Mom and RM update

My mother's spamming habit has gotten out of control, not by quantity or even wackiness (what she just forwarded is perhaps the least incendiary thing she's ever forwarded), but by standards for forwarding. Do I, and a dozen other people, really need the latest Geico newsletter in my inbox, even if it offers tips for avoiding a collision? Has it gotten to the point where I should actually call my mother and give her some of her own, i.e. ask her why she's sent this to me?

***
Meanwhile, true or false: I have, in the past, more than once, made it clear that my ideal evening at home does not involve conversing with him. I was already annoyed with him because he'd rebagged the compost pile-- he does that from time to time, which is unnecessary because I take it out every night or every other night, and he just dirties more bags and makes it harder to deal with without touching more of the decaying food scraps. But that's not the point.

So, as usual, by the time he decides he wants to have a conversation, I'm really tired. I've already done a lot of things, and I've just settled down to do what I want to do (blog, watch the Daily Show, read the paper). In last night's case, I'd already picked up and sorted the CSA veggies (by bike, and that Rte 1 overpass is steep) and then spent much of the evening managing a plumbing issue (i.e. manually clearing a lot of water out of the kitchen sink). I was blogging and watching TDS when he came in to say hello. Afterward, I had to go deal with the sink. So I went downstairs and scooped more water out. Hardly to the tune of sandbagging in Georgia, but I would have liked to go play with my new toy (laptop-- this one is on the fritz) instead. Still, I didn't mind that much. Until RM came down and took advantage of the fact that was stuck there, and talked to me.

He asked me if I'd tried Drano.

What a genius.

(And by the way, no, I hadn't tried Drano, because it's toxic. I tried vinegar and baking soda, which works just as well (unfortunately, I think my sink is past that and I'm going to have to take apart the garbage disposal or call a plumber, but if it's past vinegar and baking soda, it's also past Drano).

So he would talk. And then there would be a pause that was perhaps awkward to him, because I wasn't fully engaging in the conversation. So he started tinkering with the juggling balls in the dining room, on top of the board games. I asked him if he knew how to juggle. He didn't realize those were juggling balls. He was impressed that I could juggle, asked me to teach him. I shrugged.

He talked. And seemed hurt that I wasn't holding up my part of the conversation, and perhaps perplexed that I wasn't succumbing to any manipulation on his part about holding up the conversation. Because I didn't want to be conversing.

***
The sink was taken care of for the night, which was a good thing because I was on the verge of collapse. Realizing that I wouldn't fall asleep anyway until RM had also turned in--one of the things that works about our living arrangement is that we go to sleep and wake up around the same time, I decided to start that day's crossword. So what does he do, in the process of going to bed? Sits by Gracie, on the steps in the hallway, and asks her how her day was and whether she missed him. Proceeds to do this for a while. I finish the crossword before he's done. Then he makes his way to bed, making plenty of noise.

***
I could be forgiving, because he offered to go to the hardware store and get a plunger. I pointed out that the issue is past plungers (and even snakes), but he insisted. Which is nice, and a plunger's not a bad thing to have. And it's practically on his way, since he commutes by car, so it'll be nice. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to rant about him for trying to force conversation on me.