Homeowner
I recently bought a house and with it began a brand new chapter of my life. I’m so excited to live in this big, beautiful home, but there’s just one problem: it’s got some wear and tear. A fixer-upper, if you will. It was built in the early aughts and is definitely showing its age with its faded siding and scuffed floors. Now this…I cannot accept. My life has begun anew, and this house must reflect that.
So I’ve got a little renovating to do. No big deal — I’ll just make some improvements here and there. This house will look so fresh and shiny once I’m done with it. I’ll put in faux-chrome fixtures that will never fade. I’ll apply a new layer of paint inside and out — a different facade for a different life. I’ll pull off the paneling, replace the lights, and rip out the tile to make it modern and aesthetic. I’ll gut the whole damned thing if I have to. Tearing out your insides and replacing them with pristine things is so chic, right?
I’ll make the most beautiful, timeless house there ever was. Timeless…huh… unaffected by the passage of time. I wonder how one would accomplish that. Must I make my house and myself so strong and unbreakable that we are able to join time as equals in our grueling, unceasing march forward?
I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that now, so I have to become strong enough. I’ll fortify myself, tear away the rotted bits and replace them as they age. The rusted gutters and cracked stoop can’t stay. They will just pull me down into decay — into oblivion. What if I make this renovation a constant process? If I take a new, unrecognizable form every day, will I escape death? Will it lose track of my shifting form in the endless crowd and never, ever find me? Will I have won? Or will I not be me anymore?
The good bones of a house are only good while they serve their purpose. Once the house falls down, they’re just rubble. No longer bones, no longer good. If I keep my bones, I’ll still be me, right? I’ll coat my bones in titanium and fill them with rods and pins to make them strong. But metal rusts into nothing eventually. Can I stop to replace my parts quick enough, before time overtakes me and death drags me into that good night? I wish I could make them listen when I ask them to slow down a bit. I’m not asking much, but they don’t care. I guess I just have to be faster and better than them. Then, I’ll win. Then, I’ll be eternal. I’ll beat time and the reaper that follows it. I just need to keep renovating.
Emerged from the primordial soup filled with joyous whimsy and disdain for Adobe.
