I don’t watch Big Brother, but from reading some of the other WU s in todaylog, maybe my house needs live streaming video over the web?
A tough weekend. My house just might dissolve due to internal fiction, friction, and fraction. Take any seven people, odds are two of them will share a birthday month, but I digress, put them in a large house and there will be problems real or imagined, such as “she leaves the toilet seat down” or “he stomps all the time”. These are things that you confront immediately or learn to accept. However, in my house there has been harbored a wolf in sheep’s clothing, someone who avoids such minor confrontation, but pours out an attack to one other housemate, with an expectation that she will fix it. This went on for that better part of two years.
I am holding the hard line: N leaves Friday and never comes back. One of the other housemates (call her L) questioned this stand as kicking N out without enough time for N to find a new place. It is. Observation of the effects of N’s manipulations of house members has put me in a difficult position: I am cold and mean. On Friday it ends. I will not be moved from this. On Friday N will probably begin couch surfing with mutual friends and likely talking down everyone in the house. This summer there will have to begin a program of rebuilding the relationships that have been strained by N and by kicking N out.
I heard this rumor that the Magnetic Fields and the Pet Shop Boys will be appearing in concert here in the Bay Area, together, sometime this summer. I really should not pursue that one, nostalgia can be fatal.
Talked to my father yesterday by telephone. He had a bad reaction to the Benadryl they gave him to combat nausea from his chemotherapy. Almost went to sleep and didn’t wake up.
I had to get myself out of the house last night, and went to the gf’s place for dinner. Stopped by the market on the way there and bought some stuff for dinner. When I was a bookstore clerk at the register and had to ring up a coffee table book of nudes I always felt a little odd. What must it be like at the grocery store to sell to a young man a loaf of semolina bread, fresh mozzarella, a red pepper, a bottle of zinfandel, and a bar of bittersweet chocolate. The words “young hedonist” must have been mystically tatooed upon my forehead.