Fog shrouded my sweet little home this morning. By afternoon a double rainbow arc'd o'er it. Watership Down is starting to come along. Most of the dead trees and overgrown shrubs have been removed and/or pruned. The sink, toilet, and shower work great. The filthy carpets have been carpeted away. And the majority of the windows are now see-through.
Today I took everything out of the bedroom and scrubbed the floor, walls, and ledges. I then re-placed the bed and dresser, and added the Victrola for good luck--romantically speaking. Electricity, in all the rooms, is still a problem, though, since I have none. The ancient wiring needs an electrical overhaul. I just paid $257 for some of the parts I'll need to do that job. . . . Here come those nibbly house expenditures. I received my first utility bill yesterday for $30. I forgot about those li'l buggers, too. Oh, well. It's worth it. I love this house! This house of fog and sand. . . . and suicide.
What a macabre ridiculous segue that was! Sorry. But I just learned some more Poe-etic (urk) trivia regarding the gruesome history of my tiny death cottage. As you may recall, the reason I may have acquired the house so cheaply was partially due to the fact that many locals were spooked, knowing that the previous owner had taken his life there, on the porch, with a .22 calibre pistol. Well, it turns out that the owner before him lost her husband by hanging, while she and he both lived in this same slaughter chamber. Damn, I'd better up my Zoloft intake immediately! Bad joke--I don't take anti-depressants (yet). Nor do I ever plan to complete any sort of suicidal trilogy. I just love to create morbid ghost stories to thrill and delight the wee people.
Truth be told, my little house wouldn't hurt a bug. It's a breath of fresh air, and a den of good vibrations. A loaf of honey-sweetened bread, and a patch of fresh rhubarb. Safe, cozy, & kind-hearted. My well-insulated friend.
No comments:
Post a Comment