Like I mentioned before, Greg has Ataxia which means he can trip over a line drawn on the floor. This makes a nervous wreck out of me. I have no idea when a dust bunny, or a crack, or a piece dog hair will trip him and land him on his butt. Well, usually he lands on his belly and flops around like a fish out of water. Scares the be-jesus out of me. I know he hates it. It isn’t something he can control, which for a control freak, is unacceptable. Oh, yes, I failed to mention before that in addition to Greg being a neat-nut and having OCD, he is a control freak as well. I think most men are to a certain degree. Of course Greg is a LEO and they are very independent creatures. I’ll give him credit, however, he’s mellowed quite a bit, but the gene still lurks in the shadows.
Daddy was the same way. However, Ol’ Dad was a Scorpio which is tons worse than a Leo. When a stoke took him down, not being able to control the situation or do simple things like tie his shoes was hell of earth. So I understand Greg’s frustration at not be able to do the things he did before,like cleaning the ceiling fan. Here is one of Weeble’s FaceBook post that pretty well tells the story:
“Boy, Ruth pissed me off this morning. I said I need to clean the ceiling fan over my bed. She asked how I was going to do that. I told her I was going to use the vacuum cleaner and one of those Swiffer things. I said, If I can’t reach the top, I’ll just stand on the bed. She said, “That’s the dumbest think you’ve ever done”. Boy howdy, I jumped right back and said, “I have done many dumber things than this.”
Weebes used humor but if you’re skilled at reading between the lines, frustration stands out.
When I moved in I had a ton of stuff. I refuse to call it crap as I paid darn good money for some of it. Nevertheless, I had a lot of it. Greg’s solution was to put it in the attic. I flipping hate that attic! When we bought the house there were no attic stairs so we bought a set of pull-down steps and had them installed. Steps of Death! The stairs are narrow, steep, and the rungs were made for a kid’s shoe size two to step on. My shoe size is 5 1/2, and I have to really watch where I place my foot. Now imagine Greg who has a shoe of 9 or 10 trying to maneuver the rungs. Even when he didn’t have Ataxia it wasn’t easy. I avoid the attic like the plague. As a result, I stuffed all my treasures into two closets. I did wrestle a few boxes up those steeled rungs of hell but only a few. As life would have it, I sometimes need things I stuffed into those closets, but when I go to get them, I can’t find them. Oh man, that pisses me off no end. In my mind’s eye I can see it in the exact box I put it in, but the box is nowhere to be found. Greg’s answer to all of this: “It must be in the attic.”
I swear if I put all the stuff I can’t find in the attic, the ceiling would cave in. I know damn well it is not upstairs and I will not tempt the hand of fate and crawl up those steps of death to prove my point. Greg’s answer to this, “I wish I could get up there. I’d find it.”
Oh, holy hell.
No way. Weebles can’t feel his feet. He’d have no idea if his foot was on the rung or if it was flopping off the side. This statement made me come unglued and I yelled, “No flipping way are you to ever try climbing in the attic!” Actually “flipping” was not the word I used but you get the idea. I continued my rant, “If I ever come home, hit the garage-door opener and see you laying flat-out on the cement garage floor with the attic steps looming over you, I will kill you!”
Greg’s answer to all of this, “I’d be dead. You couldn’t kill me.”
Good point. But because I’m a stubborn Taurus I just had to have the last word, which was, “I don’t flipping care. I’d resurrect you then kill you all over again.”
I’m really not complaining about Greg even if it sounds like it. He’s a good man, and I’m not a peach to live with either. I’d much rather co-habituate with a neat-freak than a flabby beer-bellied, billy-goat-stinking slob. I do stupid stuff too. Not a whole lot, but some.
But I swear to God if I ever find out Weebles has been up in the attic, I will be wanted for Murder in the first degree.