Once again, I sit here watching something on television I’ve watched a hundred times before and noticing that the little hand is rapidly approaching the twelve, so it’s time to get a post in under the wire.
Earlier this afternoon, I got a text from Papa Knascar telling me he misses me already and it rips my heart out. Being in Columbus was so depressing that I couldn’t wait to get out of there, but he has to live there every day. So far as I can tell, nothing at home has changed in the past year. He sleeps on the couch every night, the plants sit dried out in their planters, her clothes still hang on the back of the bathroom door.
That’s just one of the million and one reasons, I think he should move. The neighborhood isn’t the same one I grew up in. Crime is much higher and, to be hoity-toity about it “an unsavory element” has moved in. He needs to find a smaller place and just throw out 2/3 of what’s in the house, but in order for that to happen, I would really just have to go home for a week. Donate clothes and books, throw out furniture and other stuff he’ll never use again.
I know I sound completely heartless, and I guess I do, but it’s just part of my coping mechanism. Papa Knascar is who I’m worrying about now and he’s not doing well. It’s been less than a year, so I probably won’t start nudging for a couple more months. He’s talking about moving back to Akron, where childhood friends still abound, but my aunt wants him to move down to Savannah. We’ll see what happens. I just want him to be happy. Er.