So here it is, part four of my quartet of ramblings associated with what I've been going through this past little while. I've recently bought a new pair of shoes and a jacket, both of which don't smell like old motor oil, which is a plus, but what does going out there and buying ones own clothes rather than rotting in your shut in abode with old flannel shirts to keep you warm really mean?
Part of why I started writing the four part I Fell Down A Hole blog series was to establish what exactly went wrong in my life wherein the past seven years of my existence were a bit more miserable than they should have been. The titular falling down a hole refers to an in-joke I had about a time I fell down into a literal hole once I was exploring an old house I lived in, and found a mysterious world underneath this place, and once I exclaimed to my brother what I'd found down there, I said: "I fell down a hole". At twelve years old this was a place of magic and wonder, because I was a developmentally delayed chap who didn't lose his imagination quite as quickly. Or lost it ever, for that matter. Rather than abandoning my imagination into adulthood, I kept it secret from everyone else because they'd mock me if I ever tried to explain the value of it. So I kept on imagining for years and didn't tell anyone about it.
And yet... though I kept my imagination fertile, there remain certain things I at twenty three years old have not grasped. Dating and relationships is one. How to tie one's own shoelaces in a way that keeps the shoe on your feet for longer than an hour is another. I also can't cook for myself yet for whatever reason. I don't like dealing with things that involve fire and possible burning the house down if I get it wrong. I never learned to drive either, and have a phobia of trying to because of my well meaning father's misguided attempts at trying to force me to learn regardless of how uncomfortable I was about driving a manual, rickety old Volkswagen Beetle that sputtered and stalled if I didn't do everything exactly right, endangering both the ancient car and my whole family, let alone my life.
I don't really know how to do a lot of grown up things, though I somehow managed to figure out how to claim Medicare benefits and sign up to be a post-mortem organ donor on the same bureaucratic form I had to sign. One of these days I'll have to learn how to spell bureaucratic without using Google to help me spell it properly. So I've been helping out around the house trying to make something of myself, which I'd already been doing in my creative work only to discover I'd been neglecting other core skills that help you survive living in this world once you move out.
I'm still working on that stuff. New, better and more analytical post on Mishima: A Life In Four Chapters is coming, I had to grind that to a halt before I said something stupid since I uncovered something that changed my outlook on that whole movie a second time over.
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