July 25, 2011

Mother’s birthday.

I realize I have a large dose of what women complain about in men, of what the perfectionist complains about in the more casual soul– which is that I simply do not see things in my own environment which I am not specifically looking at. There’s a crop of large weeds growing out of my roof gutters which I saw, of course, but never marked. That sort of thing does not happen in this neighborhood– and yet, I never recall seeing anyone on their roof cleaning their gutters. I delight in my garden because I see the flowers, which I love, and not that chaos of grass and weed that surrounds them, This all must be a tribulation to my neighbors, and proof of eccentricity which I would never credit in myself. My house looks like a big dorm room and not like the dwelling of an adult, and I don’t really know what to do about that, except throw everything away and buy new things that match. I replaced doors and windows years ago now, but never painted them. I simply don’t notice the bare wood, or rather like it if I do. I’m seeking a larger house and larger property (in a half-assed sort of way) and yet nobody looking at this place would suspect I have the ability (or the will) to take care even of what I have.