Someone finally moved into the house next door. Not the abandoned one. They hired a tree trimmer to take down a big pin oak in their backyard. It makes sense, considering the ice and snow we’ve been getting this year. No one wants a branch or even an entire tree falling on their new home.
The chainsaws have been going all day for two days. I forgot how charmed my position was: I mostly don’t hear anybody. I mostly get to keep to myself. My life moves along. Back in El Paso, we lived next to people who would party until all hours of the night, every night. They’d park in our spots and this one guy would routinely cough his lung up on the back porch. Nothing but the smell of weed and cigarette smoke if we wanted to keep the windows open.
After that, I made a promise to myself that I’d never live directly next to people ever again. I need at least thirty feet.
So hey, a chainsaw isn’t all that bad. I should be up and doing things, anyway.
Also, I quit drinking. I’m done. Forever. Mark it here. I’ve got to win this thing, and there’s only one thing holding me back. Let’s fuckin go.