Writing Order Into Chaos

A room is a good indicator of how well your life is going. TV shows and inexperienced writers would let you believe that when someone's life is in the throes of depression, when they believe there is nothing left to live for, there will be towels strewn over lamps, weeks worth of wet newspapers left open and collecting mold. This is not true. If there are newspapers, they will be stacked, and in some sort of order. All towels, clean or not, will be put in one particular area.

When I get depressed, I clean.

Lately, the only time I clean my room is when I'm about to get laid. And even then, clean is a subjective term. Usually, I just throw everything in the closet.

Last night I dreamed that Paris Hilton was helping my clean my room. She was excited, because I'd decided to use her as the basis for one of the characters in my book. "I'm using you," I told her, "instead of Brittney, because her crazy selfishness is affecting the lives of her kids, and her family. All your bad decisions only affect you. I think that makes you a better person."

She agreed, and thanked me. "You've been so nice. Ever since your friend died, you seem to have really gotten a good grip on yourself again." Then we started throwing hundred dollar bills out of my bedroom window.

I didn't even really try and evaluate the dream when I woke up. Paris Hilton? I don't remember ever having celebrity cameos in dreams before. Cleaning my room? what for, I'm busy, and I'm the only one that's using it. Hundred dollar bills? I'm doing well, and all, but I haven't been spreading my money around too much. Dead friend? Been a while since that happened.

I was at work when Zuzu called. Our good friend, Gina died last night.

She's had cancer for a while. Not just the degenerative disease, but a parasitic husband. He was younger than her. Cute, possibly. But chronically unemployable, and a control freak.

Last year, Gina and her husand had no place to go, so they moved back in with Zuzu, rent free. When Zuzu's ex failed to send his alimony, meaning Zuzu couldn't afford the heating oil, she politely asked Gina's husband for some money to help with bills. Then she went to work. When she came back, all of Gina's stuff was gone. All of her husband's stuff was gone, and a bunch of random things that belonged to Zuzu were gone, as well.

Since then, he changed his and Gina's cell phone numbers, and refused to let her stay in touch with her friends. When occasional Gina-related news would get out, we would track her down at various hospitals and see how she was doing. Zuzu and I offered to do a collection of her poems, and sell the books as fundraisers for her medical bills. We were to meet her tomorrow night to find out where the poems were stored.

This morning, her parasitic widower sent out an e-mail. "Gina died last night. There will be no funeral, and no memorial service. I have no regrets. You will never hear from me again."

We assume he means to skip town with the insurance money he's getting, and go find someone else to mooch off of for a while.

I spent most of the afternoon reorganizing the comic book store. Moving things, alphabetizing; things I normally do, anyway, but I did them a tad more obsessively than usual. And when I got off work, I headed to the pet store.

Cycle of life, cliche, what-have-you. I've been meaning to get a pet for a while. And while I really do want to get a kitten, I was, more practically, thinking of something along the lines of a fish. Minimal care, minimal expense.

I left the store with a ten gallon terrarium, a rock wall, a cave, a water well, ten pounds of sand, three thermometers, a black light, a reptiglo light, and three baby leopard geckos. Also, some crickets.

I haven't named them yet, as I like to let pets earn their names by personality. They have already had their first stalk and eat in their new homes, munching on a good chunk of the crickets. And they are already doing their Peter Parkering up the rock wall, and each has found their own private hiding place.

They only came out when I started playing Jenny Owen Young's cover of Nelly's "Hot In Here". They did a little tail twitching and cricket eating to the music.

Which reminds me, I should order food.