Back Into The Void

I still can't believe that I'm 41 years old and I have to go back to doing this shit.  After we finish up field testing today, I am back out on the street.  I guess this is what happens when you decide there's nothing you want to do as a career when you get out of college.  Or when you're 30.

I'm not sure this is the right time for me to not have anything to do.  With Grandmother's death, I'm afraid I'll be spending my days alone with my thoughts of her.  They say that time heals all wounds.  That adage may or may not have anything to do with death.  But frankly, the more I think about her, the more I realize that she's not here anymore.  I think it's getting harder for me to deal with, and not being occupied with work during the day may might make dealing with it worse.

I haven't even thought about the disruption being unemployed again will bring.  I have to get up for no good reason, I have to lie to my parents about where I'm going, I need to find a place and a time to eat all the food they're giving me, I need to figure out how to fucking occupy my day.  And that doesn't even include stuff like finding a job, or even getting unemployment.  Further complicating matters is that I have chores that I need to do, such as going to the dentist, and fulfilling this study I started back in the winter.  And I'm still holding out the possibility that I will fly to Hong Kong for any remembrance arrangements.

So I don't know.  In one sense I'm grateful for the free time.  But on the other hand, I'm being thrown (or am I throwing myself?) back into instability, something that I never thought an adult should do.  I hope I find something that keeps the money rolling in.  But in the meantime I'll just ... be.  Because there's nothing else I can do, I guess.

---

You know, I wish I had the chance to, once it's over of course, live this life over again armed with the experience of what not to do.  But that is impossible, of course.

She's Gone

I still can't believe it, and I clutched when I typed that.

I haven't cried over Grandmother's death.  Maybe it's not yet, but I don't know if I have it in me.  I think it's because whenever I cried when I was young, my parents (and, I have to be honest, Grandmother) beat me even more.  And yet I feel as though if I don't cry I'm being totally disrespectful to her, and for what she did for me.  When I think of her that way, I get even more depressed.

But right now I'm empty, and I'm just so damn numb.  She's been out of the house for several years and out of the country for a few, but the thought that I no longer occupy Earth with Grandmother ... (sigh) ... I think about her now and again, but once my memory of her passes, I remind myself, "She's dead."  And it feels worse and worse every time I remind myself.  But ... I'm still empty and numb.

---

It's time for all my friends to know, so I'm going to announce Grandmother's death on social media.  I'm writing it right now, and I don't know if it's going as it should.  It has quickly become an essay not about her life, but how I'm feeling with her gone, and that's totally self-centered.  But I don't know how else to deal with it.  If I can't talk about how Grandmother affected me, I don't think I can write about this at all, and so I won't be able to tell anyone that she passed.  So I have to write the way I need to write.

I still can't believe she's gone.

The Sympathetics

I am up very early in the morning, and I don't want to.  I did not stay up.  I was so tired from not napping in the afternoon (alumni club and fantasy league duties) and going to the State Fair in the evening that I listened to my body instead of my dick.

See, I called a strip club to see how long they would be open.  They said 3.  After coming home from My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) I went home when it was pouring rain out.  I was tired but bored, and I figured that if I just nap for a little bit, till about 1 or so, I could get up and make a night of it.  After all, it's Labor Day Eve.

So I go to my bed and see where my body takes me.  The storm outside makes for an effective sleep-inducer, and I closed my eyes listening to the rain-delayed Cleveland-Kansas City baseball game on SiriusXM through my smartphone.  I got up, once, at 12:30.  That would have been a perfect time to get out of my bed, put on my new porno pants, and hit the town, hanging out with my wang out.  Sure it was raining, but that means less people, less guys that could potentially see my cock.

But I made the fateful choice of crawling back in to bed and giving myself till 1.  I was tired.  And, you know, it's raining out.  And I closed my eyes, only to wake up at 4, just an hour after that strip bar closed.  And now I can't go back to sleep.

I should not be getting up this early in the morning.  I should be getting into bed right about now.  Then I can sleep through the sunrise, have a leisurely wake-up time in the afternoon, go the fair one more time and relax.  Now I regret seeing the dawn.  Now I am alone in my thoughts, and my fears of going back to work to face that asshole and what he is going to say or do.

---

I love the State Fair for the people watching.  The great new transit hub, created when they knocked down Heritage Square and polished off the old arch to make for a grand new entrance, sets up a new way for me to see my favorite scene of the year.  The center of the fairgrounds is lower in grade than everywhere else.  So when you went through the old entrance or now the new, you can see the street lower, and that allows you to see a sea of humanity, pretty much the entire state of Minnesota, walking through the fair.  An agoraphobe would immediately run the other way, but for me and a few others Sunday afternoon we took some pictures.  This is what doing the most Minnesotan thing possible looks like, and it's glorious.

I was able to poke and skeeter my way through the throng to do the Minnesota Historical Society tour, get my prize for punching all the signs around the grounds and reward myself with Sweet Martha's Cookies and all-you-can-drink milk.  I sat down on the sidewalk to eat my milk and cookies, and to watch the families and couple stroll by, and I talked to two girls who sat beside me for a little bit.  That was nice.

On my way back to the bus I stopped by to see this new ABC show, Cristela, on the KSTP barn.  I didn't know it at the time, but the people watching the show were taking a survey on it, after which they would receive a battery-powered fan.  I think the comedy's broad (as indicated by a laugh track) but I liked it enough to give my feet a rest and watch.

It was interrupted by a guy, sitting alone there, like me.  He started our conversation when a girl moved off of the bleachers after seeing a bee.  Then he talked about being a hand for KSTP and working at the barn we were sitting in.  He seemed to be one of those lonely over-sharers, someone I could be when I grow old.  But then he started complaining about the girls overseeing the survey not being dressed properly.  And then he started saying "fuck" a lot.  Oh, he's one of these weird loners ... someone I could also be when I grow old.

Nevertheless I stayed.  For one thing my feet were tired, for another it's the Fair, and I'll never see this guy again, so who cares?  He then got into the reason he was at the Fair by himself: He got into this car accident with a roommate who said that he was driving.  Although he admitted he had fallen off the wagon again (later in our conversation I could smell his breath) he was furious at this guy and was debating on what to do get him thrown out of his house before he got thrown out.  He didn't want to come in and deal with the situation, he said, so he's out here, to enjoy and to forget.

I relayed his plight to mine at work: I too wanted to have a good time at the State Fair, but I dreaded going to work Tuesday and facing that guy.  I relayed the story to him, and like him he thought he overreacted: "You just asked one question!" he said, exasperatingly.  "I know!" I replied, "I wanted one answer and I wasn't going to bother him again!"  I shook my head.

Then, this guy, this drunkard who said that he lost everything (his job and family) to the bottle many years ago and has not gotten either back, grabbed my shoulder a couple times.  And that felt so good.  I don't know if this guy would be someone I could hang out with.  There's a possibility he would flip out on me over drinks and kill me.  But at that particular moment, we sympathized with each other.  We needed a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on in the middle of hopeless situations, and we found it in each other.  I felt a connection with a guy who felt like he listened to me, and I think the feeling was mutual.  Sometimes it's easier, and a lot more rewarding, when you seredipitously find support and the strength to carry on from a stranger at The Great Minnesota Get-Together.

He said his goodbyes and I was off.  We ended as perfectly as a State Fair conversation could.

---

At My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) I hit the last hour of one shift and the first of the next.  I had nowhere to go and nothing to do, so I stayed for over an hour, something I rarely do here, even though this is my favorite.  Stuck around to see someone I had not seen in a long time, someone I am facebook friends with but thought to have left The Life.

Otherwise it was a slow night.  Sometimes I think stripclubs would be packed on holidays, but like My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Version) Saturday night, turns out people want to spend their long weekends with their friends, not nude women.  So there was an emptiness in the bar, and that allowed my melancholy about what I have to face in 24 hours' time to depress me.

*****a, a girl who's trying to set up a party so she can see my penis (at least that's what she said to me) was working the late shift.  She said hi and how was I doing, and I couldn't help but tell her it was a rough week.  After she went around the bar saying hi, she came up to me seated at a table.  Without saying a word she put her arm around my back.  Then, I put my head on her shoulder.  And we were just like that for a good, oh, 20 seconds.  I just felt so safe with her holding me like that.  I didn't want that to end.  And if I ever get any one-on-one time with her, part of me would eschew getting a handjob or blowjob or rimjob.  I wouldn't mind just lying in bed with her, cuddling, protecting me from the wolves outside my door and the demons inside my head.

But it had to end because she had to change into her costume, and I left in a downpour soon after.

---

You know, it's a bit after 7.  This is usually when I wake up to go to work.  This is reminding me of work, goddammit, this sucks.  Since this is vacation time, I should be asleep.  Yet another reason I should have gone to that stripclub late at night and stayed up.  I just can't even deal.

I should go to bed to escape the break of dawn.

Final Bubble Watch

I love this time of year, usually.  My birthday coincides with the NCAA men's basketball tournament, The Best Three Weeks In American Sport.  This year, though, is unique because March 17 falls so early compared to the college basketball season.  In fact, I don't remember the last time St. Patrick's Day was the same day as Selection Sunday -- which, as I think back, I anticipate just as much as, if not more than, the beginning of the Big Dance Thursday afternoon (I know, I know, the tourney technically starts with the "First Four" games Tuesday, but fuck that, those games are stupid.)

I say "usually" because my birthday coincidentally falling on the same day as Selection Sunday is, at least this year, a sad reminder of how lost and empty I am in my life right now.  I wish I could use the day, and sports in general, as an escape from my harsh reality, but seeing My Fucking Father be disappointed that I spent four hours at the local coffeeshop distracts me from that.  (Oh, forgetting the iPhone at home while I was out didn't help; he called me at least twice this afternoon.)  And I reminded myself that in less than half a day I'll be, gulp, 37.  I lied awake thinking that a couple hours ago.  And when I worked out this evening I punched "36" into the bike, and realized that will be the last time I can ever do that with any truth.

So what should be a doubly joyous occasion is one that reminds me of my mortality.  Well, fuck.  Anyway, with four final championship games to go, and only one team bubble that might need to win it all Sunday afternoon or else be left out of the tournament entirely, here is the aggregate decision on the final baker's dozen teams that will and will not get the final at-large bids.  These are listed in descending order of probability of getting in, according to the fine person behind The Bracket Matrix:

The Last Four Byes (aka What Should Be The Last Four In If The NCAA Wouldn't Be So Fucking Greedy And Contracted The Field Back Down To A Harmonious 64 Teams Like They Should):

• Temple
• Oklahoma
• Villanova
• Cal

The Last Five In (aka The Last Four Charity Cases Who Have To Pay For The NCAA's Largess By Playing The Play-In Games):

• St. Mary's
• Boise St.
• Middle Tennessee St.
• La Salle
• Ole Miss (the reason why this list is five teams long; The Bracket Matrix has the Rebels in as Team 68, but they're in the SEC Championship Game, and if they win, not only are they in but they are exempt from playing the "Opening Round" game because they won the conference auto-bid)

Last Four Out (Erroneously Called The "First Four Out" -- I Mean, Wouldn't 0-28 Grambling Be One Of The "First Four Out?"  They Should Be The "First One Out," You Know?  I See This Phrase "First Four Out" Everywhere And It's Pissing Me Off Because It's Not Grammatically Correct):

• Tennessee
• Kentucky
• Southern Miss
• Virginia

And Now I Am Broke -- I Mean It

When I leveled enough of my checking account down to $2,000 so I can pay off as much of my credit card bill this month I could, I braced myself for the time I would come face-to-face with how little money I had.  That day came Saturday before hitting Caffetto.

There's a gas station right across the street from the coffeeshop; it's the place where I took out a donut I decided not to buy because I thought the price was different.  I figured that I would need some cash in the next several days, and since my bank's ATM is right there, I might as well take it out now.  And it's only $20 these days; I usually take $60, but I am far from being able to take out so much money now.

This ATM always shows me what would be left in my account after I take the requested withdrawal out.  And that's when it hit me: I have just over $2,000 now in my account.  I remember at one time it was above $10,000.  This time two years ago it was above five grand; this time last year I was fretting about how I was going below four grand.  I have been below two thou before, but I immediately was able to deposit more money.  I know I won't have that to save me this time.  But I want to see a movie Tuesday, so what can I do?

There were extenuating circumstances for this new low.  I overlooked an ESPN The Magazine automatic subscription renewal that's still charged to my other, American Express card; I did open the mail of that statement, but I just plain forgot, and I was charged a late fee of $35 (and will suffer from a worsened credit score if when I go to the bank for a college loan).  And I still automatically take money out of this account to put into my stock portfolio; seeing as how the Dow Jones Industrial Average continues to do very well, this is something I should not change, for the sake of my long-term future.

Nevertheless, that stark figure killed the dreams and altered the plans of what I want to do in the future -- for real.  This isn't a case where I bitch about not having money and then spend the money I have, even though I shouldn't.  When that checking account shows a "1" for a first digit instead of a "2," I will freak out.  Because there are tangible charges that, added together, could finally kill off whatever cash I have in there.  I don't have a cushion, and that scares the shit and frustrates the shit out of me.

I had dreams, for example, of going to Detroit in three weeks to see the Central Collegiate Hockey Association's Mason Cup playoffs.  This will be the last year of the CCHA before it is dissolved, the worst casualty of realignment happening to college hockey.  It would have been a hell of a thing to see.  I planned to the point where I asked the conference's media contact for a credential, and I checked the Megabus and Detroit bus schedules to see how I can get around.  But I knew that these big bills were coming due, and I had no choice but to pay them down.  And with such little money left, I don't think it's prudent to take a trip to Detroit to see and write about it.  (I will add that one of the test reading companies signed me on to a project that begins the day I wanted to leave for Detroit.  Not only would taking this trip take money from me, but it would also prevent me from making money.  That was not something I could do.)  I had known in the back of my mind I just could not pull it off.  But seeing my remaining account on the screen and in the receipt, I came face-to-face with it.  That carcass of that dream is now real to me.  I'm not going to Detroit.

You know what else I can't do?  Porny stuff.  The house parties I like to go to are kind of overrated anyway, especially if I have to pay ten or fifteen bucks to cover the cover charge.  But I have such little money nowadays that I can't even go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) anymore.  I did after my first three "classes" at the U., but I kept seeing that I had no money in my wallet after I left, and I knew I didn't have much in my checking account, so I stopped going.  And after seeing how small it is now, I still have to stay away.  Hopefully it won't be so long that the girls there forget my name.

This could all go away, and my checking account could fatten up, if I had a job.  But goddammit, it's still very hard to find one.  I have a feeler for one job, but the details of that keep getting pushed further and further away.  There was one that was perfect for me, and one at a health care company I used to work at over a decade ago, but unbeknownst to me, my contact gave that job to somebody else.  And now there's another iron in the fire, this one that requires a phone interview with the person who will be supervising me.  That was supposed to come Friday, but when I called Friday afternoon to ask what's up, I was told they haven't heard from them.  Temp jobs are frequently taken away from me, and I'm not sure I have one until I literally get there and start working.  Those will last longer than the test reader position, and I should take them in a heartbeat.  I just don't know if one will ever come through.

I have more worries down the line.  My huge credit card bill, the result of me paying to get new shocks and struts for the car and Christmas gifts, is not fully paid off yet.  My meager "salary" from unemployment may not be enough to counter all the stuff I charge on a monthly basis.  It sucks balls if I fail to spend less than what I currently take in now, but I might now have a choice.  Then there's this $300 satellite radio bill that's on my AmEx card as of last week; I'll have to pay that off.  And then there's taxes; even though I didn't make a lot of money, I'm certain I made more enough not to qualify for the Earned Income Tax Credit.  That would've helped; without it, I am facing paying taxes upwards of, no joke, $1,000.

And then there's the trip to Kansas City I'm taking just before Memorial Weekend.  I canceled a trip to St. Louis planned for late September for reasons I can't remember.  And I think Southwest said I would have to take it as credit towards another flight, but the trip had to end by June 3.  I was spurred on to making a decision after seeing Southwest hold a sale a couple weeks ago, and after seeing that St. Louis wasn't really on special but there's a new non-stop flight from MSP to MCI (Kansas City's airport code), I decided I had to make my move.  So I have to plan for hotel and rental, plus I had to charge the difference in air ticket price of about $21.  These days every dollar that goes through my hands leads me closer to financial ruin.

I don't know what to do, besides continue to look for work.  I'm already spending my days working out, but that's getting boring, and besides, I still have a gut.  The next drastic step for me is to liquidate my Certificate of Deposit; it's making shit interest, but I didn't want to kill it for this purpose.  But I might have to, and it still might not be enough to pay all my bills.  Up next are the stocks, and after that, I have nothing.

So I have to hunker down.  And not eat out.  And not have fun.  And wait for my fortunes to turn.  Meanwhile, my stomach is in knots and my heart beats loudly from all the stress and I feel empty all over, just waiting for something to fucking go my way, and being afraid that living, truly living on The Knife's Edge is something I'll have to do for the rest of my fucking life.

My Fucking Father was good for a day.  But then the snow came.  The storm, which a week ago was supposed to knock this area on our ass, then was going to swing a glancing blow because it was headed further south, punched us in the mouth -- a few more inches than I thought.

The contractor came early this morning.  Didn't matter; I was so tired after cashing in my free popcorn slip to watch Django Unchained last night I basically went to bed after I got home, so I had a good night's sleep.  I still didn't want to get out of bed at 9, even though I set my alarm for that time.

In retrospect I don't know why I just didn't get up at 9.  Maybe I just didn't want to.  But My Fucking Father decided I would be getting up, even though it was a bit past 9.  I heard him call up from the front door to My Mother to wake me up.  When she called for me, I told her I was already up, like that would mitigate or help things.

So My Fucking Father and I cleared the driveway even though it was still snowing.  That bastard actually got the snowblower working for the first time all winter.  Don't know how he did that, and this might be pride talking here, I don't think it was all that necessary because not only was there not enough to plow (even though estimates were greater than the meteorologists forecast), it's the powdery, low-moisture snow that fell.  Anyway, we didn't talk.  He didn't scowl or yell.  The only time he spoke to me was when I had to tell him the minivan was still running.

I wish things were well between us after clearing the driveway, but it's not, it never is.  I will guarantee you that within the next week My Fucking Father will come down on me about waking up early in the morning, and my fucking God, I can't goddamn stand it anymore.  I WORK GODDAMMIT, AND I WON'T WAKE UP EARLY JUST BECAUSE YOU FUCKING WANT ME TOO!!!  I'M NOT GOING TO LIVE MY DAY THE WAY YOU DO, BECAUSE YOU'RE A ASSHOLE, A CROTCHETY, DEAF ASSHOLE!!!  I think I'll go off if yells at me tonight, or tomorrow night, or the next night, or the next.

---

My whole fucking day was ruined.  I had a research study at the U. this afternoon.  Got a $15 gift card from Target for it.  These days, that counts as income.  And yes, I'm going to need to use it.

Needed to do something Saturday night, so I went all the way to the Electric Fetus in order to purchase a ticket to the North Star Roller Girls.  I bought a ticket to a concert last week, and just like then the store tacked on a fee of $1.50, therefore cutting the discount I got for paying in advance to, like, 49 cents.  Add gas for going all the way out to the record shop, and it was a wash, maybe.  Hell, why am I even shelling out money for this?  Can I afford it?

I went to Noodles And Company for lunch -- great food, but twice as much as I would pay at Mickey D's.  Then I got to the experiment.  Fifteen minutes later I was done, and I was, well, lost.  Went to the U. library to read magazines and forget my troubles.  And now I'm here.  I could look for jobs, but I did that all week anyway.  Such a bad day today.

---

I just want to be left alone.  Everything is bullshit, yet people won't just leave me alone.  I hate all of this.  I can't even do nothing without feeling bad about it.  Fuck all of this.

Goddamn, I thought I could be fuckin' angry at My Fucking Father for getting on my case this morning, but now I so fucking regret just not waking up and avoiding all of this. ...

Store Status Update

After I work I swung by The Store to dump some stuff into the dumpster for my parents as they're away.

I didn't know what to expect from The Old Lady itself.  They still go every day there, for a few hours at least, but I assume it's to dump shit like I did a couple hours ago.  So The Store could just be a weathered shell for all I know.

The verdict: They are going through cleaning stuff out, but The Store still looks somewhat like The Store the last time I saw it more than a month ago.  Walking up and down all three aisles, I saw that more stuff has been removed, mostly the food, although the housewares and plates on the main, left aisle have largely been left intact.  There's still lots of stuff in the back as well, and the most heartening moment when I stepped in for the first time was hearing the whirr of the last of the remaining four freezers still operating.

However, when I tried to light incense at the big Buddha close to the office (straight as the crow flies from the main door), I was shocked that it was gone.  Completely gone.  That thing has been there as long as I can remember.  It may have been there since Day One.  And now it's gone.  Did my folks take it with them to place in their retirement condo?

Also gone were the tapes my parents used to rent out.  They stopped that practice more than two decades ago, but I remember it being a very popular segment of The Store's business.  We had no barcodes or anything; instead Mother would take a huge notebook and write down which tape was being checked out, when, and to whom.  Yeah, a lot of the tapes were never returned.  Down in the basement there are (or were) many more tapes beyond the rows upon rows that my parents took from The Store years ago, so I assume that is my parents put them after taking them from The Store.

Seventy-five minutes and seven-plus boxes of Bai Ya-Ning leaves (I think that's how that's spelled; it's Thai) later, I was done.  And now I am fucking tired.  Too bad there will be no rest for this wicked man; I have to watch America's Next Top Model and Washington Week, and then I have to attend The Lovely Creatures cabaret show in their new digs, Bryant-Lake Bowl, for the first time ever.  And then I have to go to work at 9 in the morning.  Fuck me.

Visiting Grandmother In The Place She Will Die

So I visited her on ... Thursday of last week? I feel guilty for not visiting her sooner, but a combination of being too tired from work and being too self-absorbed with my own feelings of losing her (as opposed to her being kicked out of the house, which is the only thing that is important here) delayed me seeing her for two days. I gave myself the cop-out that Grandmother needed time to settle into her new digs.

My Fucking Father called the place she's in now like a "four-star hotel." Oh, St. Paul is definitely a seat of luxury. Just off a highway overpass and blocks away from a nursing home where my stroke-ridden uncle is housed, the parking lot is only three rows long, and it's housed in a spot that's far away from Summit Avenue. Is it dirt poor? No. But a "luxurious hotel" would be in a great area, and this is not a great area.

The thing that surprised me most about this assisted living nursing home is that it felt exactly like my dorm room from college. There's a central living room with a couch in the middle of the complex which is divided into two wings. In college it was between men and women; here, there's the "normal" wing and, what I found out just earlier this past Tuesday, the Alzheimer's wing.

I follow the turns to Grandmother's dorm room and knock. I had to wait awhile; My Fucking Father said she had made friends at the place, like it's fucking camp or something, so if he's telling the truth she'd be in another room braiding a girl's hair.

But after a couple minutes Grandmother opened the door. She hugged me. She never hugs me. She didn't hug me when I was a kid. The only time she has hugged me harder was when she was loopy on her pills that one morning and cried that I was the only person in this world who loved her. The loneliness she expressed that day I kind of felt when I saw her last week.

But then Grandmother asked me how did I get here -- "Did you fly?" Fly? What the fuck are you talking about? And then she asked me if I took a taxi here. She didn't know where she was, so I told her that she's about a half-hour away from the home she can no longer come home to. She later told me that she was whisked directly from the clinic that Tuesday morning to this place, and she had no idea where she was going. I understand that; I doubt she had ever been to this part of town besides the two times I took her to see my uncle. So I don't think it's dementia; it looks like My Fucking Father didn't care to tell her where exactly she was going.

This is a dorm room, not a hotel. But it's a pretty fucking big room, at least -- bathroom, shower (no tub), sink and mini-fridge (but no kitchen, lest Grandmother burns things on a stove), and a huge room with not one but two small closets. The bed that used to be mine was shoved into one corner, right next to the only window in her room, one that overlooks the beautiful parking lot and the expansive row houses that mark where the old money in the city was. Her desk (the one where the TV was) now sits to the side. The TV now sits atop the big dresser drawer, at the corner facing the foot of the bed.

When I was there Grandmother wasn't unpacked at all. My Fucking Father filled all her shit with garbage bags and gave them to her, but she hadn't taken them out yet. I want to think she was so depressed for being thrown in here that she didn't care if she ever took them out. She did say that she never used those clothes.

But as I was talking to her she was, for lack of a better word, planning to move in with her best friend, who now lives in a similar home but just mere minutes away from us. She had discussed this possibility before, but when I talked to her best friend she said there's no way in hell she'd take her in, for two reasons: 1) Her daughter lives with her and would forbid having another roommate, and 2) she doesn't ever want to see Grandmother's "boyfriend" again. (Have I talked about him? Maybe some other time if I haven't.)

She doesn't know how to even fucking turn on the TV, and if she ever would, she doesn't have an antenna or a converter box to watch anything, and even if she did, she says she doesn't watch TV anymore because it's ... well, she said something in Chinese that I didn't understand. So I was confronted with the image of Grandmother spending her waking day doing absolutely nothing. It certainly felt like it, being in there and seeing her in outside clothes (not her usually pajamas) that may have been the ones she was wearing when My Fucking Father dumped her here.

Is it dementia? Maybe it is dementia. During my hour-long talk with her Grandmother obsessed, again, about money. She had no idea how she was going to get it now that she was in a home; I don't think she knows that most her welfare money now goes to pay the rent. But maybe she didn't like it here and wanted to leave. She never wanted to leave home. So maybe that's why she hadn't unpacked; she was planning on going somewhere. Always thinking ... or slowly going senile.

Visiting hours are over at 9. She saw me out, but when I saw the nurse on-call, I got to thinking. She asked me if I had the number of her "boyfriend." I thought that my parents would be upset if I told him she was here -- he even called me that afternoon to ask where she went -- so I said no. But if the nurse could give him the information, then I wouldn't have been the one to tell Grandmother. So even though it was 9:15, I turned on my phone and called her "boyfriend." It seemed like a way to tether Grandmother to something familiar so she wouldn't feel so lost. It was pure comedy how I tried to tell him what was going on, then handing off my phone to the nurse so she could tell him the address, then him asking me what the address was. Idiot. But even though Grandmother started to talk too loudly into my phone, seeing her chat it up with her boo brought out the chatty Grandmother I know, far from the confused, quiet, bored and lonely one I spoke to in her dorm room.

That idiot "boyfriend" of hers said he'd be coming over, even though I told him visiting hours are over. But the nurse it was alright if it was quick, and I left Grandmother as he was waiting for him in the waiting room. Later, as I was at My Favorite Coffeehouse (Late-Night Division), I returned his call. He once again asked for the address and wanted to know directions. Fearing reprisals from my folks, I told him he was on his own.

---

I have decided that I will try and see Grandmother, for the time being, on Mondays and Tuesdays. That's when Dancing With the Stars is on, and at the very least I'll be able to spend time with her by watching the TV show we both watch anyway.

It's a bitch unplugging my antenna and converter box. My Fucking Father said he had one, but didn't. So I have this daily pain-in-the-ass to do twice a week for the next, oh, 2 1/2 months. But I've got to see Grandmother.

This Monday she was in better spirits. Not as happy as My Fucking Father continues to insist, I don't think, but she didn't seem to be as desperately relieved to see as she was that Thursday.

We didn't talk about money all that much while the show was on. The only thing she kept asking was whether she should close her checking account. I told her the same I always tell her when she keeps asking the same questions about her money: Don't worry about it.

However, she was unpacked. Whether or not she did it herself, or whether she she cares about the clothing she has put away, or whether she even wants to stay, is unclear. But it looks like her "plan" of moving in with her best friend is now out of the question.

---

Unbeknownst to me, my parents dropped by to see Grandmother Tuesday afternoon while I was at work. Actually there were still more things they wanted to give her, including a reclining chair.

But I didn't see her in her room. I saw her door ajar, so I just went in and set the TV up. I guess you can do that in this old folks' home.

When I came out of the bathroom I saw, of all things, her "boyfriend." He was here? Doing what? He just came in too, and he was looking for Grandmother. The administrator at the front door pointed us to the Alzheimer's wing, where she was sitting, happy as a clam, watching TV in the communal area. I tried to communicate to her that she could watch DWTS in her room too.

When we finally went back, she sat down on the chair, happily. I had to ask her if she was as happy as My Fucking Father obnoxiously continues to say she is. "I'm not happy, but I'm OK," she said, "It's best that I come here because your parents kept yelling at me."

That I understand. That isn't being happy going into assisted living; that's being relieved of the daily stress of being told the people who house you don't like you. Big difference between the two.

So at the very least I think My Fucking Father is exaggerating how Grandmother feels put into a nursing home, and he does so because he's justifying his feelings of throwing her out. So he is, largely, lying. Then again, I say this because I might be justifying my feelings of regret and loneliness. Because it isn't quite the same house as it was before she was kicked out. It's weird, but I kind of miss her bothering me and asking me questions and doing things that make me question her state of mind. Maybe she isn't as upset and unhappy as I want her to be by this move.

---

Oh, by the way, as she apparently had her outlook change now that she's found the communal TV, on this Tuesday visit she muttered to both me and her "boyfriend" the following comment: "So, this is the place where I'm going to die?"

Stuff I Notice Re: Changes

Woke up around 9:30 this morning. Went out to the living room. My parents' minivan was still there.

Normally -- huh, look at me saying normally; what's normal anymore? -- they'd be out and out of there by 7:30, 8 at the latest. Now they're sleeping in longing than I am.

They've just stopped caring, haven't they?

---

That reminds me: Last week Mother wanted my help accessing her Gmail. We were in her "office." I remember there being reams of paper, accounts and invoices, and the desktop calculator was right in the middle of everything.

Now? Virtually empty. No papers and desktop calculator is off to the side.

---

Grandmother looks so depressed this morning. When I left she was at the dining room table, porcelain coffee cup in front of her, feet up on the table, staring out to the back deck. She hasn't colored her hair in a while, so the gray is climbing up the strands of her hair.

She knows she's powerless to stop getting thrown into a home.

---

I was getting Grandmother her insulin syringes from the refrigerator this morning. When I open it up, I see there is nothing there. It looked empty. And very, very sad.

It looked like my parents just cleaned out the fridge of all the things Grandmother bought. I know we don't eat anything she buys, but I know Grandmother does that because she wants to feel useful. With them constantly reminded her they're going to ship her out, I think she's not going to buy things anymore. They just removed the purpose in her life out of her, for good.

Walked Into A Closed Store

I wanted to help out at The Store, even if I got there at a quarter to 2, a bit later than I planned. But when I got there and used my key to open the door, I saw that it was closed. No lights were on and the front door was locked, though not padlocked. The lottery sign was still on, so I think Father was planning to come back.

With us being closed, I decided my stay could be short. All I did was check my lottery tickets and tape the copy of the insurance cards to the Mayo Clinic ream of applications. I was there, oh, 20 minutes before leaving.

It is the second time this has happened. The first time was Wednesday. I did the same thing, check my lottery tickets and go. Then I was on my way to the U.'s MRI tube ... but not before hitting My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version). Which reminds me that I need to do another Expenses Without Receipt blog post.

I am not too worried about The Store closing after this. For one reason, being able to open the door into it makes me feel like we still own it. And second, I helped out Thursday, and Father needed help using the lottery machine to order more ticket stock. Now why would The Store need more ticket stock if it were to close?

The Final Signs Of The Death Of The Store

My plan to go home immediately after the U. and clean out the fridge instead of my original plan of helping out at The Store was flipped on its head in one phone call: Father, who, luckily, called me in the early morning when I was actually awake, told me he forgot his cell at home and, if I was up and about, to bring it to him. That meant, at best, I had to do both The Store and The Fridge today.

While standing there, tabulating my expenses for December 2011 and reading a year-old City Pages, I look up and to the right. Against the other side of the front side of The Store, right next to the front door, are some shelves. They used to -- used to -- hold stuff. But the top one ... well, I don't quite recall, but it seemed a lot emptier than the last time I noticed it. And I shuddered.

All thoughts that I was thinking things that actually weren't there was dispelled when Father came up to the front with a ladder. He needed my help bringing things down from the tops of the walls. There were decorative ... um, paintings for lack of a better word all around The Store. I know they haven't been there the whole time, but I barely remember a time when they weren't there. In other words, these decorations have been up for a long time. And Father took the occasion of having his second-born son around to finally bring them down.

When it was over -- it took about a half-hour and he wasn't done before he decided to stop -- I looked up at the walls. They were up there for a long time, and we certainly didn't wash the walls. So seeing these bright, clean rectangles outlined by years of dirt and incense smoke is another stark sign.

Later, a couple came in, a mother and daughter. The mother recognized me from way back; "I remember you when you were this little!" she said, pushing her hand down, palm down, indicating the size I was the last time we met. I did not recall her at all.

Father helped her get medications from the cabinet, which is right next to the front door. That's when he said something really chilly. This mother wanted to grab a lot of medicine, but he tried to limit what she wanted to buy. Well, turns out it was what she wanted to take: "Be careful -- this isn't ours to sell anymore."

Sell? Anymore? What do you mean? The Store is ours. Then I thought that I had to deal with impending sale and closing of The Store. Now you're telling me that it's already happened? Are we now mere caretakers of The Store? We're interlopers in our own business?? I'm a stranger in a place that I've known all my life???

The daughter later clued me in because I had this puzzled look on my face: Father apparently told her mom to come on down and take what she wanted, even though now he's backpedaled and is all "wait-wait-wait!" to the mother now. From what I gather -- assuming it's true -- he has already inventoried all the things in The Store for, I guess, the new owner, and anything that isn't there by the time the new owner moves in has to be accounted for.

I am as indignant about what I guess is happening as I am sad. I guess it's business, and I have resigned myself long ago to the fact that I'm taking this much harder than my parents are (and that they don't care about this, about The Store or anything else, for that matter), but a lot of shit just caved in on me on my stay at The Store today. I saw both a physical sign and overheard a financial transaction proving, with increasing surety and proximity to my world, that The Store is no more.

What has been a rock in my life, in my family's life, is going away soon. And I still can't get over it. I'm sorry, but I can't.

And the worst part about this is that I need to go back to it, to this scene of profound sadness for me, tomorrow. For The Store. And because I don't know how much time I have left with it.

Have That Unsafe And Insecure Feeling Again

So I turn off the TV because Channel 4 is doing the sports, and I already know that the ViQueens and the Mild and the Goofers men's basketball team all lost -- just realized that once again, tonight we are Loserville, USA -- and Rosen's Sports Sunday hasn't come on yet. It'll be on in less than ten minutes, but I needed total darkness because of the gut-punching news that my parents really don't have any money anymore.

So I'm in my bed, waiting for it come on (it's very informative) but not really minding if I just pass out. Unconsciousness is my escape from reality, and even though getting drunk or high might make me feel better, passing out at least doesn't cost me anything.

I felt kind of like this once before. It was near the end of my last full-time job, temping for Xcel Energy. I had grown to like it: It was late at night, perfect for a night owl like me, I liked the people I worked with, and I felt productive. The only thing that bothered me about the job since my first day was the sword of Damoclese of the impending end of the department. I don't know when news of its demise began, but it seemingly started at some infinite point before I got the job, like the beginning of the Big Bang.

I lived with it for two-and-a-half years. At some point I figured, Well, if it's gone on this long, how can this department end? So, since I had this full-time job long enough, I started treating it like a full-time job, and not a temp job that could end at any time.

Well, near the end of my tenure there, either late 2005 or 2006 or 2007, more news began to trickle in. They really were going ahead with plans to install this new machine, and therefore our duties in the department were going to change. But it wasn't hard to see the writing on the wall; this contraption would be able to do much of the things we were doing now, and faster. There was no need for all of us there. The day or reckoning was nigh.

Despite everybody saying, "Oh, don't worry about it," I did. I'm not stupid, I knew what was going to happen. So either because I was depressed or I wanted to make sure I got a full eight hours in every day because I didn't know when the checks would stop coming, I let my production sag.

Unfortunately, Xcel was a company who kept track of performance. We would have these monthly printouts of how many checks we went through. I was pretty good for most of my time there, but till the end my supervisor showed me my inexplicable downturn and added this ominous note: "These stats are surprising, and not what I've come to expect from you, but these are the stats."

I knew what was coming next, but I didn't think I could keep my job there even if I did continue to do well. What hurts -- what still hurts to this day -- is the last working day of the year. Little did I know when I wished everybody a Happy New Year, or when I checked next year's calendar for possible days off, would I be called by the temp agency later that morning, a couple hours after work, and told I was canned. It may have been because of my lack of production. To this day I still believe they planned to fire me that day and not tell me. That still pisses me off. None of my goddamn co-workers or supervisors there had the fucking decency to tell me to my face, right in the middle of the holiday season, I was going to be let go.

---

Meanwhile, I had been feeling really sad at my other job, ushering at the theaters in downtown Minneapolis. There was this one cunt who was a floor captain, and she had always been rude to me. No one liked her; shit, she still works there and I bet no one still likes her. But around the time of the end of my full-time job I had one or two major blow-ups where she was a real bitch to me and I let her have it.

The second time I had to talk to my supervisor. He was a really nice guy, but after I told him my grievances and how my life was going, he told me he was loathe to take away a job from someone who hadn't outright demonstrated she shouldn't have it, i.e. she didn't choke a customer out during a performance of The Lion King.

When we left after the meeting, we shook hands outside the front door. He told me to think about it, and that he would grant my request for a leave for the rest of January. I never have told him, but because he didn't give me the answer I sought, that was going to be the last time I shook hands with him, or ever worked for him, or even ever stepped into one of those theaters.

I feel kind of bad for what I did next. Because I was filing for unemployment, I couldn't tell him I quit. But then again, I didn't want to come back because that bitch was still working there. So every month before I knew he started working on the schedule, I would call his number up in the middle of the night (to avoid talking to him personally) and say I need the next month off. I knew he was going to be nice about it, and I knew that would let me keep collecting my checks.

I did that for, oh, ten months. Finally, around December of 2006 or 2007, he sent me a letter saying that I was terminated. Hopefully he wasn't mad, and I really do hope that he doesn't feel I jerked him around. Really, he's a great guy. I am just disappointed that he didn't act like a boss when he needed to and fired somebody who deserved it.

---

OK, so, the bed. It was around this time where I would be lying in my bed, either at night before going to Xcel or the morning after coming back, and I would be trying to figure out life and where I'm going next and what do I want to do and what I am doing here. Life shit, you know? And every single time my heart would race and I would sigh and I would feel chest pains because I could not come up with an answer. What I could count on is lying perfectly still and hoping I would doze off. I would spend no money doing that, and I would have no worries while asleep. I remember telling my best friend my troubles over a voicemail around Christmastime: "I just want to lay down in my safe, secure bed and not do anything. That's the only time nothing bad happens." Or something like that. Buddha bless them, he and his wife were so worried that a) he told me in a voicemail to me that he loved me and b) they actually came around the house to see how I was.

Well, that's how I was feeling a couple hours ago. All I wanted to do was have the power of rest take me over and help stiff-arm my demons till tomorrow.

But this time is different. This time, Grandmother isn't acting too well. This time, my parents don't have the financial security I could take for granted. I imagine my safe, secure sleep being interrupted by Grandmother's loud goings-on in the kitchen, or the sense of dread that my folks can no longer afford to keep the roof above my safe, secure, cozy bed.

I'll be frank with you: I'm a pussy. I've always felt somewhat unsafe and insecure. I'm pretty sure I felt this way when I was young. But, at least looking back, those worries were those of a child who didn't understand the world, and therefore thought his problems were insurmountable. That kid didn't know the world of pain he would grow into, and he didn't understand that things could get so, so much worse.

Yes, I acknowledge that I could be acting irrational, even paranoid, now. Maybe I'm blowing things all out of proportion. But what I know is that, right now, at this very moment, I am sitting next to my bed, the one thing that, at the end of the day, felt as good and as warm and as permanent as any material thing in my life. I could get inbetween the sheets and, at the very least, feel like I have a shield against all the bad things that plagued me. I may not defeat them, but I had something on my side that could hold them back.

Now, not that I think it has betrayed me or anything, but now I don't feel that safe and secure in my bed anymore. My troubles aren't going to go away just because I can fall asleep. And that makes me really, really sad.

Today At The Store

Today at the store, Father mopped the floor. And I saw a bunch of feather dusters, at least the feather duster paper wrappers, in the dumpster.

And in my hour of "working" there, no customer came.

I took a quick glance up. I'm proud of the Old Lady. I wouldn't mind opening her up every day, even if no one would come in. Well, I felt that today, at least.

More ominous signs?

More Store Shenanigans

Yesterday I resolved to get to the store earlier, and I did -- at 1:30, by a half-hour. But after about 15, 20 minutes, My Father tells me to leave. He wants me to change our phone plan, but he says there's "no business" at the store, and he says I can leave if I want. I feel weird if I just ignored him and stayed. But I did have to change plans (by the way, I had enough time in the afternoon to drive out to a suburb to look through porn -- damn, I haven't done that in a long time!), and so I might as well leave at 1:45.

This week My Father didn't have to do anything in the back. Once again, this day I did not see anyone come in, even in my short time there. Maybe what he needed to do in the back, and thus necessitating someone to mind the front of the store, is done. One more connection to the store being severed as it closes.

Look, I don't want to work at the store. But, I want to help My Father. And I want to make sure we ring out the store on a good note. I will go down with this ship! And I'm sorry if my tardiness conveys the message that I don't want to be there. My intention is to be there; I just feel kind of ... oogy being there. Don't push me away, Father. I hate being pushed away, not at the moment the store needs support the most, not when I need the store the most. Why are you pushing me away?

Meanwhile, today Grandmother (completely forgetting that I bitched her out the night before) was gossiping again. She told me that Mother told her (I think, either she told her or Grandmother just overheard her talking to Father) that they have no money. I hope Grandmother's wrong. Because I don't need to hear that the family is now poor. I can't deal with that after hearing the store's closing.

Trying To Be A Good Host

So my friends are here.  Well, I know them through my sister and brother-in-law.  I met them in Zurich last year, and they told me that they'd be roadtrippin' throughout the States this year.  I didn't think they really would do it, but I'll be damned, they did.

They told me about a week ago that they're getting close, but I've been in a tizzy all day since they texted me that they'll be in town.  How do you show two people you barely know around a city you barely know?  We went out to the Taste of Minnesota, and they seemed to like it, but what about tomorrow?  And what about Sunday?  Will there be a Sunday itinerary, or will I send them on their way?  And would it be rude by me to send them on their way?  I don't know.  Hosting's hard.

I'm not getting any help from my parents.  Upon seeing them and the RV on the driveway, Mother called me twice to tell me to ask them if they wanted any pop and if they wanted to use our bathroom and shower.  And My Fucking Father did the same thing tonight, except that he added the put-down, "You have to be nicer."  Fuck you, you're the one who made their friend feel bad about himself, I'm not bringing them into the house so you can treat them like shit, you asshole.  I'll host them the way I want to host them; you go lie down on your TV and watch Chinese movies until you pass out, like you do every day.

Next thing you know, he'll invite them in for dinner.  Which, come to think of it, I'm afraid, isn't a bad idea.

Like I said, hosting's hard.

RIP, Brookdale

Before the Mall of America, the main malls in the Twin Cities area were the "Dales," each of them taking one quadrant of the metropolis. Southdale, in the south quarter of the Cities, is the first fully-enclosed mall in the United States. There is also Rosedale, which takes the eastern portion, and Ridgedale, which gets the western part.

In the North there is Brookdale, but from the looks of it the last two times I went there, not for long. I went there to see if I could get a bite to eat a couple months ago and I was shocked at how empty it was. I needed a second visit this afternoon to confirm, and believe it or not it was even emptier.

The directory is a joke; 90% of the stores listed there are gone. This reminds me of another visit to a ghost mall, Apache Plaza, I took about 15-20 years ago. I never thought I'd see another place so huge fail in attracting any business. But now there's Brookdale.

It's not a bad-looking place; major renovations were made in six years ago. But there is no one, and I mean no one, taking advantage of it. Walking back and forth from one end to the other, I counted, get this, eight stores in the mall. Total. Of those, the GNC was packing up their inventory right in front of me; Payless Shoes and one mom-and-pop jewelry store were having huge clearance sales, meaning they're gone very soon; and the in-store photo place had a sign announcing it was moving to Northtown, soon to be the only viable mall in the North Metro.

That means there are only four stores that, as far as I can tell, aren't getting the fuck out of Dodge immediately. One of them is a clothing store that doesn't even have a sign up, so I don't know what the fuck's going on with them. If not for the Champs Sports, Foot Locker and, of all things, the only Sears within miles of my house, Brookdale would be completely dead. For now, it's in a long-term coma.

It's sad. When I was young, going to this mall was pretty special, as opposed to going to Northtown, which my brother and I were taken to so many times. When I got my license, an early goal of mine was trying to get to Brookdale by myself. I had gone there regularly as a high schooler, and I would enter through the same entrance when we were taken there by Grandmother and our aunt: The Dayton's anchor store, where we'd breeze through and look for jeans but never buy them. Several years ago there was a Greek restaurant that had these very salty but to-die-for french fries I would eat, and there was a Barnes & Noble I would go to when I was burned out at the one closest to my house.

I don't know why exactly, but the exodus began with the departure of Mervyn's and JC Penney 6, 7 years ago and it has accelerated since. The presence of the Megamall is not an issue because they're on opposite sides of the metro area. There are newer suburbs and white flight going on, but that's in areas about 15-20 minutes away. The area is getting a little poorer and shadier, but there are still people who live in the area. That it could be seen as transforming into an urban enclave in the suburbs, and thus not a desirable place to put a chain store within the city's strip mall, is the only reason I can think for Brookdale dying.

But dying it is, and like I say, it's breathtaking. With the close of the Vietnamese restaurant, there is nothing in the food court -- nothing. And not only is the Dayton's store gone, the entire wing of Dayton's -- which comprises half the damn mall -- is completely vacant. There were huge signs on walls fronting some wings of the mall that said "More Shopping Ahead" -- uh, I don't think so.

I was virtually alone in this empty wing. Around where there used to be a play area now stands a pair of forlorn benches. For a second I thought of sitting down for a bit and reflecting on a life wasted, but I concluded that would be redundant. Nevertheless, a stroll through here was as empty as my soul.

It really is a shame. I could see the mom-and-pop clothing store, Champs and Foot Locker all closing. And since there has to be a satellite building somewhere, Sears could easily move out. Leaving Brookdale, a mall that opened 48 years ago, a place I once saw teeming with wonder and humanity, officially, instead of virtually, extinct.

I'm Feeling Very Unstable Tonight

It all started with the snowstorm last night.  I wasn't able to start the snowblower for some reason.  Moreover, the shovels were in the padlocked shed in the back ... and I misplaced the key.

Called my parents.  Father was beyond pissed.  When he came home, he completely ignored me and just took a shower.  Mother told me he was absolutely livid coming home.  I went outside and the snowblower finally worked; I just had to plug it in a little longer.

At dinner, I started to apologize when My Fucking Father finally erupted: "I hate people who are stupid and lazy!"  He didn't know the claim forms and computer set-up I did for him.  But he's violent this way.  Mother tried to calm him down, but he hasn't spoken to me since.  One simple fucking mistake. ...

Tonight, while trying to get the old computer to work, Mother came in and started peppering me with questions about my health insurance -- "Got your checkup yet?"  "Have you seen a doctor?"  "Been to the dentist yet?"  If I wasn't concentrating on the computer, I would've been able to lie and say I have.  But I didn't.  She told me that renewal for my insurance comes up in April and I need to do it before that comes up, just in case.  She even volunteered to set up the appointments for me.  Mother meant well, but after the shit that happened last night, it felt like she was ridin' my ass, too.

There's always this weight/noise in my head, wherever I go.  It might have come on the last few years because of my lack of unemployment/direction, but it's heavy and large nowadays, and it was pounding and incessant earlier tonight.  I was facing a cold, cold winter and the prospect of running into a wall of ... nothing.  Nothing I wanted to do in life (still), yet nothing if I do do something.  There was nothing to look forward to.  There still isn't.

As self-defense in case My Fucking Father really flipped out on me tonight, this afternoon I took one of the knives and put it underneath my pillows.  If he ever dared bust through my bedroom door and come after me, I would have a weapon on me.  And at the very least I would have a chance at defending myself.

I Got My Revenge ... And Then I Felt Empty

I was driving to the airport to pick up my parents.  I was using the minivan because the oil level light on my sedan kept popping on and I was scared.  The minivan's check engine light stays on, and the seat belt light keeps blinking, but my parents assure me that it's been that way for months and everything seems to be fine.

And it was.  Sure, it's an unsexy working van, but it hauls ass.  In fact, it accelerates faster and smoother than my luxury car (even though it is seven years older than my parents' van).  I knew this when a white Cadillac cut in front of me without turning its turn signal on while we were on the highway.  I've usually let this slide, but for some reason, this crossed a line.  This car didn't do anything particularly bad to me; it's not like the driver gave me the finger, and there have been many other cars that cut me off much closer than this one did.  Because I felt more confident in a better car or that I had enough, it took me a couple minutes of seeing this goddamn car continue to zoom away from me -- to get away with what it did -- for me to say to hell with the increased police presence over Thanksgiving Weekend and chase this fucker down.  I'll have time to brake, and besides, my parents will understand.

So I take the minivan up to 70, then 80, then 85.  Holy shit, this van can buck!  And buck well!  None of the cars were suddenly braking or slowing down, so the coast was clear of the po-po and I was free to track down the car that wronged me.  It took a little while for me to match her speed, then exceed it.  About five minutes and three miles later, I caught up to her; she had what looked to be a South Dakota license plate.  I was prepared to remember it in case I remember to report her online to the state.

Then, she signaled -- oh, now he signals! -- and moved over to the right.  You afraid of me, bitch, huh?  You afraid of me?  Then I realized; I won.  I just won!  She knew I was the car whom she cut off, and she gave up because she knew she lost!!  Yes!!! ... wait.  Maybe she wanted to slow down because she didn't know where she was going.  Or maybe she just decided to slow down at that point regardless.  You know, maybe she was absentmindedly cutting people off because she zoned out, and now that she's snapped out of it, she (or he) started to drive more like a grown-up.  If this person really wanted to be an asshole, he (or she -- never caught the gender of the driver) wouldn't've moved out of the way.

And now what I thought was my triumph, a very rare case of road rage justice where no one got hurt, has now made me feel empty.  The driver wasn't acting pissed off or bitter, he or she didn't submit once I caught up to him or her.  He or she appeared to do his or her own thing without regard to how it affected me.  It's not right what the driver did.  But there's no way to communicate how that made me feel, not when the person just decided to stop being an asshole and started driving at a normal speed.  This person stopped road ragin' at his own choosing, thus denying me my revenge.

I guess I can take solace in returning the dusting.  I kept driving between 65 and 70 while this white Caddy seemed to disappear in my rearview mirror.  And I needed every one of those seconds I made up driving at subsonic speed; I got to the airport less than ten minutes before I saw my 'Rents coming down the escalator.

Empty As My Soul

Went to the store to pick up my parents to go to the airport.  It was empty; no customers were there.  Now, the store isn't exactly jumping these days, but there was a creepy stillness there.  My parents keep saying business isn't good anymore; feeling this isn't a good sign, and it makes me scared.

After dropping them off at MSP I do what I usually do after I drop them off at MSP: I go hang out at the Mall Of America.  It was dead there, too.  It is a holiday, but this is the last weekend before the kids go back to school, and it's the death of summer, so there have to be people who want to shop.  Not so; the entire mall was about half as crowded as I thought it would be.  Where did everybody go?