25 October 2012

Sunshine, I think I found your damned pants

I did the unthinkable on Monday. Sunshine is working out of town, so I decided there was no better time than Monday to tackle some of his piles of stuffs and things.

Let me pause for a moment here and say that I am not getting rid of Sunshine's stuffs and things. Just like my dog must choose minimalism for herself, Sunshine must choose minimalism for HIMSELF. I merely organized Sunshine's stuffs and things in a more efficient (for me, for now) manner.

Now, let me set the stage for the picture above. Y'all know that we live in a magic bus. This picture of a dust covered steering wheel and instrument panel, staged against a clutter covered dash, gives you an idea of why the hell I decided that I needed to do something about all the stuffs and things. You might be able to see from this picture why I found it all so overwhelming. This pile of stuffs and things is deep, y'all. There are stuffs hidden under things hidden under stuffs and things. What you cannot see from this picture is how overwhelming it was to merely arrive at the point of simply taking the damned picture. There was a mound of stuffs and things sitting in the driver's seat, which has been turned sideways to add additional seating. Said additional seating was instantly pre-empted for storage for Sunshine's stuffs and things. (See why I get so frustrated? I continue to clean out my personal possessions to make more space, and he continues to bring more of his personal possessions into the house and take over every available square millimeter of space. I digress) In order to even take this picture, I had to move the mound of stuffs off of the driver's seat, I had to move his fucking compound bow in giant protective case off of its precarious perch on top of that clothes pole, then I had to move that massive collection of stuffs destined for consignment (and all of the clothes-hangers I hoard). Once I had moved all of that, I found more of Sunshine's things hanging there. Side note, I am hoping to find a way to eliminate that fucking clothes pole from the front of the bus, but I despair of ever getting there because of Sunshine.

I didn't throw away any of his stuffs. However, because I had purged so much from under the bed, and from within some of the cupboards, I was able to store some of Sunshine's things in proper cupboards instead of in the driver's seat or on the dash. I found the most astounding piles of things; piles that made no sense and had no method to the madness. I'm sorry I don't have any more "before" pictures than I do, but here is some of the "during" and "after".

I found this
 skunk skull buried in the pile of stuffs and things shown above.

I found
in his left insulated hunting boot
in the right one.

I found enough optic devices (binoculars, night-vision monoculars, and telescopic sights) scattered throughout the front half of the magic bus to stock a fucking pawn shop. I put them all into one cupboard.
Now, that certainly looks like an impressive pile of optic devices, yet it doesn't tell the whole story. Behind the green case on the right are three (or four? I can't remember) telescopic sights that are not in boxes, and there are also telescopic sights on both of his long-guns that he uses regularly to kill wild boar. I should also add that Sunshine's tone of voice was less than enthusiastic when I told him I put all of the optics devices in one cupboard. "But those are my hunting things", he wailed. "I know, and when we get a real piece of furniture to put the teevee on, something with more storage in it, we can put these things in a more accessible place. But I can no longer live with things and stuffs all helter-skelter in this bus." (I probably should have just told him to "just shut your whore mouth and find some fucking gratitude that I didn't send the ones you don't use to the Goodwill", but I think somewhere--deep inside--he knows he should be grateful I didn't send most of them to the Goodwill, so I let it pass.)

I found the strangest thing in the other half of the cupboard where I stored all the optic devices. A fucking wireless surveillance camera system. I understand why he originally purchased the system; he had his nephew living with him, and the nephew had all his homeless junkie friends camping out there, and he needed a way to monitor the house while he wasn't there, but we have no need for such shit today. I stored the cameras and receiver under the bed. I didn't want to hear his bitching about how "I can use those to monitor who comes to the magic bus when we're not here" or some bullshit about how those could be good for monitoring game on his hunting lease; all bullshit, but part of his "what if...?" pattern with stuffs and things and not my baggage.

I'm not going to dig around the wounds created by his incessant need to bring more stuffs and things into the magic bus and continuously displace more of my stuffs and things. That's a post for another day, or maybe even best reserved for The Band. There's a lot of hurt involved there, and I don't want to poke at that today.

Instead, I'll leave you with this picture of the dash. It's still more of a "during" kind of shot, as I have to actually USE those pinatas at some point (and I will, I swear, probably at my N.A. home group for clean date anniversaries and such), but it's a far sight better than it was.


  1. a: I wish I could be there to bash the spit outta those pinatas with you. Boy, do I.

    b. Can you ask Sunshine if you can ship that skunk skull to me? Because I want it something awful. Seeeriously. Might freak out some of these laid back west coast skunks that make regular tracks below my windows ... peeeeeyooooooooo.

    c. Just like my dog must choose minimalism for herself, Sunshine must choose minimalism for HIMSELF.

    this. just? sublime.


    1. a) I wish you could be here to bash pinatas with me too! That? Would make it even better.
      b) I will ask about shipping you the skunk skull; he'll probably say "no", in which case I'll ask him for suggestions on dealing with your problem
      c) Recovery has taught me that my life changes are about me; I cannot force others to come along my journeys with me. What I am going to have to do is figure out how to get him to QUIT CLUTTERING UP OUR HOUSE!

  2. The only thing I can do here is sigh and shake my head. And say, "Boys. . ." They all do it. How do I teach my son better?

    1. I wish I had an answer for you. Somehow, my 'neat-freak'life mom only rubbed off on me. My brother & sister? Have houses filled with stuffs and things, and according to my mom they both need to clean their houses. Of course, she'd probably say mine needs cleaning too, so maybe that's more anout her high standards than their low ones or something.
      Not being a parent myself, I don't know how much weight my words carry, but here's what I think. I think all a parent can do is set an example, and hope that the children follow it. I had a lot of years lost to active addiction; now that I am clean, I cam trace many of my good ideas and values straight back to my parents. So there is always hope, right? Hope that the seeds of goodness a parent plants will grow to fruition. Sorry I don't have an easy answer for you.