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This is not a post about my writing, but rather an example of how the real world gets involved and the writing is easy; finding the time to do so is what’s the most difficult.
Koala, my best friend and muse, is having problems of the family kind. And they are getting to the point where she feels it’s best to leave her native California and head east. She is seriously contemplating Michigan, to the point where she and I have been looking at houses not to rent but to buy. The only problem is, well, she has to bring her mother with her.
Her mother is the reason she has to leave California. See, her mother is kind of incapable of taking care of herself. And not in the physical sense of the word, either. She is just incapable of taking care of herself. She has a pharmacist license, and therefore is very much employable, yet refuses to find any kind of job. She was thrown out of a house by her best friend who couldn’t afford to pay both their ways, and she bounced around from family member to dysfunctional family member (after spending some time in the hospital). But now, she is being thrown out by her own sister; apparently one of the stipulations of her living there on their ranch in the middle of nowhere was that she no longer used medicinal marijuana but found relief in some other way. But lo and behold, her stash was found and she is being forced out.
This move to Michigan can’t happen until some time next year. Koala isn’t financially able to pack herself and her mother up and bring them both out here, though she is doing everything she can to save up enough to do so. But now, it seems, like she’s going to have to figure something out because her mother is being put out on the street. Koala isn’t sure if this is the real reason she’s being kicked out, but it’s the reason that’s being used. A week or so ago she was told that the family was fed up with having to take care of one of their own, and that it was Koala’s job to take care of her mother.
The second I learned of all of this, the medicine cabinet in my bathroom fell off of the wall. Apparently whoever installed it decided not to use anchors around the screws and just drill into the drywall. No one was hurt, however, the cabinet is now resting on the edge of the sink rendering it unusable. But at least I can still… turn on the lights and use the mirror. I’m not sure if the landlady is going to take care of this problem since she’s leaving for Alaska next Wednesday, but I’m also not sure that I can fix this on my own. I think I’d need a drill and I’m not going to buy a new drill when I have a beautiful one back in New York. I can buy the screws with the anchors, though, that’s no problem. But I would need a way to drill new holes and another set of hands to help with the whole thing and, frankly, I’m not sure if I’m capable of doing all of this on my own.
But at least, for now, it’s safe.