Robert (Bro. Pepper-spray of Reasoned Discussion) (montecristo) wrote,
Robert (Bro. Pepper-spray of Reasoned Discussion)

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Us Yellowbeards are never more dangerous than when we're dead!

Well, the weather here is still holding. It's a bit hazier today, and the clouds are thin, but the sun is still shining and the temperature is still up around 55° F and heading for 61. I'm about ready to go out on a limb and call it spring here in Central California. Hmmm, seems I remembered wrong. That darned tree in my front yard has fuchsia and white blossoms on it. Why the heck do I remember a yellowish-greenish-white blossom? Anyway, it's starting to bloom.

I'm still guardedly optimistic today, although yesterday really gave it the old try to get to me. It all began about an hour or so after my last entry. I got a call from a bank the ex had been using for a loan she made for scuba equipment. About a year or so ago, she took out a loan to buy herself scuba gear and lessons. Yesterday, they called me at work and said that she hadn't been making payments on it but that it would affect both our credits if she didn't. Turns out that we are both on that damned loan because we were married at the time. Funny, I don't remember signing anything, nor being consulted when she took it out. Somehow, I don't think this is the kind of trick that married people are supposed to play on one another, but then I don't think Crystal has ever understood what marriage means in the first place. I called her last night and asked her about it. She quit her job in the mall. Clothing stores and Crystal really don't mix. She has a ferocious lanolin allergy and wool makes her explode in a rash that causes her to look like she has been hefting bales of hay all day, along with sneezing and other fun reactions. Heh, I hadn't thought about it until last night, but I can wear wool again, after about eighteen years of not touching the stuff! Anyway, with her between jobs, she can't make the payments, so that leaves me to cover her ass yet again. You know, if she's going to leave me, she could at least have the decency to take her damned problems with her. Ah well, perhaps the crap will end up being a catalyst for disengaging my emotions from her. I admit, in weak moments, I still miss her (but my aim is improving!).

On top of that, the people with whom I had been talking about the house in Livermore up and flaked out on me. Apparently, they've chosen someone else, probably a nice couple with one point one children on the way. Crud. Oh well, nobody really wants to rent a house to a bachelor, I think. For one thing, they think they need to be doing people like the newly weds a favor to help them out. On the other, they probably believe that a single guy is going to be a slob who throws wild parties all the time or something. I don't know. I was a bit distressed by the news. I was completely funked out. I am now worried that I may have to put everything into storage and live in a motel or something while I continue to hunt. I have to be out by the end of February. Gah! What else can go wrong? (Here's a hint: I don't really want to know).

So anyway, upon hearing the dreadful news which had been left on my answering machine, I went and flopped on my bed and stared at the ceiling to brood. I do this occasionally. After holding various one-sided verbal consultations and woe-dumpings with persons not present, (I do that too, when I must, like now) I decided that the situation looks pretty grim and I may be stuck in a motel or some such arrangement until I can finish this ridiculous hunt. As I said, the situation looks grim, and I was swimming in a choking acidic vat of desperation. Nevertheless, did I heed the doom sayers anagrammatic maxim about desperation -- "a rope ends it"? NO! I am the founding member of The Secret Loyal Order of Bob Supremacists, and by damn it, S.L.O.B.S. Never Buckle! So, with that resolution firmly in mind, I did a load of laundry and went to bed, where my ninja-like insomnia ambushed me and assassinated any hope of restful sleep, until about five o'clock this morning, an hour from when my alarm was set to go off.

So, at seven, I got up and called my second choice potential land lord. This one is a bigger house, with three bedrooms and one and a half baths, still in Livermore, but not in as good a shape as the two bedroom one I missed out on. Vanessa tickled my ears with the sound of her eagerness to talk to me about renting it. I'm going to call this a good sign but the time limit is drawing close. It's a good thing I become more intransigent and intrepid (and other INT words) when the pressure is on, or I would be ready for the rubber room for sure. Perhaps someone has cursed me with the infamous LJ corollary to the old Chinese curse: may your entries be poignant and engrossing. Ack! Ah well, once more into the breach!


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