February 3, 1999.

A couple days ago I was waiting for a subway train, when I became aware of the three escalator repair men to my right. They were all standing about in the guts of a busted escalator, leaning against this & that and looking the picture of the lazy union worker. But as I heard what they were talking about, I realized that I'd gotten my stereotype all wrong...for one was explaining with great confidence how the others could get more hits for their websites by ranking higher in search engine queries.

It was like I died and went to Microsoft commercial HELL.

I'm getting awfully tired of doing the scrub work around this here joint. Our labour division is pretty straightforward: we alternate everything. It's a great system in theory, and even if we have to give the other gentle reminders of duty, it seems to work out. Except when I get bugged by a situation and do it myself. And then do it the next week. And the next week. I don't think any garbage would've been removed to the curb this year if I hadn't done it. Last November, I was carrying a couple of bags to the curb when a mouse, which had apparently been sleeping in the bag, woke up and jumped away between my feet. Do you know what that's like first thing in the morning? It was even worse because I knew it would never happen to her...because she'd never take the damn garbage out in the first place.

The washroom trash overflows until I empty it twice a week. Stuff rots in the kitchen until I remove it. Dishes take over half the kitchen until the Boy or I clean them (he's an absolute angel about pitching in when he stays over). The bathroom sink crusts over until I clean it. I have yet to figure out recycling days for the neighborhood, and in the meantime our anteroom is filling up with newspapers and cans.

Stacy's admonition about keeping your earth in order so that you can work with the other elements is great to keep in mind, and has inspired me more than once in the last couple of days...but I didn't sign up to be her mother when I moved in, damn it.

Oh well. My fault for moving in with a neo hippie, I guess. Only three more months of venting to you, and then it's a whole new set of residential problems. Aren't you excited?

"Animals are crapping in our houses and we're cleaning it up! Did we lose a war?!"