I had two friends in college who often told me I should write an autobiography and title it Nine Kinds of Hell. This was an expression I used a lot (thanks, Mom) and I think they'd never heard it before. It's origin is unknown to me, but I assume it's referring to the nine circles of hell in Dante's Inferno.
(This is what happens when you introduce hicks to great poetry - something always suffers in the translation.)
Of course, there is the possibility they meant that such a title was apropos of my life, in general, at that time as I spent a lot of time careening from one ridiculous incident to another.
I think they may have been onto something because my life bears an uncanny resemblance to a pinball - although, I'm pleased to say, I'm no longer just a half-baked mess. I have now reached the much higher (and more impressive) status of Neurotic, and, if I play my cards right and keep my nose clean, I may be able to attain Certifiable Nutjob before it's all over.
My father called me the week before Christmas to tell me that he had to part ways with his Lady Friend because her sons were not supportive of their relationship. He needed a change of scenery, he said, and I needed somebody to watch the baby (who is now almost 12, by the way). And he also wanted to pay off his credit cards (maxed out, I suspect, in the wooing of said Lady Friend). Could he come live with us for awhile?
Did I mention he woke me up with this phone call?
You can imagine my general state of disorientation... and how quickly my head jerked off the pillow when he got to that last bit.
I talked to Spouse, and because we are both the types who believe in honoring their parents, my father is coming to live with us. I don't know how long he will be here. I only hope I have the chance to say (just once), "As long as you're living in my house, under my roof...."
Daddy Dearest will be here before his lease ends on January 31, and this means that we've had to shuffle about 50% of our living arrangements. He can't do stairs and there's no bathroom upstairs, anyway, so he's getting Gigi's room (hope he likes pink walls); she's going to the front room upstairs; the contents of the front room are going into the backroom upstairs (my studio); my studio is being relocated to the office downstairs; and the office has been dismantled and redistributed to whatever space will accommodate its pieces.
I drew up this schedule that I (naively) thought would bring about the necessary changes in the time allotted.
I'm so far behind I can't even find an appropriate metaphor to describe it. The good news is that I am now downstairs! I have windows and LIGHT!!! I have walls that go straight up to the ceiling - no more low-hanging dormers!
The bad news is that the rest of the house looks like a bomb went off and I'm starting to get very nervous about how we're going to get everything set right before my father gets here. Oh, and my new semester starts on Monday. Although I only have four classes to teach this semester, three of them are "new" subjects to me, so they require enormous amounts of prep time. I should really be building a syllabus for Intro to Law right now but why rush, right?
Nine Kinds of Hell, indeed!
I think I'm officially on the fast track to Certifiable Nutjob....