My newest hobby has been throwing stuff at my wall. Any stuff really.
It’s a white wall on the outside of my house with a window that looked into nowhere in particular. I’ve thrown everything I’ve had at it.
Empty beer bottles. Old ceramics I got tired of. Food I don’t feel eating. Apples from a tree that’s been here longer than me. Extra plates. Colored glass. I even throw myself at it, on days when I really want to feel something.
One time, after a grocery run, I decided to make a fruit salad and it eventually got mixed with some stucco. It was delicious.
I thought about throwing paint, but reasoned I was never an “artistic” type, even with a preponderance of free time. Don’t have the patience for it. These days, I’ve proven myself to be more of a “throwing random crap at the wall” type of guy. Besides, it wasn’t the color of the wall that kept training my throwing arm.
Every time the trash needs taking out or when the lawn needs trimming, I have to look at that wall, unchanged in the twenty-five years this house has stood. This house has under my name for eight years. I’m still paying off the mortgage, one month at a time. With a new lease on life, everything inside the house got changed up. The old furniture was thrown out and replaced with heavenly leather cushions and finely cut coffee tables. All the walls got repainted and an entire room was renovated into my new home office. The big wooden desk is my most prized possession. My constant rock in daily life, before isolation.
Moving in can be a chaotic time for a new homeowner, but I assured myself to make the most of it.
After all of the changes, I was happy to say I took pride in my home. What’s the point of living life in one place if you couldn’t say that?
My current problem is that I’m stuck in it. And I changed everything about this house except the outside.
The leather furniture has grown uncomfortable with constant use. My prized work desk feels more like a tether than a sanctuary. It’s torture going to the garage and into my car since there is nowhere to go and nothing worth getting, besides groceries and a rented movie.
So seeing that wall, unchanging for all these years… It makes a guy want to experiment. Seeing crap break is also very cathartic.
Is this healthy? No.
Is it helping me better understand my current situation and what I can or cannot control? Of course not.
But it is something to do, and as long as no one is here to judge me for it, I will keep doing it. The neighbors don’t talk to each other. There are no social engagements in the future. I still got books in case this new hobby gets stale.
Doubtful that will happen though.
Thank God I live alone.
