Time to Reflect

Well, I have been back home for a few weeks now, and that has given me some time to think about my month long stay in Backwater Hell. There were many let-downs: mainly, nothing really ever changes...sadly. My father is still dependent upon my mother, my mother still tolerates my father's crap, my sister is still struggling to claim the number one spot for worst mother of the year, my older brother is still a racist, sexist, homophobe, my younger brother is still struggling with life in general, and my other sister is still the family recluse. But there were surprises as well: my parents genuinely like me as a person, I enjoyed hanging with my sister (the worst mother one) and she even taught me how to knit, my family uses me as a sounding board for their thoughts, fears, ideas, and hopes, and a go-between to relay difficult topics to others in the family.

But, despite all the positives, I still feel as if I don't quite fit. I don't live the life they live, we share very few commonalities in that respect. I have tried to find common likes to at least feel some connection with my family, but eventually our differences make it impossible. Sadly, there are only two of my family members that I feel any real need to communicate with, my mother and my younger brother, and if it weren't for them I doubt I would have any of them in my life. Its very difficult to associate with people that find fault in my accomplishments, and my mom and little brother are the only ones that seem proud of me. So, why should I put in the effort?

But the most frustrating part of my entire visit...I buried a time capsule on May 24, 1996, to be extracted from the earth on May 24, 2006. Needless to say, when the appointed date arrived I was in Scotland. And it has stayed in the earth, untouched. So, I had hopes of retrieving it during my long stay, so one day I grab a shovel and head to the appointed spot...two trees standing apart for the rest of the woods...but, the trees are gone! A few years ago my father sold some timber from his property, it never occurred to me that they would take my trees! So I had no frame of reference to start digging. Alas, there is hope yet still. The time capsule was buried in a tin or aluminum container, so my hope is that it will be found with a metal detector. *sigh*

A Farewell to Country Living

Well, a month has come and gone and it is time for me to depart this little forgotten spot of earth. I have to say its been an interesting few weeks. I had hopes of posting more blogs, but I found myself either too depressed to verbalize the situation, or too busy to take the time to write anything.

There have been some interesting moments, like when I went into town to pay my parents' water bill. After driving around the three main (and practically only) roads in the center of Red Boiling Springs for ten minutes, fruitlessly looking for any sign that said "water" or even "utilities", I gave up and asked at the local post office. I patiently waited in line behind the post office's only other customer, an elderly woman that smelled of vodka and had the same number of teeth in her head as most households have televisions. I even bought stamps as a pretense to be on friendly enough terms to ask directions. But my efforts failed, he barely even raised his head and grumbled rough directions and pointed to the north; all I could make out was "flag pole" and "police cars." So, I drove around a little more until I found the police car (yes, the town has just one) and a flagless flag pole...right across the street from the post office, sheesh! City Hall. The thought occurred to me that the postman gave me bogus directions to either alert the locals to the presense of an outsider or flob me off onto someone else. At the risk of being sold into some redneck version of a black market sex ring, I walked into City Hall and asked the woman and police officer standing behind the desk for directions to the water department. She smiled and said, "well you found us, hon!" My response?..."Wow." She smiled again and said, "oh we do just about everything at City Hall." Hmmm...maybe they should consider taking over the post office too.

But overall, my visit has been kind of boring. I was in the house more often than not. My days have consisted of wasting the time between breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Some days I was at a loss as to where all the hours went. I am starting to believe that my parents built their home atop a portal to the space-time continuum. Or maybe getting the life sucked out of you is too emotionally painful, and those memories are still, at this very moment, being repressed.

I think once I am back in Clarksville I will take the time to reflect more upon my sojourn. Right now I am so anxious to be home that I think my opinion may be marred by my fed-upedness.

Anti-climatic Ending

Well, I celebrated the close of 2008 and the birth of 2009 in a very unorthodox manner (for me anyway)... I slept right through it. Yes, you heard it. There was no drinking, no tasty bad snacks, no party, no Wii, no Rock Band. I watched Law & Order with my parents and went to bed at 10pm.

Sad is the world.

The Great Arabican War

There is a conflict raging in the Paulk home, and it is over black gold. No, I refer not to oil, but to coffee. After two days of waking up and being asked immediately to make a pot of coffee, I laid down the proclamation that I will no longer be responsible for this duty. Its a battle of wills that's less to do with coffee and more to do with my father's disability.

My father is abusing the system. And no, not the system that has proclaimed him disabled, because he is disabled. With one leg, diabetes, heart disease, Alzheimer's, and who knows what else ailment, there is no way he could work. The system I am referring to is that of my mother's obvious love for him. She does EVERYTHING for him; and he makes sure she does. He takes every opportunity to remind her (and anyone else who will listen) that he is disabled. But here's the problem, my mother is also disabled. Yet she continues to do all the cleaning, all the cooking...all the while he sits in front of the television all day, every day. Its a load of bullshit I'm not willing to cater to because I know if it were something he truly wanted to do, he would do it. For example, he can't help cook dinner, but he can mow the lawn, or burn leaves (after someone else rakes them up, usually my mother), or any other task he deems fun. But make coffee? No.

So, I have not made coffee in almost a week. And yet, every day he still asks me. And ever day, I say "uhmmm...that's your job." In fact, he is in the living room pouting about it right now. But, don't take this to mean that my father is now making the coffee. Oh no. He absolutely refuses to do it. Even though I have rearranged all the necessary supplies so that coffee and filters are all within reach of the coffee pot. All he has to do is throw it all together. But nope...he does everything within his power to avoid making coffee: he'll drink hot tea, get one of my nephews to make it, buy it at McDonalds,...yesterday he went to a doctor's appointment and got one of the nurses to put on a pot of coffee while he was there!

I had really hoped that last night was a turning point in this mini-war. He came out with "if you loved me, you'd make me some coffee....pleeeeeease." When I refused, he pouted of course, and came out with some comment about being unloved or something like that. So I explained to him that I was trying to get him more involved in his own welfare, trying to make him realize that he can take responsibility for his own well being. But...considering that he is still sitting in his chair this morning, pouting, watching T.V., he missed the point.

But that's okay. I honestly think he expects me to cave eventually. He's obviously never noticed that I inherited his stubbornness.

Going With

A list of things I deem necessary to my survival in Backwater Hell:

~ 30 pairs of disposable earplugs (to block out constant TV noise playing in background)
~1 Small fan that makes lots of noise (same as above)
~1 cuddly chocolate lab
~1 Dan's Dog (part stress reliever, part weapon)
~1 desktop computer for World of Warcraft (to avoid filial interactions)
~1 laptop computer for lazy blogging
~5-6 books (to avoid filial interactions)
~1 exercise pad (because my parents have wood floors)
~1 8lb medicine ball
~1 mountain bike
~1 teleportation device

The Countdown Begins

On December 8th, 2008, yours truly will be displaced from her comfy, modern abode into Backwater Hell. Sunrise, Tennessee (see picture) is an unincorporated collection of small cattle farms, tobacco patches, and mobile homes on cinder blocks. Don't be fooled by the inset photo. When the locals (all 29 of them) aren't tipping cattle, shooting their guns at innocent creatures, or running about aimlessly on four wheelers, they are growing marijuana, baking meth in their kitchens, or committing date rape.

My parents moved to this sleepy little corner of the world in 1989. Since my parents, and a good deal of my siblings, migrated to this hellhole, their collective intelligence and ability to speak proper English has declined (and continues to do so) exponentially. Not much changes in Sunrise. Sometimes I think they are afraid to change. Its one of those places where people come to die, not live. Everyone looks as if they are waiting for cancer.

And I am to be here for no less than 30 days.