WAY TOO GODDAMN HOT

Rug out, floor swept and mopped, some areas of walls washed, furniture mostly back in place. New fridge tomorrow. Don't ask me about sorting out any boxes. Cleaning will resume when I am not HALF DEAD FROM THE HEAT: 97 degrees Fahrenheit today, highs of 100 predicted for tomorrow and Monday, heat indices around 110. I mildly dislike and disapprove of home air conditioning in this climatic region except for about two weeks each summer, and we are in the second of those weeks now.

*

Disturbing conversation with landlord while rug was being taken out. Very nice guy in many ways, but he talks proudly about, for example, the time that one of his sons almost killed two young black men who were harassing a couple of white girls; his son beat them up to the point that it was entirely possible that he might have killed them, which scared him badly, not so much because they would've been dead but because of the consequences he could have faced. Knowing my landlord a bit and having met his sons, I see no reason to doubt this.

Landlord also mentioned startling facts about his own residence: "I have tons of doors and stained glass windows and miscellaneous fixtures in storage, from all these old Victorian houses I own. My own [slightly dilapidated Victorian] house has nine bedrooms. I use six of 'em for storage space, plus a couple garages. My one son said 'Dad, you should get rid of all this stuff.' I said 'But when I'm gone, you'll inherit all of it!' Son said, 'Okay -- get more!'" These people are fucking crazy, more than a little scary, and Persons of Squalor in their own ways to boot, it would seem, but they've been nice to me overall.

*

Watched Team America: World Police for the first time this weekend. I liked it a lot, especially the songs, but cannot cope with the self-satisfaction of the guys who made it. To wit (from an October 2004 interview):

Stone: It's about optimism, though. That's the big thing about the movie; that end message is about American optimism. And that's the difference between America and the rest of the world, because if you go to Europe, people are not optimistic about the future there. And Americans do have a naive optimism about that -- it's not just us, and the fact that we live in this L.A. bubble -- I think all Americans have this naive optimism and have for a long time. And a lot of times it's naive, and it's unfounded, and it's even wrong, but it's somehow that optimism that keeps America looking forward and trying to make the world better. And I really do think that's something that's unique to America that doesn't exist in a lot of the world.

And it can be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Stone: Exactly. A lot of times it fuels the good things. Sure, it's stupid, and a lot of times it's a big smile while eating a big shit sandwich, but you just keep going, you know?

Parker: But another thing that goes along with the optimism part of it is basically the idea of, well, if I'm not going to have a fucking great time and I'm not going to really appreciate and enjoy and say life is great, then there really is no hope. Because all of the hope for the world is that there can be a great life, and to me, I'm proof of that, that there can be a great life. And yes, it's all about trying to dole that out to as many people as possible, but it's also about, when you have a great country, and it all works, and your life is awesome, then be able to say so! But for some reason, it's almost taboo to say, My fucking life is awesome, and I have a great time, and I have a sweet house and a nice car. People are like [using a scolding voice], "Hey, hey, hey, hey!"

Stone: Especially the richest people in the world, which we know some of in this town, you know? [Angry voice] "The world is fucked up!"

Parker: Look, we were below middle class growing up, and I had a dream that someday things were gonna be better, and I assume that's the way it is in Third World countries. So, if you're not going to enjoy the dream, then there's no hope for anything.

"A sweet house and a nice car" -- the very definition of "a great life" for most Americans.

I don't know for a fact that I would make different choices if I had a lot of money at my disposal -- though I think, and certainly hope, that I would -- but I tend to be offended rather than impressed by displays of wealth. (I am also offended by empty displays of righteousness from the wealthy, but I don't think they should shut up about inequities -- on the contrary, I think they should talk about them all the time, plus give away a whole lot of money, to organizations and individuals personally selected by me.) My inability to hide this attitude has caused me trouble in the past, in the workplace and socially. It's not like I launch into rants; I try to be polite, but the effort probably shows.

If I could easily afford a one-bedroom apartment in my neighborhood rather than a run-down micro-efficiency, plus really good health insurance and a semi-nice stereo, I would be materially comfortable beyond anything I've known as an adult or allowed myself to hope for, and FAR beyond the means of most of the population of the planet. In fact, I already am immeasurably better off than most people in the world, and my sense of entitlement to same is not large.

*

It's hard for me to define what socioeconomic level I come from. I never had to worry about having enough to eat, or clothes to wear, or a roof over my head. On the other hand, my parents were constantly stressed about money (they had to declare bankruptcy at one point); the arguments and tension over money matters were endless. They never owned a house, but insisted on renting in expensive suburbs, moving about every other year due to financial and/or marital crises. (From fifth grade on my schoolmates were, almost uniformly, from families ranging from "very comfortable" to "very rich," and I absorbed my parents' feelings of being outclassed by those around me.) My father had a hard time hanging onto jobs; my mother worked only intermittently, and resented having to do so at all; neither of them had careers, just a succession of medium-crappy white-collar and pink-collar jobs. My mother grew up in poverty during the Depression and had lifelong envy-fantasies about aristocracy and wealth, while my father's family, as far as I could tell, had been middle-to-upper-middle class in a style that might have been called "shabby genteel" in the first half of the last century. Then there is the fact that my parents basically hated each other but couldn't quite be bothered to divorce; my father in particular seemed to resent what he experienced as the economic burden of having a family. I have the distinct impression that both of them regarded my early academic success primarily as a sort of retirement fund.

At some point I think I just said to myself, approximately, "Fuck it, these people are nuts and I cannot care about any of this bullshit." Unfortunately, by then I had also sustained the kind of emotional damage that makes it hard to actively care very much about anything at all, so I'm not personally a good example of any kind of alternative, but I like to think that I can now sometimes recognize theory and practice that makes better sense and is more useful than what I absorbed early in my life, and can now maybe learn a bit from it.

*

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin

*

"...my morals end at 100 degrees fahrenheit. when the temp's above 100 i can wear shorts, drink at work, stab people, steal stuff from people's desks, etc." -- M@tt He1geson: Real Name, No Gimmicks

Meh. Too hot.

In the last couple days I've done a lot of running around to various appointments via bus -- not a huge problem in itself, but having to scuttle around so much in the heat has taken a toll on my motivation to clean and organize, and I'm not even going to talk about how hot it is in my apartment. It's supposed to stay in the 90s through the weekend, too. Feh.

*

Still no word from landlord. Stuff still in boxes. This evening I'll try again to pry a definite answer out of landlord about when he's going to have my fridge replaced and rug taken out. I'll also go through at least one of those boxes, so help me god, and get the contents whittled down and in some sort of order, even if I end up having to put them back into the box in the unlikely event that carpet removal is imminent.

Problems with sorting:

1. Temptation to read everything closely as I go
2. Getting upset about some of the mail, esp. things about health insurance and money matters

I do have some empty file folders. I think I'll label a few with likely categories before I start, so I can put things into them as I work. That should make it go faster.

*

I haven't been to the YWCA for a couple of weeks. My back has been giving me some trouble lately, but I want to go tomorrow anyway, after I've done my sorting. Maybe I'll just stretch and then use the pool. Yeah, that sounds good.

*

"Never keep up with the Joneses; drag them down to your level. It's cheaper." -- Quentin Crisp

Merchandise, it keeps us in line
Common sense says it's by design...
You are not what you own
Fugazi, "Merchandise," 1989

E-WAY ARE-AY E-THAY ILTHIEST-FAY EOPLE-PAY IN-AY E-THAY ORLD-WAY!

That's "We Are The Filthiest People In The World" in Pig Latin (what else?), from a scene that was cut from John Waters' trash masterpiece Pink Flamingos (1972) but appears on the DVD. Words fail me when it comes to this film, but the plot hinges on two families in a battle to the death for the coveted title of The Filthiest People Alive. Forget Squalor Level 4, this is Squalor Level Ten Million. Not for the faint of heart or stomach, but I think everyone should see it at least once. Try to envision a 300-lb. drag queen skipping merrily through the woods outside of Baltimore with her two partners in filth and crime, all chanting this slogan at the top of their lungs. I find it heartwarming, but then I would.

*

Yesterday I did laundry, washed dishes, cleaned up my computer's hard drive, did some other minor maintenance-type tasks, and got another empty box, into which I threw a bunch more stuff -- papers, small electricals & cords -- in anticipation of having my carpet removed. In the evening I called my landlord and asked him what day and time I could expect him to replace the refrigerator and take out the water-damaged rug, so that I could be sure to be here to help with moving the furniture and putting it back. (Late last week, when the fridge problem occurred, he told me that it would be on "Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday" -- that is, yesterday, today, or tomorrow.)

During our phone conversation it soon became clear, without his ever quite saying so, that my landlord regretted having offered -- repeat: offered -- to take out my rug, and would rather not do it. I said "If you and Chris [the caretaker] aren't going to be able to remove the carpet, it's OK, but I need to know so that I can plan accordingly." He simply would not give me a straight answer no matter how I approached the matter, and could not tell me when they would be here since he hadn't checked with Chris (who is his son). Finally, defeated, I asked him to call me back after he'd talked to Chris and at least let me know when they'd be here, since I have several things going on this week and want to be present for whatever they end up doing. He assured me that he would. He still hasn't. FUME. I need to either pack more stuff up or unpack and start organizing; I'm not about to try moving this furniture (some of which is quite heavy) and disposing of the wall-to-wall carpet myself. Meanwhile I have fewer piles lying around, replaced by several boxfuls of jumbled stuff. GREAT.

*

Thank you to the people who read this blog and those who comment on it. I'm flattered, and glad someone is enjoying it besides me.

Coffee table update; major apartment upheaval soon

Coffee table has been cleared off and cleaned. Next steps: sift, cull, and organize the stuff that used to be on and under the table and is now in a large cardboard box.

*

After some recent trouble with the electricity in my apartment -- it's in a large house, built in 1886, that has not been very well maintained -- my landlord agreed to replace my horrid old refrigerator with a new one, and to remove the nasty wall-to-wall carpet which has been damaged by the leaking fridge. Overall this is good news, but it makes me anxious too: taking out the carpet will mean shifting around everything in here, and there are loose books under the bed, piles of stuff in corners, etc. It's all supposed to happen early this coming week, so I've got more boxing to do. I should get another box or two today.

It will be great to have a new or newish fridge, with a freezer that actually works. I just hope it won't be ugly brown like the last one, and I hope it won't be too loud either, since in this apartment the fridge is never less than ten feet away from me. It took ages to get used to the noise this old one makes, but by now it hardly registers.

I'm definitely looking forward to the carpet being gone -- I won't have to worry any more about getting it clean, for one thing, and though the wood floor beneath it is not in top shape, I think it will be easier for me to keep clean than the carpet was. ("ctrl-s, this implement, with the long handle and the bunch of straw-like stuff at one end, is known as a broom.") I plan to get a nice throw rug too, from Target or wherever.

Having the carpet taken out will also give me a chance to rearrange my furniture. Unfortunately I am bad at envisioning better ways to have it; this amount of furniture wouldn't be a problem in even a slightly larger room, but here there's just too much of it for the space, and not enough of it is storage-oriented. Wish I could put a few things in the basement, but das is verboten. I can't see getting rid of any of it, either. There must be something I can do. Any improvement at all will be wonderful, I tell myself.

*

I also need to do two loads of laundry today, and finish washing the dishes that are in my sink.

*

Saw a mouse in here earlier this morning. Not unprecedented, but very unusual for the summer months. WTF? There isn't any food lying around.

*

Squalor Book of the Week: Down and Out in Paris And London, George Orwell.

These three weeks were squalid and uncomfortable, and evidently there was worse coming, for my rent would be due before long. Nevertheless, things were not a quarter as bad as I had expected. For, when you are approaching poverty, you make one discovery which outweighs some of the others. You discover boredom and mean complications and the beginnings of hunger, but you also discover the great redeeming feature of poverty: the fact that it annihilates the future. Within certain limits, it is actually true that the less money you have, the less you worry. When you have a hundred francs in the world you are liable to the most craven panics. When you have only three francs you are quite indifferent; for three francs will feed you till tomorrow, and you cannot think further than that. You are bored, but you are not afraid. You think vaguely, ‘I shall be starving in a day or two—shocking, isn’t it?’ And then the mind wanders to other topics. A bread and margarine diet does, to some extent, provide its own anodyne.

And there is another feeling that is a great consolation in poverty. I believe everyone who has been hard up has experienced it. It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure, at knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out. You have talked so often of going to the dogs—and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them, and you can stand it. It takes off a lot of anxiety.

The entire book is available online, here.

Waste, emptiness, nests, boxes

I'm feeling very disorganized and procrastination-prone, and tired too, and I have a bunch of errands to do today. Here are some things that are on my mind.

Waste. "To use, consume, spend, or expend thoughtlessly or carelessly. [...] From Middle English wasten, from Old North French waster, from Latin vastare, to make empty, from vastus, empty."

From a 1966 book review: "Pynchon's intricacies are meant to testify to the waste -- a key word in The Crying of Lot 49 -- of imagination that first creates and is then enslaved by its own plottings, its machines, the products of its technology." -- Richard Poirier, New York Times

(Auto-suggestion: don't buy so much crap in the first place. I've gotten much better about this, partly out of economic necessity, but I could always do better yet -- do I really need a VitaminWater, in a plastic bottle, almost every day? -- and somehow I still have about eleven lipsticks. Well, at least those are small.)

Empty. "In Old English Ic eom aemtig could mean 'I am empty,' 'I am unoccupied,' or 'I am unmarried.' The sense 'unoccupied, at leisure,' which did not survive Old English, points to the derivation of aemtig from the Old English word aemetta, 'leisure, rest.' The word aemetta may in turn go back to the Germanic root mot-, meaning 'ability, leisure.' In any case, Old English aemtig also meant 'vacant,' a sense that was destined to take over the meaning of the word. Empty, the Modern English descendant of Old English aemtig, has come to have the sense 'idle,' so that one can speak of empty leisure."

Nest. "See empty nest; feather one's nest; foul one's nest; stir up a hornet's nest."

At times in the past my bed has been covered with books and papers and CDs and clothes, so that I had to shove it all aside to make room to sleep, but somehow I got over having to have a literal nest (aside from my apartment itself, that is) and the bed itself is no longer cluttered. That more or less coincided with getting a laptop a few years ago and using it in bed all the time -- most of my reading and writing and music is now in this one box. But now there's computer squalor to deal with: defragging the hard drive, backing stuff up to the external drive, scanning for viruses and spyware, deleting cookies, etc. I tend to put those things off for no good reason, but I do get around to them once in a while, and my computer seems to be OK.

*

Yesterday was a bad day for several reasons, but I did manage to get two empty boxes for the stuff on my coffee table. There they are, ready to go. Later today or tonight I will begin the cleaning. Woo.

Squalor levels / minor cleaning goal

The Squalor Survivors web site lists degrees of squalor. This seems like a helpful way to think about the spectrum of messiness and dirt, but the specifics don't quite fit my situation.

These days I will let my friends K. and M. come over once in a while, and my landlord and caretaker as needed, even though my apartment is far from anything most people would recognize as clean or neat. Last year I also let a social worker and a county home care worker come in to help me clean. (In the past I've also allowed a couple other friends and boyfriends to visit, with ... mixed ... results.) My general policy is: if I don't already know you very well, or if you aren't here specifically to do repairs or help me clean, YOU CAN'T COME OVER. My apartment is too small to be a good place for more than one person to hang out anyway, regardless of messiness / cleanliness. It's all kind of moot right now since I don't have much of a "social life," but still it would be nice to feel that I could have people over without feeling ashamed of how dirty and messy my place is. There have been stretches where I wouldn't let ANYONE in, even for needed repairs, due to the combo of Severe Depression and Extreme Squalor. Fortunately things have improved a lot in the past year or so.

Second-degree squalor? Hm. I've always been able to use the bed and phone, and to physically get around in here (stepping over / on / through piles as needed), but I do have a chair and table that have at times been used ONLY for piling things on. The chair is fine now; the table is not. Also there have been extended periods where I couldn't really cook, or could cook only in very limited ways, because the dishes and stove were too scary, but that is over now.

Level 3? I never had any problems with animal feces or urine. I've had cats for extended visits when their owners were away, but I always kept their litter boxes under control even when everything else had gone to hell. Rotting food? Um, yeah, there has been some, but it has always been confined to the refrigerator. I don't know if that counts. Probably.

My place isn't near Level 4 now, but there have been times when it wasn't far from it; again the description doesn't quite fit. Until a year or so ago I had sporadic bathroom plumbing problems that I sometimes didn't deal with for months, so at times I had to find, um, creative means for certain functions, but I never had areas of human waste that was not in the toilet and just sat there. The plumbing has been fixed now, and I wouldn't hesitate to have the caretaker come in if the problems recur. Point is, I can see how people's homes can get to 4th-degree squalor, and at times mine has been close, but fortunately I'm far from it now and I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK.

HOUSE OF CTRL-S TODAY

Many things are in boxes and drawers and shelves and my closet now that weren't before, and the dish, laundry, and trash situations have been resolved. The floor is mostly clear, and I can move around without much trouble beyond that caused by limited space and inconveniently arranged furniture. The bathroom sink, toilet, and tub are clean. The stove and kitchen counter are clean. My dresser drawers and closet are even somewhat organized. This is good.

Still: the floor is dirty, the walls are dirty, many surfaces are dusty or grimy, my kitchen cabinets and drawers are a mess, there are a few piles of papers and a snarl of electrical cords, the contents of my file drawers and some of the boxes are NOT organized, the windows and blinds are dirty, and overall it is just not anything you would call "nice" in here.

I need to rearrange my furniture, probably get rid of some more stuff, and probably get more shelving and another two-drawer file cabinet.

(I need to do a lot of other things too, but that is all I can cope with thinking about right now.)

I don't think I can rearrange my furniture until I've dealt with some of the piles.

ACTUAL CLEANING GOAL, 7/20/06:

In the next few days I want to remove all the stuff that is piled up my coffee table, and clean the table's surface. First I need an empty box to temporarily store the papers and other stuff that is now on the table, until I can -- *shudder* -- sort it all out. I am going to try to have the table cleaned, and the stuff that was on it at least partly sorted and culled and organized, by, um, Sunday.

Today I will try to get a box or two.

P.S. I just now found an ancient bottle of Murphy's Oil Soap in my cabinet, to clean the wood tabletop with after I've cleared it off. VICTORY.

Hikikomori

Hikikomori (lit. "pulling away, being confined," i.e., "acute social withdrawal") is a Japanese term to refer to the phenomenon of reclusive adolescents and young adults who have chosen to withdraw from social life, often seeking extreme degrees of isolation and confinement due to various personal and social factors in their lives. The term "hikikomori" refers to both the sociological phenomenon in general as well as to individuals belonging to this societal group.
-- Wikipedia

Capital, It Fails Us Now: An Introduction to Squalor

Consume consume consume
accumulate accumulate accumulate
the one who dies with the most toys wins
LOOK AT ALL THESE TOYS!

Actually I have very few belongings compared to most Americans. Still I cannot keep them in good order, and never have been able to.

I'm forty-two years old.

I've been depressed, both in my heart and according to most clinical criteria, for as long as I can remember. By "depression" I mean inexpressible sorrow and stifled anger, with the resultant deficits in thinking, feeling, and behavior. Why? Go figure. My family sort of sucked, is part of it. Also capitalism, probably (more on this later -- the two are not as separable as you might think).

I also am troubled by: PTSD, an unspecifiable personality disorder ("borderline / avoidant" might begin to describe it), chronic anxiety, obsessive-compulsive traits, mild dissociative tendencies, internet addiction, severe "demand resistance," occasional periods of overindulgence in The Chronic, and various other, lesser psychic evils and woes.

I live in extreme social isolation. I have basically no family now (no siblings; father dead; mother impossible, very little contact). I have two (2) friends at this point; neither friendship involves expectations beyond being available to talk and hang out once in a while, plus occasional help with practical matters. I haven't been in a serious relationship for years, and at this point it's hard to imagine that I could be again. I don't see a therapist or participate in any groups. There is really no one there for me, in the sense that most people take for granted.

I've come to feel that trying to get ongoing assistance from the public mental health system is boring and annoying and invasive, and finally unhelpful and not worth the trouble. The older I get the less patience I have for it.

I have no job. Well, that's not quite true: I do some typing and transcription at home, a few hours a week, but I don't have a real job. I started receiving Social Security disability income in late 2003, after a hospitalization in 2002 followed by a year and a half of heavy and unhelpful medication and intermittent employment. I stopped the medication after I began to receive Social Security and have not resumed. I feel no worse.

I don't like the city, or even the state, I live in. (I've been here for over 20 years.) It has its points but in many ways I feel strongly that I'd be happier elsewhere. I can't begin to imagine what it would take for me to be able to move, though.

I haven't completed my education. Again, I don't know what it would take for me to be able to go back to school. I can't even stand to think about it.

...Oh, right: SQUALOR.

My VERY TINY studio apartment is terrible, and has been for years. I don't have enough shelving, my filing cabinet just has piles in it and I need another one, I have weird crappy random furniture that doesn't fit well in here (and no other storage space), my futon is more like a piece of stale rye bread than a bed, there are piles of scary unopened mail and miscellaneous papers, the floor is filthy, the walls are stained from cigarette smoke and condensation, my kitchen cabinets are awful, etc., etc., etc. (It used to be much worse, though, as in Level 3/4, until about a year ago.) I now seem stuck at Level 2-ish, a big improvement but still far from "good." I think I've almost lost any real awareness that it could be better than this, that I could do better, that it's worth doing, that I deserve better -- I've never maintained a clean, organized, pleasant living space for any length of time, even when other areas of my life were going relatively well. I can easily imagine living at this level of squalor for the rest of my life, and it scares me.

My health insurance situation -- Medicare and, intermittently, additional state-sponsored coverage -- is chronically disorganized and confusing and infuriating and depressing. Lately I haven't even been trying to straighten it all out: we don't even open THAT mail! We throw it on a pile and try not to think about it, and just suck up the spasms of dread and shame!

I don't think I'll go into my financial squalor in any detail just now, but: there is an old credit-card debt situation, and we don't talk about that. Even so, the overall $ squalor is better than it was a few years ago (see below).

Of course I actually blame myself, not capitalism or anything or anyone else, for all of this.

You would never guess any of this if we met and talked for a few minutes. My vocational counselor remarked recently that I "mask my symptoms incredibly well." This is not correct. I am that competent and normal-seeming person. I am also that ill, isolated, heartsick, miserable person who lives in a horrible mess. Neither is fake. Both are real. It all coexists, in fragments.

Fortunately:

• I am physically quite healthy. My only bad health habit is smoking. I have a membership at a YWCA and use it -- less regularly than I'd like, but I do go. I live close to a co-op grocery store with great produce, so I eat well, and pretty cheaply too, which has not always been the case.
• I'm grateful for the friendships I do have.
• I am thankfully free of severe thought disorders, hallucinations, delusions, etc. (Um, I think I am, at least.) May they stay away.
• I read a lot, mostly on the internet and some books as well (fiction, nonfiction, you name it). I go to the library a lot.
• I live in a relatively safe and attractive neighborhood. It's not problem-free, but it's OK.
• I do talk to people via the internet some, mostly about music or writing. I have trouble forming and keeping relationships, even low-key ones, even online, but still that minimal contact can be really nice and sustaining. (It can also be upsetting, so I am careful.)
• Living where I live, I don't have to own a car, so I don't. This has its drawbacks, of course, but on the whole I'm happier without one.
• I don't watch TV. Nothing against people who do, but I don't like it and am glad not to have it in my life.
• I like music, mostly post-punk, punk, noise rock, and some dance music. I like to keep up on the new stuff, and delve into the old. I still go to hear live music once in a while and I even have fun sometimes.
• I enjoy making CD mixes of songs for my friends; they seem to like them, too.
• I have another blog, basically a scrapbook of notes about music and writing that I like. It's nothing much at all but I enjoy doing it just for myself, to remember the things that hold so much meaning for me.
• Since last year I've been able to keep up with the Three Household Chores -- dishwashing, laundry, and trash -- pretty consistently and well, apart from a few lapses on the dish front. This new era was kicked off by a visit from a county worker whose job was to help people like me clean up their living spaces. He was scheduled for two visits but somehow I could only accept one, and even that was not easy. I don't know how many bags of old clothing and papers and trash we took out, but it was a lot. And he DID MY DISHES FOR ME. Salut, Brad! Thank you!
• I finally dealt with my awful tax squalor a few years ago, thanks to a wonderful tax service in my city that offers free assistance to low-income people, and now it is all in order. Feels good.
• I don't have much trouble covering my basic expenses. There's not a lot left over, and there is that aforementioned credit-card debt nightmare, as well as some old medical bills, but I keep up with the rent, phone, groceries, etc. (I live VERY frugally, if that isn't obvious.) Again, this has not always been the case. Thanks, Social Security!
• My city has a fantastic and super-cheap discount/used clothing store, so with two medium-sized shopping trips a year I have all the clothes I need. They're not very stylish, but they're fine.
• I take care of my appearance in basic ways. I used to not bathe or brush my teeth for weeks (because I wouldn't leave my apartment for weeks). Now it's down to days at a time, once in a while. I'm usually at least presentable.
• I have some savings. Not nearly as much as I'd like, but there is something.
• This spring I acquired a couple of small house plants and have managed to keep them alive so far.
• It has been very hot here for the past week (and I don't have A/C), but this morning it finally rained; the temperature went down by 20 degrees and now everything seems much more doable.

...All this and I've sort of run out of steam on my original intent for this post. For now, though, consider:

How weird is it that there is now a whole busy nationwide (maybe international, I haven't checked) internet community of people who are struggling with intractable messiness and clutter, to the point of feeling horribly oppressed and miserable and overwhelmed for years by the sheer physical presence of all that fucking stuff, many of whom also suffer from mental illness, usually depression? Do you think this particular constellation of problems existed, in its current form and on its present scale, even 40 years ago? I'm not a conspiracy theorist but I think there's something ... noncoincidental ... about the appearance of this Squalor Lifestyle as an identifiable ... not culture, exactly, but an odd kind of social phenomenon, a common secret that has reached critical mass to the point where it can't really be a secret any more.

Dirt behind the daydream
Dirt behind the daydream
The happy ever after
It's at the end of the rainbow
Gang of Four, "Ether," 1979

"After two years it doesn't get any dirtier." -- Quentin Crisp