200th Post: Living on my own.

My family is in Utah. It is the Mormon Mecca. And thus they travel, almost yearly, to visit relatives and see the same sites they see each time. I recall this being at least their third trip as a family for 2007, although some have a greater tally. I, conveniently, had to work. I would have declined a visit, even if it were possible. I find the slow degeneration of my grandparents uncomfortable, and, as much as I know I shall regret it someday, relinquish the opportunities to spend time with them. They've always been far off, having adventures in Washington and Europe, and my childhood was past by the time they became accessible. I can only recall 3 instances when they've come to visit us here in Oregon: Once in the mid-ninties, shortly after Ethan's birth, and for my Eagle Court of Honor. They don't really know me, and I them. But I know enough to know what they'd want and expect: things I can't present. My grandfather is a stoic man, a cold man of the Cold War. Conversations, even (or perhaps especially) those made in transit, are tense. The truths he knows about me are fading. He does not understand "the jazz" and I don't even play anymore. I was the third grandchild, from the parents they didn't think were going to make it, on shores too distant to visit. They'd ask me when I would serve a mission, I'd give a non answer. They'd ask me about music, tell me to be nicer to my siblings. They might ask about my plans, ambitions, of which I have none. I might be able to carry a conversation about current events for a while, but I am one of those damned, baby-killing liberals. World events are filtered through the lens of a former spy in East Germany and ambassador for him; a podcast and flicker set for me. The world has changed.

So I have the house to myself this weekend. It is wonderful! They were gone Thursday night and I was able to sleep in late for my evening shift at the Robin Hood Festival. Of course, it is quite perilous. My family is incredibly slothful, and I am no exception. I am also left to fend for myself, foraging and such. I also have to set my own bedtime, which Robin Hood through off. Mostly, it's been leftovers and other microwavables. The problem isn't that I will eat significantly worse than ordinarily, but simply much less. I forget that I need to eat, and will run my tank to empty, or will snag a stray granola bar to stave hunger off long enough to not only complete my current task, but become preoccupied with the next. Also, I drink way more Mountain Dew than usual and have run out.
My family made the grievous error of leaving the house a mess and will find it in greater disarray when they return, their clutter compounded my disinclination to clean their messes to such an extend that repulsion may exclude their completion in the foreseeable future. A prime example is the cat's food. For some time, my sister has neglected to feed the cat in a timely matter, in fact relying on it's prompting to usurp both her negligence and obliviousness, two fields in which she excels beyond compare. Coupled with this intermittent diet are likelyhoods of antifreeze poisoning and old age that create a very decrepit cat. Anyways, she never bothers (and though not likely her doing, she will receive the blame regardless) to remove the cat's dishes after the cat has finished. Now there are maggots in one of the dishes and trails of ants speckle the floor. My solution has been to close the door in a simple act of quarantine. I take full responsibility for the gnats around the sink, but I only feed the cat on plates, which maggots fall off of. Clearly I have no fault in this matter. And the flies are merely members of nature's recycling department: I praise their efforts!