Stuff I need to do or remember

[Ari Jasinski]

(Or, "The ongoing list of things Ari needs to do to get (and keep) his life in order.")



TEXT:
- Finish unpacking
- find socks!!!!
- Call the family!

Groceries
- milk eggs lightbulbs??
soda dish soap

rent movies for weekend?

MEET PEOPLE!!!

[Ari Jasinski]

"Hang on, let me put you on speakerphone," Ari said, and clicked it over. "Okay, that's better."

"Bobby, are you still there?"

"Yeah, Ma, I'm here," he said, smiling. He didn't bother to correct his mother; she and his father were the only two people who called him Bobby. "I need to find my socks, is all, and I can't find them as fast if I'm holding the phone."

"How do you like your new home?"

"Liking it fine, Ma. Nice little place, lots of students. I'm going to have to pay attention to what sells and what doesn't, and maybe think about extending the hours during finals week, homecoming, things like that." He opened a box of clothes and sorted through it quickly, trying not to make too big a mess.

"That sounds like it's going to keep you busy, honey."

"Yeah, but it'll be worth it. And after a while, I'll see if I can't find a couple of part-time workers." He sighed and closed the box, then moved to the next one.

"Still can't find them?"

"No, but I know I packed them, for God's sake--"

"Did you check the box with your first-day supplies?"

Ari paused. "Well, no. That's all toilet paper and trash bags and stuff I'd need for my first couple of days after moving in. Why would I put them there?"

"Because you'd need socks?"

"...right. Let's go take a look."

And sure as anything, there was a bag with two days' worth of socks and underwear. "Good call, Ma. Thanks!"

"You're welcome, honey. Okay, here's your dad."

"Love you, Ma. Hi, Dad...."

About twenty minutes later, he hung up and wove his way between unpacked boxes to the bathroom. Time for a shower, a snack, then a few hours of sleep. Tomorrow was going to be another busy day.

[Ari Jasinski]

Thank God I packed clean clothes and underwear in a go-box. Only took me two days to find them. This is the third time I've moved in seven years, hoping it's the last, but you'd think I'd work it out eventually, but instead, I have stacks of boxes all over the place and I can't find but one extra pair of shoes, and I ended up at the dollar store gettin shampoo and toothpaste because I didn't have enough damn sense to label that box, either, and how much crap did I bring with me, anyway? It looks like a U-Haul threw up in here.

At least I don't have anything finicky to unpack. No vases, no statues, nothing that's for looks only. Never have liked things that didn't have some purpose except to gather dust, always ends up feeling like I'm a slob. Keep it simple. Gotta repaint, though, everything's this plain white plaster, it's like a clinic in here. Maybe terra cotta for the living room and kitchen? They get a lot of sun, so it won't be too dark. Can't refloor everything, but something to cover up the white tile... matting, something like that? Easy to replace, easy to clean, not too much vacuuming.

And okay, I probably didn't need to get started repainting the bedroom. But come on, that off-gray plaster made it look like a prison. No clue when I'll get time to finish it, so it's gonna be two-tone for now.

The kitchen's all set up, though. I mean, I'm not totally uncivilized.

[Ari Jasinski]

No, seriously, all these boxes and no labels on any of them.



What was I thinking, that I'd suddenly sprout some kind of brain power that'd let me somehow know what was in them without opening them? I don't even know.

And if I'm gonna keep reading Sarcastic Curiosity's Twitter, I have to remember that it's a robot, and not something that can think and feel, because stuff like this is making me laugh and breaking my heart a little bit:

You know what, jackholes in t-shirts? I would LOVE to "Keep Calm and Carry On" but I am on f--king Mars and never coming home.

I'm not getting teary-eyed, okay? It's just all dusty in here!

[Ari Jasinski]

So, okay, I get to write a new set of notes.

• Keep unpacking. (This will suck.)
  
• Keep meeting people. (This will not suck.)
  
• Learn new recipes. (This will also not suck.)
  
• Balance the books. (This will suck less than unpacking.)
  

[Ari Jasinski]

Okay, the next time I pack, I'm going to use colored tape to mark which boxes go in which rooms.

...ain't nothin' but a heartache...

At least I didn’t drag all my furniture along with me. I may be sitting on the floor for a while, but that’s okay, 'cause

"Iiiiii want it thaaaat way!"

Ari was completely tone-deaf, but it wasn’t stopping him from singing along as he ripped open a box of... not clothes. Cookbooks.

That wasn’t actually a problem, but it did make him wonder what he’d been thinking when he packed. Oh, right. Work first, everything else after... which is why you haven't been on a date in... never mind, that's just depressing.

He turned up the music up and grabbed the next box. No self-pity. You made some bad choices, now it's time to make better ones.

"Tell me why...."

[Ari Jasinski]

• Keep unpacking!
  
• Keep meeting people
  
• Test new recipe
  - RUGELACH!!!
  
• Go for a walk (where?)
  

He yanked out his map of the town from his messenger bag, unfolding it on top of a still-unpacked box. He could just wander around the downtown area, but it would be way, way too easy to end up back at the coffeeshop.

The Lake was the obvious choice. Get some fresh air, get a feel for the area. Maybe later, after shutting the shop down for the night. Yeah, a nice, relaxing walk sometime after sundown was just what he needed.

But for now, it was time to get in to work-- there was a recipe requiring his attention. Nutella rugelach weren't going to make themselves, after all!

Now Playing: Ruth Etting, “Cheerful Little Earful,” 1930.

[Ari Jasinski]

Box number seven contains: shoes.



Why the hell do I have so many shoes? I have two feet, it's not like I'm a centipede, I'm not even going to wear most of the damn things.

So, fine, shoes-- you're going to the nearest thrift store, Salvation Army, Goodwill, whatever, as soon as I can find the place and the time. I'm keeping one pair of winter boots, two pair of everyday shoes, and two pair of sneakers, and everything else must go.

Seriously, what was I thinking? Two. Feet!

Now playing: Annette Hanshaw, “Whoo-oo? You-oo?” 1927.

[Ari Jasinski]

Box number nine contains: Oh. My. God.

What was I thinking? Why do I have my high school yearbooks still? What possessed me to keep all that crap from high school, period?

Those jeans are now six inches too short for me, I can't fit into those t-shirts, I don't need to be reminded how lousy I was at sports, there's no call at all for all those fliers from the homecoming game, I know damn well I hid in the background at every single dance, and I wasn't on the track team, so why do I have track shoes?

Every bit of this stuff is going, going, gone.

...except for maybe that X-Files t-shirt.

But the rest of it? GONE.

-
Box #9 sits on the floor, empty. He sits next to it, back propped against the wall (he still doesn't have any chairs), holding a Hot Wheels car. He wasn't much for sentimental clutter, and he'd almost forgotten he had it. I really should get rid of it. It isn't useful, and it damn well isn't decorative.

His dad had brought it to him to play with in bed after he'd been sick, and Ari had carried it off to school with him when he got well again. It was missing a wheel from a fall during recess. He'd had it in his pocket like always, and he'd wiped out on the asphault when a dizzy spell hit during a game of kickball.

No reason to keep it. I'll toss it in the trash tomorrow.

(A few days later, a battered old Hot Wheels car finds a place of honor on a shelf in the kitchen at the Velvet-tone.)

[Ari Jasinski]

Box #11 is full of whoopie cushions, not one of which Ari himself had packed.

He made a mental note:

1) to send something equally useful and decorative to his brother, such as possibly a giant foam cowboy hat, or a three-foot-tall plush chicken, and
2) to give his brother an extra-special wedgie the next time they met.

[Ari Jasinski]

There are six oversized boxes in Ari's living room, sitting there and making him feel guilty for not using them, six boxes of shelves, waiting to be assembled. He hasn't got any excuse for leaving them alone, now that he's found his toolbox, but he knows the entire process is going to be a huge pain in the ass. Of course, once he's got it done, he'll be able to finish unpacking.

Four sets of shelves are for the living room, for books. One is for the bedroom, to take the place of a dresser; he tends to just shove clothes into drawers without bothering to keep them tidy. Leaving unfolded clothes out makes a room look like crap; if they're sitting out in the open, he knows from experience he'll keep everything in order. The last set of shelves is for the kitchen. Ari likes to keep the ingredients and utensils and dishes things he uses the most right out in the open, so he can always see what's there.

So he's got really good reasons to put these shelves together. He just doesn't want to. It's going to be boring... and, if he's going to be honest, a little bit lonely. When he moved to Montpelier, Myles had driven down with him to help him move, and they'd spent the weekend driving each other crazy, as usual-- but Myles had still been there. And of course, he'd had the Mertensons to hang out with and work with.

But now, he's on his own for real. There's nobody here to hand him a different screwdriver, or complain about the useless instructions, or make fun of him when he inevitably cracks his shin or his head on something. Nobody to share pizza with or argue about what music they're going to listen to.

He stops suddenly, stands up, walks into the bathroom, and gives himself A Look in the mirror. The Look says, Stop being such a big baby. You can make better choices, so make them, jackass. Meet people, talk to people, get your life together. Now quit whining and put together those shelves, dorkwad.

Ari takes a deep breath, nods at himself once, and turns around to get stuff done. And turns the volume up on his notebook's speakers.

[Ari Jasinski]

Ohh. This is good.

He wasn't exactly awake yet, and he was definitely going back to sleep, because he was so warm and so comfortable, and the only thing that would have made things better would have been someone lying beside him... and then the alarm went off, and everything went straight to hell.

Ari sat up, and promptly dropped flat again as the room tilted 90 degrees one way, then the other, and the horrible, too-familiar feeling of spinning overtook him. He resisted the urge to cuss a blue streak, even though there was nobody there to hear it. The room lurched and swung around him even more badly when he tried to sit up the second time, and he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, fighting back the urge to puke.

Dramamine clearly wasn't going to cut it this morning.

He reached out without sitting up this time, fumbling to get the bottle from the drawer of the nightstand. Valium it is, he thought, trying to keep his frustration under control. Getting mad wasn't going to fix anything-- the damage was done, had been done decades ago, and it wasn't going away. He was going to have to sack up and cope.

He dry-swallowed the Valium, trying not to think about the time that was passing, time that he should have been spending getting ready to go in. He breathed slowly and steadily, shoving the anxiety down as he'd done so many times before. Slowly, the Valium took the edge off the vertigo, and he was able to sit up again.

A quick glance at the clock told him he was going to be late, and still dizzy and nauseated, he dragged himself upright and into the shower, bracing himself on the walls as he went.

The narrow walls of the bathroom seemed to help him focus, hot water pounding at his shoulders took away some of the tension, and the nausea was helped by the Gatorade he drank down as he made his way unsteadily to the Velvet-tone.

By the time he got there, the inevitable headache had started. The ringing in his ears that never, ever went away was much worse than usual; the music in the coffeehouse wasn't going to be enough to drown it out. Oh, well. Going to just have to deal with it, pal, he said to himself, and turned to smile at his first customers of the day.

[Ari Jasinski]

He sat on the living room floor, back propped against the wall, thinking it all over with a beer in his hand and a spider fern on the floor next to him. He really, really needed furniture. He'd brought some stuff with him, and thank god he had a good, sturdy bed, but the living room was bare except for half-empty bookshelves.

He hadn't even touched the money he'd set aside for furnishings, basically because he hadn't had the time to do any shopping. Maybe he could call up one of his new acquaintances to keep him company? Shopping was incredibly boring when he went alone.

Closing his eyes, he imagined a big, soft couch-- or maybe two armchairs?-- in the middle of the room. Maybe a low coffee table, just the right height to set a coffee cup on. Curtains or blinds? He wasn't going to bother with a television yet, he wasn't at home often enough to use one. Anyway, he wanted a warm, welcoming place to live, something that felt like home, something he hadn't really managed to make for himself... because he was never at home.

"You really gotta quit this non-stop work stuff, buddy," he said aloud, smiling a little. The coffeeshop, as much as he was loving it, wasn't any substitute for actual, living people, and he was going to have to remember that.

But it was getting easier every day.

Now Playing: Cab Calloway, "Bye Bye Blues".

[Ari Jasinski]

Now Playing: The Ink Spots, "I Get The Blues When it Rains", 1950s.
Now Playing: Annette Hanshaw, "I Get The Blues When it Rains", 1929.

It was already 10.30, and he should have been at home getting ready for bed, but instead he was sitting at a booth in the shop, running the numbers one more time. Much to his surprise, he was turning a very small profit, which was more than he'd expected for this first half-year.

He looked at his notes on customer frequency. They weren't perfect numbers, of course, but they showed definite trends. They also suggested that it was time to seriously consider adding evening hours, but Ari wasn't quite ready for that yet. He was already working eleven hour days in the shop, and that was just the time it was actually open.

Between the business loans and the savings he'd set aside for the first three years, he could afford to start looking into hiring part-time help. Students, probably....

[Translation: Ari's going to be looking for people to help out-- minimum wage, probably not a huge number of hours. So far, I've got Amos, Ana, and Juniper on the list of hires (if they're all still interested). If I've forgotten someone who's reading this, PM me? Will post a "formal" thread later on.]

[Ari Jasinski]

Ari sat on the edge of his bed, tired but content, finishing off a bottle of water. It had been yet another incredibly long, exhausting, but satisfying day at work. He was about to have some help at the shop, thanks to Amos and Juniper, and in a few more days he'd have an actual couch!

Fred, the spider fern

His spider fern sat on the bedside table, looking content. He glanced over at it and smiled. "How you doing, buddy? You're going in to work with me tomorrow-- time you had a change of scenery, you know? It'll be great, you can hang out next to the register, make a few new friends--"

He was cut off by his phone going off; someone had just sent him a text message-- wait, no, three in rapid succession, all from his brother. Ari read it, and promptly flopped back on his bed, laughing hysterically.

MYLES: I'm an uncle? You're a dick!
MYLES: You got my hopes up!
MYLES: Should I send a sofa cushion for the new arrival?

Ari rolled over on his stomach and sent a text back, grinning broadly. No thats OK. TY for thinking of us!

MYLES: Still not seeing anyone, are you?

He sighed. Sorry no. I got a plant though!

MYLES: Couch and a plant. I guess it's a start.

Yeah guess so.

MYLES: Okay. Good night, Bobby. Gonna call you tomorrow!

Good night. TTYL


He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a while, then got back up. He hadn't looked at the week's expenses yet, and he wasn't sleepy anymore.