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Monday, December 5, 2005

How long was my yard the dumping ground for the ex-gardenerís old clunker of a pickup? Four or five months, right? I should never have let it go on that long, but first his family told me they were going to take care of it, and later my landlord said he would handle it. Four or five months later, the sheriff came and carted it away.

Now I have a new problem, which I hope doesnít become a four or five month old problem in, say, four or five months. Someone has dumped the remnants of a decrepit baby crib at the entrance to my driveway. Itís a big pile of metal and wood, and it has now been there since either Saturday night or Sunday morning. It wasnít there when I got back from the post office Saturday afternoon, but when Tammy and Aiden came by Sunday morning, she told me about it.

And after telling her Iíd do something with it, I promptly forgot all about it, until I was leaving for the post office this morning. (On a side note, the main reason I have the company mail delivered to a post office box and not here is so that I have a reason to get out of the house at least once a day. Otherwise, I might be even more of a hermit than I already am.)

Itís not exactly in the way, and itís not exactly on my part of the property. I share the driveway entrance with the landlordís gigundis shed in the lot next door. The crib parts block his gate much more than they block me out of my driveway, so itís his problem. We all know how well he responds to problems. If he can get around it, or find another way onto the lot, that pile of junk will probably be there for four or five months.

4 December 2005

Gray-beige sky.

When I walked out to the mailbox this afternoon, I tried to move the pile a little more out of my way (and a little more into the landlordís way). I probably moved it all less than a foot, but as I said, itís not really blocking me out. Iíd hate to have a delivery driver think that he couldnít get into my driveway, especially at this sensitive time of year. Thatís the main reason I even tried to move it, but it was so heavy that I had to give up. Which I did. And now itís not my problem, any more than the gardenerís truck is my problem, wherever it ended up.

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I canít tell you what music I listened to today, but it was really, really good. (Iím going to buy the CD and give it to someone.) Iíll be making a list of all the secrets Iím keeping, to reveal at the appropriate time. Itís odd, though, that I can probably tell you about anything I read, hear or watch that I donít like, but anything thatís any good has to be a secret in case I want to turn it into a birthday or Christmas present.

For other journal recommendations, check out the links page.

One year ago: Queasy
"Iím just about ready to tell the Boss to take back his kennel and let me move to some place where the sun shines every day. Like Mercury, for example."

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