project 365 #113: my soon to be ex house

project 365 #113: my soon to be ex house
Originally uploaded by mygothlaundry.

I have had one of those not so good very bad awful gruesome days today. Nothing particularly extreme happened; it's just that I woke up tired as hell with a sore throat and then work was meeting meeting meeting basically all day and then I went to look at that house that I knew I couldn't afford only to discover that a) it sold for the asking price already and b) it's exactly the house I would love to live in and c) I'm going to have to leave my neighborhood and it's no good thinking that there's any way I'm going to be able to stay here and it makes me want to cry or scream or rant or throw things or possibly strap on some Doc Martens and kick me some yuppie ass. I ran into a couple of friends at the Ingles (another reason for the bad mood - the weekly gigandor Ingles trip) and that just reminded me of how much I love living here and how many friends I have here and fuck, I'm going to have to move out of my comfy west asheville enclave and go to a whole new neighborhood because. . .

Because, in a story that has been repeated many, many times in the history of the world, I'm an artist and I moved here back before West Asheville got cool and hip and yet then more people moved here and more and then more and all of a sudden there were people with more money than I'll ever have buying up everything in the neighborhood and so now I have to leave. God fucking damn it. I should probably go back to Baltimore or somewhere similarly unscenic - Detroit? South Dakota? - where noone with any money wants to live and give up on the lovely garden spots of this world.

Maybe I'll be able to come back to Asheville one day after the developers have finally killed off this egg laying goose and the derelicts and feral street children with tattooed faces and Uzis are living in the ridgetop McMansions and the wailing of the yuppies can be heard throughout the cracked pavement that covers each and every inch of what was once a small valley in the mountains. I am living for this day, when I'll roll into town in black leather and spikes in my specially reinforced Saturn station wagon with my own feral children leaning out the window manning the grenade throwers and we'll take all the water and oil and go dance with Tina Turner. Or something like that. Clearly, though, black leather and spikes are a growth market and I'm going to go invest my money in canned food and shotguns. I think I can probably afford half a shotgun and a rather largish can of black beans.