Monday, October 09, 2006

My room is the winter of my fucking begrudged discontent.

My face is covered in white gritty powder. My teeth, my hair, my eyelashes. My bed, my clothes, and all of my worldly possessions. My precious little black cat is now a sad withered grey. I am sitting in a toxic cloud waiting for it to settle, with a scarf pulled over my nose and mouth rendering me in the image of Pancho Villa (which according to some online survey is my celebrity soul mate, what the fuck?). My room looks like a nuclear wasteland; a crematorium after a busload of nameless bums comes in for their final checkout; the aftermath of a 100-year dormant volcano eruption. My room is the winter of my fucking begrudged discontent.

Funny thing. Shop-vacs are not as simple to use as one might think. I know what you are thinking now and fuck you. This is rocket science my friend. So, today, I decide I'm going to finish my room. A project like many projects, started when one moves into a new house, and it got dropped half finished about a month ago. Today was the day. Finish the drywall, rewire the attic nook, and finish the last remaining coat of paint. Even my horoscope was in my favor today:

GEMINI (May 21-June 21). A long and arduous project
will be worth it in the end. So get to the end. Keep going.
Don't quit until you get to the champagne pop and the
roar of the crowd.

Now tell me, how could you read this and not be inspired to finish a burden. Fuck yes I say to myself. Fuck yes.

Fuck no. I should have run for the hills at the first sign of trouble. I clean up a little, because my Dad is coming over and I don't want him to know what a slob I am, living in sin and whatnot. That was easy enough. So easy, in fact, that it occurs to me I should have done that a long time ago. Then, on to the drywall. It's almost finished. Just some sanding, then vacuuming, then painting and its complete. I turn around and look at this beast of a vacuum cleaner that's been lying in wait in the south corner of my room for a month. It's staring at me, challenging me. I swear I saw it wink at me. Brickshithousemotherfucker. I know that I don't know how it works. I should have called Dad to double check before I dive into it, but I think, "What the hell, how hard can it be?" I mean really what's the worst thing that could happen?

Come closer, no closer than that. Good. I'll tell you what can go wrong. So, I hook the hose to the side that says 'suck' (yep folks it was truly labeled suck and the other side blow). Easy. Piece of cake. I plug it into the outlet. Nothing wrong yet. Flip the 'on' switch. Golden. I proceed to vacuum the mound of drywall dust that I just sanded. It vacuums quickly and easily. Proud of myself for being so smart and good at things, I just kind of stand there for a minuet or two, with the vacuum cleaner still on (because to be honest, the roar on the motor makes me feel kind of powerful) admiring my good work. The space on the ground in front of my three-foot long drywall is probably cleaner than it has ever been. Success.

I bend over to turn off the vacuum. I notice something odd. The 'blow' nozzle of the vacuum has no covering. In fact, it seems to be blowing something right now. Hmmmm. I turn it off, still unalarmed and rather proud of my work. Well, now that it's off everything seems okay. Then I hear the saddest meow my cat has ever mustered. She is frozen in a pile of dust. I look around. Everything is. There hovers the cloud. "So that's what 'blow' does."

Yep, that's what blow does.

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