No, not as in diving compressed, (although I could use some underwater time). Any Divers out there wanna get wet? [Thanks to PADI for the nifty photo]
My compression stems from issues in my life.
As I’ve mentioned before, I share internet with the next door neighbor. Generally this isn’t a problem, they’re using an old Windows based machine that I suspect is rife with malware. This doesn’t really affect me, except that when that machine logs onto the network it sucks up pretty much all the available DSL bandwidth.
For the non techies… The internet gets really slow.
Most of the time, even that doesn’t bother me unless I’m streaming a movie or something. But it reminds me that I’m not alone, and someone else has the ability to affect my life through my own niceness.
Then there’s the ugly assed fence which focuses my vision on their back yard, making me to be completely unable to ignore all the kids stuff, trampoline, monkey bars, various toys scattered about, and the pile ‘o junk stuffed in the corner.
This fence also makes me feel that I have no privacy because it’s a constant reminder that there are kids there, even when they’re not out screaming, squabbling, or using the trampoline to jump up above the fence to ask me what I’m doing out on my deck. I can’t look past it, god knows I’ve tried. The 7ft tall monstrosity is THERE protecting the children from… what? The occasional wayward hiker?
Then there’s the ceiling fan in my office. You see, the neighbors apparently put up a new ceiling fan in their house, and they left the unit’s code set to default. (Lots of new ceiling fans have these nifty remotes that allow you to change the speed of the fan and / or control the light in the fan.)
The problem is that when you put one of these fans in, you really should choose a new code other than the default one. Guess how I found out the electrician that built this house hadn’t bothered to change the code?
You guessed it. The great fan war started this summer. There are three neighbors that could possibly be close enough to control my office ceiling fan. One house is under going major remodeling. Since that place is gutted, I scratched them off the list. The other neighbor isn’t likely to have made any real changes, since she’s cold all the time. Which leaves the next door neighbors!
Dammit! They’re jacking my internet up, have destroyed the view, have left me feeling like I’m having to accommodate their kids, “Asked” that we hose down our back yard every day during a drought while letting our plants die because she was pregnant and her nose was too sensitive, and finally…
Because they don’t want to figure out why their new fan isn’t working quite right, I’m the one that has to get up on a ladder with a screwdriver and a spring hook, (a spring hook looks a lot like a dental tool its sharp and pointy with a slight hook at one end. Great for flipping tiny little switches.) to manhandle 70lbs of ceiling fan to change the code to something they’re not using.
But then it continues…
Once I’ve got the fan issue fixed, I think, “hey its time for me to rearrange the office” and so I begin that process only to find that my other half has systematically occupied every single open space in both closets, the filing cabinet, and a substantial portion of the basement with… for want of a better term CRAP!
There’s no way for me to put my stuff out of the way or reorganize my stuff because his stuff is literally everywhere.
SO after grumbling about living with the equivalent of a 13 year old packrat, LOUDLY. I start whipping through my shit and tossing anything that isn’t nailed down and functional.
But the whole time I’m thinking, why am I the one that’s adapting to the situation AGAIN.
I find myself thinking, “Maybe I should just pack whatever shit from this house that I want, and that will fit in my damn car and that will be MY space. Perhaps my life will be easier if I just allow the forces in my life that are conspiring to compress me into a tight little space, win. Then everyone will be happier and I’ll finally have some peace. Maybe I should sell every vehicle I own, buy a pickup truck with a tonneau cover (I don’t like camper shells) and be a true nomad, wandering towns and highways randomly. I’ll stop in interesting places do piece work for cash then move on. Maybe I should become ’That Guy’, the stranger, the scary dude in the corner of your local bar. ”
Then again maybe all this is just another way for the universe to tell me “Its time to move on.”