. I don’t need gifts. I’m not doing this crap for gifts. You want to give me a gift? Fine. I am sincerely thankful for your generosity and I do appreciate it. Yet I do expect that you give that gift out of the kindness of your heart. Don’t misinterpret my invitation to share in this joyous occasion as a request for you to give me materialistic shit.