So many on-going sagas, so little time.
Well, ‘saga’ is too grandiose a word. Beowulf’s a saga. The Odyssey is saga. Bowermanland is more a melodrama, that’s not even that mellow.
Since my Mum was diagnosed with Cancer in 2015 I’ve been living in a building site. Every time I think that I’m near having a house to live in, another room has to be done.
In the above you see I use ‘I’ and ‘I’ve’ rather than the ‘We’ that means Dad and I. Why have I changed this? Because the shit state of the house actually affects me more than him, and because it’s not my house and I have no money – which means I have no power over my environment.
I am very picky about certain things in my built environment: colour and texture are the main ones. Every room that has been renovated since 2015 has been an agony because of these two items. I decided I would not have this happen with the current, tiny room, project. I’ve gone along with everything my Dad wants. But the curse of Bowermanland has struck just as it would were I being picky and difficult. Trying to find a very pale creamy/ peach paint that won’t swamp the second smallest room of the house has been very difficult. We went to buy a colour we used before – but the formula has changed and it was like someone took my foundation and rubbed it on the wall. The swatch in the catalogue, on the tin and in the shop showed the palest whisp of colour, but in reality it was like mud. We had trips to multiple shops to get testers – nothing was easy. We don’t live in a small house, but I don’t think any of the rooms would be large enough to carry the lightest of the ready-mixed mass-produced paints we tried.
Whoooaaaah a break
The one where she get’s randomly sick
Yeah, in the middle of regaling you with the *exciting details* of house decoration I started to feel ill. 8 Days later I’m a year older and finally out of bed. The room is painted, we found a colour, it was difficult as fuck. But there again everything is difficult as fuck for me. It really is. Bending over, cooking, washing. Everything is fucking difficult. I had an ENT infection – my regular sore throat becomes bunged up face, becomes sore ears and then cough. But earlier than usual. The positive side to this is the hallucinations and lack of pain. Being sick, having fevers, takes pain away for me. I know I’m ill in the brief minutes between feeling my usual awful and blowing green shit from my nose where I notice all the pain has gone and I’m feeling a bit clammy. Oh, I get jaw and sinus pain from the infection, but everything else fucks off. But I’m too ill to do anything. There I am, feeling pain-free, but I can’t breathe, can’t even lift up a pen or my feet. I have great dreams and odd visions and I feel peaceful and happy. Fuck it. I wish they’d find a drug that makes you feel like the halcyon period of a cold.
I went to Marble Hill House the day before I got sick. I’ll write about it another time.
More Buster Keaton (from The Cook)