Alright. This is the third time I have attempted to write this little document. I seem to be getting no further than declaring that the medicine I have been prescribed in an effort to prevent me from “losing my shit” so often, to use one euphemism is, honestly, not working.
This is hardly a disaster, but when you add it to all of the other relocation hassles that I have described in earlier entries, it is hardly something one wants to be dealing with right now. Moving house when your brain does not process task patterns at all well is a bit like trying to play a game of Chinese Whispers with someone who does not speak English.
You might also recall that I mentioned an uncle, a younger brother of my mother, who came to my aid during the prior moving disaster. Well, bless him, he and his missus did so again, although not quite so dramatically this time. As I sit here yawning and trying to keep my head up (the Quetiapine still works just beautifully, in case one wondered), I recall a few details they told me concerning the place I have moved out of.
I was surprised to be told that the young family that had occupied the main house of the property I was living on had apparently moved to Wollongong or some such due to something that might have to do with the father’s work. Quite honestly, I wish them all the best. They seemed like a nice group, even if the adults in the pack appeared to be putting away enough beer in a week to nearly fill an entire bin with the containers. What the hey. I can hardly talk about habits, after all.
But the landlords, well, they can stick their head in a pig for all that I care. I do not wish to be mean-spirited, but as my uncle, his wife, and myself speculated about what basis they could have possibly decided not to renew the lease upon, only one logical conclusion could be thought of. The most likely scenario is that during the time when my exact location was not known to the authorities, they came knocking on the landlords’ doors and asked them a bit.
The laws concerning tenancies and leases really need some updating. Primary amongst which is giving tenants the ability to challenge terminations or refusals of renewals on the basis of possibly discriminatory behaviour. Given how rapidly population growth is outstripping resources, threatening people with homelessness simply because the police come looking for them is a bit like refusing them a place to abide on the basis of their race. I do not know quite how the math works, but the quarter of a quarter of a populace that will require psychiatric admissions during their lifetime deserve better than that.
Which brings me to a critical problem I am having with my current living space. I just feel so exhausted and without a semblance of desire to do anything, and have done for several days now. This afternoon, when I sat down at my desktop keyboard and alternated between writing story and playing chess, the music I was listening to for inspiration brought me to a very dark place. Inspiring, for certain, but dark and horrible. One that reminds me of why I would sooner die than father a child.
I am sure many are familiar with the artist who calls himself Alice Cooper. In terms of combining rock and roll with theatre in order to create something equal parts disturbing and distinct, he is a master. But the song The Ballad Of Dwight Fry is one of the earliest and most powerful examples of this craft. It is not entirely perfect, but as a statement of the reality faced by the chronically mentally ill, it is with few equals, and fewer betters.
In the canon of my fiction, my proxy character, me, has two sons and four grandchildren through them. The second-eldest of the four, Rose, is a musician so naturally talented that at the age of a mere two years, she has performed the keyboard parts of a song at one of the musical shows that occur in the Allied Realms. The effect of her doing so is twofold. One, by playing the keyboards in a rendition of the song No More Tears, she convinces the rulers of the Allied Realms, especially the Dwarrow, that the expense of maintaining the bear village is actually worthwhile. Second, she helps begin research into an entire new school of spirit-wielding. That of the Bard.
I have never played any game as a Bard. Let me make that perfectly clear. There are a couple of reasons for this. Number one, the class has only been made available in a small handful of games, and few that I can recall being made available to me, at that. Secondly, on the rare occasions that I found the class to be available in a game that I was playing, it had never been developed extensively enough to make playing worthwhile. Computer RPGs all suffer from one fundamental weakness. Even World Of Warcraft, so far the most successful game that can loosely be called an RPG in the computer world, has begun to suffer it. Namely, that different classes do not differ from one another significantly enough to make experimenting with different classes worthwhile. Warriors, Death Knights, Protection or Retribution Paladins, and Windwalker or Brewmaster Monks all seem to be more or less identical once the different timings and cosmetics are accounted for.
In desktop RPGs, when one has a really good Dungeon Master, the possibility of creating a unique experience tends to be much greater. And to some degree, I attempt this with my characters in stories. The characters are all written as if they are characters in an RPG, and they face character-building challenges. The trick is to make the characters unique enough to justify their existence.
So, getting to the title of this essay. When looking at places to lease or buy, one often has a checklist of vital criteria in their head that they check the potential new home against. For me, the most vital aspect is the shower. If it looks clean enough that I can clean it up and make it look alright, I can talk myself into moving in. If it looks hospital-level pristine, I will fill out applications fast enough to rip holes in the space-time continuum. But one thing I never counted on was a faulty tap mechanism. Oh well, I will hope for now that I can get the powers that be to fix it.
Establishing oneself in a new area is never easy, and it is even less so when you have nervous feelings concerning the Thought Police coming after you. But one day at a time, as the saying goes, and hopefully soon things will return to their usual meandering form.