Swing Low, Sweet Topside
Hey now... I did dishes, b'golly. I have witnesses.How about not only when we got those rugs, but how we got them? Do you remember how Amanda spilled milk on that big one, then tried to get it out with baby powder and fabric cleaner until it smelled so bad that she threw it in the dumpster? And then Seth and I, figuring we could salvage it, jumped into the dumpster over our lunch break. (Actually... I jumped in. Seth stood outside going "eeeww" and giving moral support.) And after pulling the rug out from underneath dirty diapers and rotting pumpkins, how I carried it down to the dairy barn and proceeded to used the hot water hose and soap and phosphoric acid from the milk room to blast it clean again? And how it hung from the front door railing for something like two weeks before it was dry?
Ah, a rug could hardly have a richer history.
So, why are they emptying and disinfecting Topside? Why are they changing it? Why aren't they getting along? Why oh why?
Topside was a rough place for me when I first moved in, but I found it amusing. It's fun to watch groups of friends, even if you're not involved in them. And there was the random screaming, and the drunken card games, and the Wishniks looming, always looming.
Things got better, things got worse, the world goes around, la la la. I feel like I'm constantly going through a balancing act between friends and isolation, and when I lean too hard on one or the other, it comes to bite me in the bum. Still, I'm glad I got to sink my teeth into one of Topside's Golden Ages. As long as my sign's still there, I'm still a bit there too, right?
Thanks for the update, TSO. I've gotten lackadaisical about blogging lately, and it was nice to have an easy post to respond to... (ie, rant about.)
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