Apr. 23rd, 2017

vicarz: (Wild Buttercup)
Reading names on bridges or in a graveyard makes me ponder mortality. The people and things I care about will vanish - many before I do, most soon after. The best possible success is getting your name on a rock...but the name says nothing about me as I think of myself. It sounds sad, but it's also kind of a relief. If nothing I do matters, then I may as well drink and play games.
Afterthought: writing can impact for generations.

Reality? I was in the graveyard to catch pokemon. I mean V wanted to go and I went, but I was totally hoping for more magickarp.

This line of thought bothers me. I see multi-generational family success as next to impossible but a laudable goal. Who doesn't want their blend of human soup to keep going? How many times can you achieve things, enjoy things, before it doesn't matter? How many hours of television do you watch after you find out you have 6 months to live? How many before that? Why do you feel socially connected when you experience a recorded story? How disconnected am I when I watch and know so many mainstream cultural guideposts?

Don't mistake this post for angst. I really like the nothing matters idea. Things may be going to hell, or getting better slowly with nasty pendulating rhythm, but I feel obligated to do good things. If nothing matters, I can watch tv from my couch or write this post.
vicarz: (Pikacutie!)
First house post in dreamywidth. Last night the latino apt building across the way had another party in the backyard complete with sound system and tent. This time they didn't wrap up until after 1am. The kids were playing futbol in the alley at least until midnight. It was adorbs. Also, it happened. Either nobody called the cops, nobody minded, or the cops didn't care? I could be mad but instead this makes me happy. I may not have been invited but I was happy to be nearby or part of the hood that made it possible.

Friday I was nervous because by my early lunch hour of 11, there was no sign of a HVAC guy. I knew he had cashed my check because the bank called me
* I thought the guy was black, and was worried that they called me because he looked stereo-typically suspicious. However, it was odd to cash a check at my bank in this day and age, and I think the bank-caller was black. However the guys (2) who showed up were white.
However he did show up and Jordan texted he'd be there after to install drywall to mount wall units.

I checked it out with V yesterday, and indeed - a full HVAC system was installed in the basement. I'm no expert, but there are wall units near the ceiling of the liv/din/kit room thingy and the bedroom, with visible insulated lines going to a (condensor?) in the back yard perfectly beside the window well under the porch. Each wall unit has drain lines sloped slightly down to new holes in the front and back wall.

So inspections are allegedly scheduled for Mon and Tues. If HVAC passes, I think it's just framing and then wall-in shortly thereafter. Elec passed on the basement (though the guy put it on "whole house") and plumbing was done for whole house (and seems to be ok / standing).

I think I'm getting communications when the contractor feels like it, but with this movement I"m not really worried about it.

Also, V is starting to like the place (downside, she is annoyed by my never finished and rarely touched clutter - I need to work on it but I'm busy leveling my euro-diablo characters in season 10) (!). But me...it's becoming home. The condo - I can reach out when I stand in it and think of all the memories I have there, like I did in the old one.
That's. A lot. Of Sex. (we all measure life in different ways)
But this place is feeling like home. I mean really home, and really really feel like home.

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