The Robot Vacuum vs The ESA

Not too long ago, I broke down and bought a robot vacuum. His name is Wallie. I really hate to vacuum. My little house takes about 15 minutes to vacuum the whole thing, but it is all I can do to pull out the vacuum and run it over some things. Many of my family and friends have a robot vacuum and all they do is rave about it. I mean even my 85-year-old Mother has one! I have really enjoyed having one, more than I thought I would. I have a long hair Siamese cat and just added to the family a Cockapoo which has quickly been designated as my emotional support animal.

My cat is named Commander Lawrence. For those fans of “The Handmaid’s Tale”, you will recognize that name as a character in the story. I named my cat Lawrence as the markings on his face make him look like he has the same facial hair as the Commander. And as with most cats, you don’t know if he is good or bad. He can be the best cat and within the next instance be attacking you for no good reason.

My dog’s name is Ripley. She is named after Ellen Ripley from the “Alien” film series and as well as Rip Wheeler from the TV series “Yellowstone”. She is a tough little bugger. She plays hard and loves hard. She has become very aware of my needs when it comes to supporting. She is pretty smart for sure. I take her to work, where she loves the attention of everyone. It makes work a little less stressful. It also makes me stay on task as she goes everywhere with me. I can’t leave the office without her coming with me or barking. On those occasions when I have management meetings or need to be in and out of my office more, I leave her home. She and Lawrence have a love-hate relationship, not unlike June and the real Commander Lawrence.

Christmas Eve of this year, I left the inmates’ home and went to a family member’s for dinner and other festivities. I wasn’t away all that long, but I was gone during the scheduled time Wallie runs all over the house and sucks up everything he can. I usually block off my office as that is where the puppy pads are just in case Ripley doesn’t quite have enough patience to wait until I get home. As I walked into the house later that evening, I knew exactly what had happened!

As I walked through the door into the kitchen I immediately went into the office. There was Wallie all tangled up with the very used puppy pad along with the wonderful surprise Ripley had left. It must have been pretty fresh because not only was it all over the puppy pad, but it was also in a large swirl pattern on the rug and even off the rug onto the carpet. The color and smell were undeniable. Wallie had stalled because its drive wheels were wrapped in the puppy pad. I found a mask and went to work playing clean-up crew. I must admit it was the grossest thing I have seen in a while. I have changed plenty of diapers in my day and even the up-the-back blowouts were nothing compared to this. After the clean-up and the shower and many sprays of air freshener, Wallie was put to rest in the large black garbage can outside. The rug and carpet have been shampooed and a pet gate now occupies the doorway into my office. A newer Wallie will be here in a week or so but it will be programmed NOT to go into any room the puppy pads are in!

I have thought about this little incident quite a bit. Besides trying to find and afford another robot vacuum with object detection, I have thought about how sometimes my life feels like the drivewheels on Wallie. There have been lots of piles of shit on the path known as my life. And until lately, I have just plowed right through the piles with not much residue left attached to me. There have been many other times my drive wheels get completely engulfed with shit. Every groove of the tire is caked with shit with no cleaning in sight. I have felt many times to just throw each of my drive wheels away and give up. The shit is too much and there will be no amount of cleaning that will fix it. The wheel has to be replaced. I have been lucky in my life to have some heavy-duty cleaning so I can continue. But we as a society, culture, communities, and groups continue to lose our object detection and run right into the pile of shit and can’t get clean. It is too painful and the only way to fix it, to find a way out, is to just be thrown away in the big black garbage can. Their lives end. Like I have said before I understand that pain all too well. But my heart aches for them. I miss their presence even though I have never met most of them. I hate that we don’t talk about these people like we did when they ended their lives. When was the last time you heard about Kate Spade other than a sale of her collection? Have you watched Anthony Bourdain’s “Parts Unknown”? I used to love watching him drink specialty local drink and eat all sorts of different foods. I remember that day well. My little brother had called me on my way to work and he was UPSET. He was so upset to hear of Anthony’s death I almost thought they were best of friends. But it triggered him in a way I hadn’t ever seen. We talked for quite a while. I reassured him that he was so loved and he was my brother and would always be one of the most important people in my world. If I was to tell you that I wasn’t worried about him and his state of mind, I would be lying. I had never heard him like that and I hope to never hear that tone in his voice again.

I have grown in many ways this year. Don’t get me wrong I struggle every day with thoughts of ending my pain or anxiety or avoiding situations I don’t think I can handle. I have had very deliberate and detailed plans. It probably crosses my thoughts at least 4-5 times a day. I know I am depressed. It is not just being sad. It is so much more. It’s more than having all my hope for a better life or situation disappear. It doesn’t go away, it just gets less. Not less enough for me to know it isn’t there, but it can lessen enough for me to function. Even with all that, I also know there is a plan to call or visit to change my mind or at least talk me off a mental ledge. I also have a medication I take when my anxiety level reaches a high point or I am anticipating it will. I don’t like to take meds. I have every dang side effect one can have. It is rare there is a day when I actually feel good. But that is the trade-off and as long as I have been on meds, I have to say they have made a difference. I am not sitting on the edge of my bed with my pistol locked and loaded with me just waiting for my hand to raise. My pistol resides at a friend’s house. My shotgun still lives at my house with shells that would really hurt something, but it is a long barrel so no way for me to aim for the kill shot and pull the trigger.

I dare say my wheels will hit a pile of shit more often than not in the coming days, weeks, months, and years. But I do know there is a way to clean the treads and continue. Long live Wallie the Second!