There are genes that you get from your parents that you are grateful for, I have naturally pale blond hair and I love it, thanks Dad, and things that you wish you didn't get like fat knees (fuck you MOM) or a stubborn nature (both, I had no chance at all). Today I felt the full brunt of the family pack rat gene and I feel a little shaken honestly.
My parents are in Disneyland and I decided, as the best daughter in the entire goddamn world, to go clean up a bit in their basement. My parents don't even use their basement anymore and it is packed to the gills with crap, most of it books, and I thought I could straighten up, take some things and dust the hell out of everything.
Because every conceivable surface is covered in dust. Three inches of dust, which is I guess what happens when you do not touch anything for years at a time. I took a lot of my old books and a statue of Mark Twain and a couple of textbooks from the fifties and dusted and vacuumed up about twenty-seven pounds of dog hair. It looks like I didn't do a thing even though it took hours.
And then I sat on the floor and cried for about twenty minutes straight.
Because my parents can't take care of that house. They don't have the time or the energy and honestly all that dirt scared the crap out of me. Because my mother hates dust, is allergic to dust and there was so much of it everywhere that it is a wonder that she doesn't go into anaphylactic shock just walking through it.
They need to have a maid service come through. They need a smaller house. And I am afraid.
I am starting to talk with J about my mom and dad they way my parents talk about their parents. And I don't want them to be old enough that I need to worry about this shit. But it is coming.
And yes, I did come home and dust everything in my house. Never can be too careful.
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