Monday conversation

During the week that I did not speak to my son (he didn't return my calls or e-mails), it occurred to me to ask what became of his possessions. He had a mini-fridge, a nightstand, a desk, and a computer. The bed, I think, was a hand-me-down or maybe loaned to him by a friend. When we spoke yesterday I asked him about it. His things are in a friend's basement. He's staying with various people night to night and still sleeping in his car when there's nowhere else to go. He has a part-time job.

His closest friend's father still won't let him move in. He must be a hell of a lousy houseguest. i know he was a perpetual slob when he lived with me, from the earliest age. I have enough trouble keeping my own space orderly without nagging someone else about it. But overall, I'm really not that messy. I let it get to a certain point and then it has to be straightened out. But Wally goes way past that point. And then he wonders why half the time, he can't find his things. I tried to tell him, you don't have to be compulsively orderly. Just designate "zones" for things. For example, make a decision that when you take your billfold out of your pocket, it will go somewhere on the "left" side of the room, or somewhere near the window, etc. That way you get used to finding something in an approximate place, and as time goes on, it will become a habit to put things in more specific places. I don't know that he ever caught on to any of this.

Carl never had a problem being a constant nag; it's the kind of thing he lives for.

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I've decided to start adding in the stories Carl tells me about the establishment where he works.

He calls me most mornings from there after I get up, often with a quick sound-bite describing the goings-on there.

This morning:
"So I go into the bar area, and there's the night manager, sucking on some girl's titty for 13 bucks. And she's on top of him, like some kind of...
"I can't go on working in this place. It's so fucking stupid. And none of the work has been done. I come in after two shifts, and they leave it all for me to fix. I just can't stand this place; I am so over it!"