Monday, 16 November 2015

My mailman has recovered from his nervous breakdown and other Monday tales.

I'm bigger than my body
I'm colder than this home
I'm meaner than my demons
I'm bigger than these bones
My mailman HATES me. After I decided he was inept and unprofessional (no uniform, no badge, nothing, driving a filthy little sedan that seemed to be full of garbage and practically snarling at me every time a package was brought to the house), he disappeared for most of the fall and surfaced today, driving a clean sedan, in uniform and with a smile on his face, as he greeted me and chit-chatted about the shitty weather while he tried to get the packages to scan.

Rehab? Fell in love, maybe? I have no idea. It's just great to get packages again without having to pull them from a snarling void.

We get a lot of mail. This is important.

Caleb also seemed to recover from what seemed to be a panic attack last evening. He got very pale and short of breath and it occurred right in the middle of a fresh tear-down with Ben, who jumped in with both feet after Caleb lobbed a shitty comment at Lochlan about not being able to afford a real trip and Lochlan said something awful in return that I won't even repeat and Ben said it was nice to get away and be in the present without any history in the way.

Or any future, Caleb interjected, because it's not like you two are going to have one with her.

Cue a shoving match, a freshly cracked glass door and maybe I should be the one having a nervous breakdown.

But he gave in so fast and sat down on the back steps and just asked everyone to stop.

That's my cue to lose my mind but he swore he was fine, just tired. Didn't sleep with me away. Worried about my safety and my psychological comfort.

Man, they don't like it when I travel with anyone other than whoever is worrying, do they?

Well, you can rest easy now. I'm home and I'm fine. 

I guess I don't have to worry about any more trips in your future, as it will take Pyro another decade to save for one. 

Don't be an asshole. 

Why not?! He is! 

Wow. You sounded sixteen for a minute there. 

I certainly don't feel it these days, that's for certain. 


Five gifts left to buy and I'm fucking DONE Christmas shopping. Done and done.

So happy. Been at it since Labour Day.

Don't act offended, there are only thirty-eight days left!

(I only have eighteen thousand things coming in the mail though, that's why I was so happy to see that my mailman got his shit together finally. Last year I was too afraid to order much of anything at all.)


Neat cryptic message from Batman over the weekend as well, and I still can't get ahold of him to find out what it means. Digging. Good news. Someone's full of shit. No worries.

I hate it when people say No worries. It's artificial and flippant. It's usually reserved for stupid things like if I apologize after I ask for an extra topping on a pizza I just ordered that's already been rung through or if we can move tables after being seated in a high-traffic area at a restaurant. As if they have nothing at stake and are trying to talk me off the ledge but they don't actually care. I fucking hate it. Say it to me and I'm liable to rip your face off and shove it down the hole I just made.

Can't wait to see him, in other words.  No worries, indeed.