9-23-99 Th 9:20 PM
I'm at the Memorial Branch Library across from LA High on Olympic and Rimpau. I had to leave the house because we had a short circuit, and I was afraid I was going to blow a fuse. Shirelle seems to think she needs a desk and office space now that she's standing-in again. We all know the high level of personal planning and at-home organization being a stand-in requires. First, she took the patio table out of the backyard and moved the kitchen table to the middle of the kitchen and put the patio table where the kitchen had been. It was surprising to see her fall to such levels of tackiness, she, for whom looks and decoration are everything. I told her, now that interior decoration weren't important anymore, I would be moving my weight bench into the parlor. When I got home today, the kitchen table had been restored to its usual position, and the patio table had been moved into my office. My office. The only room of five that I get. I was only slightly bitter and prepared to live with it except that when I went to turn on my computer, it wouldn't because the plug woudn't stay securely in the loose electrical socket. It hadn't been a problem before because I had arranged storage boxes so that they would hold the plug in place, but Shrill had rearranged these boxes to make room for the patio table which is to be her all-important stand-in command center. It looked like I might have been able to screw the plug in if I'd had a rubber-handled screwdriver, but when I tried it, there was a spark and smoke, and the outlet went dead, rendering the computer--monitor, printer, and hard drive--and the stereo, useless. Now my patience had run out for the unnecessity of "The Play Office." "This is because you insist on having your bullshit little play office," I said. "Don't blame me," she said. "You're the one who broke it." "It was working fine before you decided to install your little make-believe office," I said, and I could feel myself getting pissed, so I got my backpack and bike and walked out the door. She said something. I said something. She said something. I said, "Fine, then pack my shit up for me, and I'll get out." "Are you serious?" she asked. "Go for it," I said and hopped on my bike and rode here.
I'm at the Memorial Branch Library across from LA High on Olympic and Rimpau. I had to leave the house because we had a short circuit, and I was afraid I was going to blow a fuse. Shirelle seems to think she needs a desk and office space now that she's standing-in again. We all know the high level of personal planning and at-home organization being a stand-in requires. First, she took the patio table out of the backyard and moved the kitchen table to the middle of the kitchen and put the patio table where the kitchen had been. It was surprising to see her fall to such levels of tackiness, she, for whom looks and decoration are everything. I told her, now that interior decoration weren't important anymore, I would be moving my weight bench into the parlor. When I got home today, the kitchen table had been restored to its usual position, and the patio table had been moved into my office. My office. The only room of five that I get. I was only slightly bitter and prepared to live with it except that when I went to turn on my computer, it wouldn't because the plug woudn't stay securely in the loose electrical socket. It hadn't been a problem before because I had arranged storage boxes so that they would hold the plug in place, but Shrill had rearranged these boxes to make room for the patio table which is to be her all-important stand-in command center. It looked like I might have been able to screw the plug in if I'd had a rubber-handled screwdriver, but when I tried it, there was a spark and smoke, and the outlet went dead, rendering the computer--monitor, printer, and hard drive--and the stereo, useless. Now my patience had run out for the unnecessity of "The Play Office." "This is because you insist on having your bullshit little play office," I said. "Don't blame me," she said. "You're the one who broke it." "It was working fine before you decided to install your little make-believe office," I said, and I could feel myself getting pissed, so I got my backpack and bike and walked out the door. She said something. I said something. She said something. I said, "Fine, then pack my shit up for me, and I'll get out." "Are you serious?" she asked. "Go for it," I said and hopped on my bike and rode here.
posted by johnz at 4:34 PM
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