What a broken man I am.

I'm a strange guy. For better or worse.
I'm a broken guy. For better or worse.

These are my problems. They're mine. I don't bitch about them. They make me behave very eratically in the real world, and I'm not concerned what anyone thinks of them. I am. In short. A shut-in. I have my own source of income. I am unemployed, but probably have less money than someone collecting a handout from the government. Depression is something that is a big part of my life, not something I'd ever talk about vocally, nor am I looking for sympathy here, it's just something I'm comfortable saying in the domain where I am king. The intarwebs. Where I am an annonymous tough-guy.

I own my own home but do not value it. Like the money, it was dumped on me. I didn't earn them so I do not value them.

When someone comes knocking at the door I get very jumpy. I'll really choke up. Sometimes even start having a full blown panic attack. I don't know why. I refuse to open that door. If they're really persistant, I'll peek out a window and see if it's a car I recognise. If it isn't, that door isn't being opened. Just the way I am. I've had the telephone off the hook since 2003. I pay my bills by credit card. I shop when I have to.

Why am I saying all of this? Back story as to who I am, and how I operate. You can comment on how completely screwed I am if you like, but its not the purpose and I won't respond. I know what I am. And I don't need your interpretation or input.

So anyway. I'm doing my rare foray to the bank today to move around some hard currency. I pull it off without a hitch without saying a single word. Bank teller doesn't like having to deal with a person who doesn't talk but who cares about them. I didn't wear shoes. It's a hot summer day. I made a conscious choice to burn my feet as much as possible. I have no idea why. I just felt like it. My feet are currently badly blistered from standing still in the hottest places of concrete I could find when standing still was the thing to do.

I took the train to and from, but did not buy a ticket, I wanted to see if I would get a fine, and could then talk my way out of it. I didn't get a fine. When I got off the train to get home (I live across the road from the train station) there was a fire truck outside my house. There was no people attending the fire truck. Just a hose extending about 50 metres. Not to my house. To a mains at a park 3 houses over. There's been a couple of small fires there. I don't know when they were, just.. That they've been there. On the rare event I leave my house, a bit more of the park is burnt.

Deliberate fire? Sunlight fire? I don't know. And I don't care.

Now. Back to the whole apathy thing. Since I don't leave my house very often my front yard is attrocious. I figure, with the hose going to the park, surely it is the park that is on fire. This has nothing to do with me. But if I go into my house, and anyone from the Fire Department sees me go in there, they are going to give me a lecture about how much of a fire hazard my house is. I know it's a fire hazard. I don't need a lecture. It's not going to make me mow it. I don't give a crap if it burns down or not, even if I'm inside my house sizzling my guts out.

So I nonchalantly walk past this fire truck and take a casual glance at the drama, as I imagine any normal red blooded man would. My pace doesn't slow, and I see two firemen and one plainclothed man in my front yard all drinking cans of coke. Whatever the problem was, it's long over. They're camped out at my house for some reason. They're spawncamping me. So I keep walking. Good opportunity to burn my feet some more.

I walk around on the roads for an hour and stomp on a bit of glass whilst I'm at it. Go around the back way to the park. Check out the hobby farm attached to the high school near by. It's only 200 metres from my house but I haven't been there since 1996. I start to head back, find myself a park bench and sit down. I have seriously damaged my feet. Mission accomplished for today. Glance around and sure enough, theres a mini fire truck in the park and theres some guy out there with a hose spraying a new patch of burn.

About 20 minutes later, a fireman walks up to me. I've kind of nodded off at this point.

"Excuse me sir. Do you live at 146?"
"No."
"I'm sorry. 159?"
"Why?"
"There's been a fire there. Do you live there?"
"Why?"
"We just need to have a little chat."
"Yes I do."
"Yes. Just the backyard is damaged. Theres been a fire in the sheds."
"Sheds? I only have one shed."
"Theres been two sheds burnt, sir."
"Seriously? Wow. Better take a look."

So I trot over there, and sure enough, apparently in my back yard, yes, there is two sheds, and both are burnt. I honestly had forgotten there was a second shed. Dinky little thing, all in all. We begin walking to my house and talking. I'm very reluctant of course. And this rookie fire fighter is just completely out of his comfort zone dealing with this wierdo.

"The police will be popping by in about an hour, you'll need to fill out an incident report."
"Why?"
"There was an incident? Your property was damaged."
"No property in there belonged to me."
"Well there was a lot of photos and furniture."
"Well that simplifies things."
"Simplifies? (whispers to plainclothes: 'You were right.')"
"Leaving shortly. Won't need to move it all around. Do I need to sign anything?"
"No, no. Bad memories?"
"What?"
"The photos. Bad memories?"
"No. Just not my memories. I don't value them."
"Fair enough."
"What do you intend to do with all of your burnt property sir?"
"Well. It's trash. I'll call the council. Find out when their next bulk pickup day is. And uhh. Trash it. It's what you do with trash."
"Mind if I take this lego?"
"Sure. If you want a molten box of plastic."
"Well it looks like half of it is still good."
"We done here?"
"Yes sir."

At this point I have successfully diverted the fire hazard lecture, at the cost of a half melted box of lego. I unlock my door, enter, and close in 2.3 seconds, faster than an F1 tyre change, without allowing any of my hallway to be visible to the far too curious crowd of firemen who are all watching me and will probably be having a great guffaw right now.

The story ends with the following.

About 100 years of memories have been destroyed. But they are not my memories. I don't value them. In fact, I rather hate them. That's why they were in the shed. Not to be burnt in a fire per se, but I wouldn't have objected them to being eaten by mice, flooded, ripped to pieces, et al. I am the last link of an entire generation. A true loner, not entirely by choice. Seperated from the rest of my family by three generations. Was never really a part of them. There was a drama surrounding my mothers death, and they turned their back on me. In error, but it's not something I ever want to 'make right' by justifying myself to them. A collection of small things that lead to a big one. They think I just didn't care. I would have cared plenty, had I known she was dead. Anyway. Back on topic.

What also has been destroyed is of course, two sheds.

Of value in those sheds was:
Two lawn mowers. Broken.
A whipper snipper. Real good one. Broken.
A computer. Guess what, broken.
Several televisions. Broken.
A dish washer. Not broken. But it cost me 40 dollars.
And a very very nice bicycle. Broken.

And what was insured?

Two sheds.
Two lawn mowers.
A whipper snipper. Real good one.
A computer.
Several televisions.
A dish washer.
And a very very nice bicycle.

I should probably change who I am and how I interact with the world. It's very unhealthy, and I suppose if one of my neighbours wasn't paying attention to said world, my house may well have burnt down whilst I was at the bank. But for now. I call today a win.

Better call the insurance company.

To clarify. The fire started in the park.