Goodbye, ZLC

Yesterday, my zippy little car (ZLC) reached a crisis point. Something broke inside which would wind up costing a significant portion of a new car.

I love my ZLC. My tiny, bright orange Mitsubishi Colt. I loved how I could just cruise into tight spaces or manouvre like a dream with it.

I’ve had it for ten years. That’s a long time for any piece of technology.

It was the most expensive birthday present I ever had. The most useful, too. My ZLC was freedom incarnate.

But, because maintaining my ZLC will henceforth cost us more for less, in a cardboard boots kind of way (for more on the boots economic theory, read Terry Pratchett’s _Guards! Guards!_) my ZLC must be traded in for something newer and cheaper to maintain.

It’s sad, but that’s the way it has to be.

I’m going to miss it, and not just because I’m now inheriting my hubby’s big blue landbarge. I’m going to miss everything it was to me and all the fun I had with it.

So if you want a nice, second-hand car, look for a little, orange Mitsubishi Colt with a few little dents and a vaguely swampy smell in the carpeting. They’ll probably remove the bumper sticker that reads, “Shoot. Loot. Skin. Cook. Dedicated camper.” because bumper stickers don’t sell cars.

Give it a good home. I loved it, but I have to let it go. It meant a lot to me, and I know it will be the best car ever for someone else.

Because it already has been.

Feckin’ entropy

It’s Friday. Five days into Sore Footsville. The sink is full of dirty dishes. The countertop is full of dirty dishes and filthy pots and pans.

Laundry is piling up again. Debris is starting to gather on the floor.

I am physically incapable of doing a damn thing about it.

Hubby and Shiftless are working late every night. The only person I can rely on to do anything is Mayhem.

Mayhem’s 10. He’d much rather be tooling about with fun things than fartarsing around with boring old housework. Which is why it’s all mounting up.

I am feeling very, very incredibly useless. I’m broken.

Past time to pack me up and get a new housewife.

Four days until Valentines and I’m worse than useless. I can’t even welcome my hubby home to a clean house.

I can’t give him anything. He says he’s okay with that, but…

I know I wouldn’t be okay.

I have four days, less, to find something. Anything. That doesn’t end up making me a pack of worthlessness in his eyes. His eyes are where I find all my value.

Four days. And no feet.

Inevitable Entropy

Entropy is defined as the state in which things take the least energy to remain so.

Water follows the path of least resistance. So do electrons.

And, apparently, so does house-mess. It’s very simple to observe. Especially in a house containing at least one hoarder.

Five people live in our house. Only one cleans more than their own mess. When that one gets sick or incapacitated… Everything is left behind.

The “not mine” mess piles up. It gets in the road. It gets shifted about as stuff gets searched for. Things get mixed in that don’t possibly belong. Garbage bins overflow and get neglected. Rubbish mixes with stuff that should be kept. New stuff is bought to replace the old stuff that can’t be found for the ever-growing drifts of “not mine”.

And when the cleaner - in this case, me - can finally return to it all… It’s a daunting heap that intimidates them out of even starting.

And let me tell you, the last thing a recovering Designated Cleaner needs is to get back up to face a house full of weeks worth of hard work formed up into mess-mountains.

In my case, it can lead to depression that leads to me doing sporadic, token movements to at least keep the family in clean clothes, plates, cutlery and whatnot. And in the meantime it all gets deeper and more depressing.

Now that it’s currently all better, I’m deeply grateful for the help of Powerhouse. I am waiting on a hubby and Mostly Shiftless to finish what they started in Mayhem’s room - something that’s almost three weeks away.

My entire life is wobbling on the centre point of circumstances beyond my control, and I’m starting to deeply hate it.

I can’t do a lot. I can keep on top of the laundry. I can stay on top of the dish washing. I can keep the floor clear of debris. I can keep chugging along.

I can’t stop myself from falling into depressive funks because they never get anything done. But I can do the things that need doing.

Because nobody else will.

I’m tired of constantly fighting entropy on my own.

When

When we can look at another and not see their skin
Or their gender
Or their tattoos
Or their piercings
Or their hairstyle
Or their personal preferences
Or their politics
Or their social status

When we can talk to another and not argue
But accept
That everyone has a point of view

When we can see a task that needs to be done
And roll up our sleeves
And pitch in
Regardless of our own status
And get something done

When we can understand the needs of another
And offer what help we can

When we can stand up for what is right
Regardless of how much
It is going to cost
Or how hard
It is to do
Or how long
It will take to accomplish

When we can stand united against a great wrong
And defeat it
Just by being its opposite

When we live by what we say
Because it is right
And the right thing
To be done

On that day
We will have peace.

–Catherine Allan [Me]