Inspired by this thread and this one where yojimboguy describes the house of his late uncle Bud, and how his uncle must have been an incredible recluse. A couple of Dopers posted that they were probably going to end up like that. Count me in as a Doper who figures he’s probably going to be one of those guys.
Yeah, I know what my future holds, and it sucks. (And no, I don’t know how to change it, and so far everything I’ve tried up to this point has pretty much exploded in my face.)
So the hamsters are extremely hungry tonight, cos I posted a sympathetic-type response here (or it might’a been in the other parallel thread/universe) and it too has been 'et.
My boyfriend’s father has a house that’s full of pack-rat-ish stuff. When we walked in, I was instantly filled with a sense of misery. I’m so afraid that it’s just a physical manifestation of a serious mental issue.
It tugs at my heart, and I wish there was someone he could talk to about it.
I’m not saying that’s your situation, because I don’t know you from Adam. But maybe just coming on to a message board like this is helpful - it provides some measure of personal contact. So as long as we know you’re here, when you stop posting maybe we ought to alert the authorities???
Now, Tuckerfan and Neidhart–are you guys saying you actually think you’re going to end up holed up in a house, refusing to leave unless absolutely necessary, speaking to no one and stockpiling weapons and other assorted crap? Or are you just saying you don’t think you’ll end up married with families? [preachy voice]There’s quite a difference between the two, you know, and the latter doesn’t necessarily lead to the former.[/pv]
If you really do think you’re going to end up a total nutcase (which packrat recluses generally are, IME), I’m curious as to what flavor of insanity you plan on exhibiting. Will you wear only white and cover your windows in tinfoil? Will you use a straw to manually vaccuum your carpet? Will you collect tons and tons of books and boxes and use them to play “forts” all day?
Inquiring minds want to know.
bella
I don’t have many relatives left, and don’t get along with the remaining ones. Plus they already think I’m weird. So, I’ll probably be one of those old ladies with a houseful of cats. I don’t have any cats now, but I have a few years to get my collection started.
I’m already like that. Well, in a way. I am the packrat from hell. I had to squish everything from my two bedroom apartment into a single bedroom in my current location. Good thing we have 12 ft. ceilings, so I can pack stuff up to the rafters in the closet. And I’m also well on the way to being the old lady with all the cats, as my roomie and I have 5 cats.
And, at this point, I would rather sit at home and hang out in my room rather than go out. The only thing that keeps me from turning into a gun-hoarding maniac is the fact that I don’t like guns. (Whew! One redeeming factor.)
:: Looks and notices that both Tuckerfan and hillbilly queen live in Gallatin, Tennessee ::
hmmm, could just be the water. What are we going to do about it?
Tuckerfan, meet hillbilly queen, hillbilly queen, meet Tuckerfan. You both seem like fairly nice folks from what I’ve seen of your posts. Maybe you two could sort of hang out together and keep each other from being recluses.
I’ve been wondering. When I’m an old man, will it be (anti)socially acceptable for me to keep cats, because I like cats. Or would I have to have snakes, because cats are just for the mad old women?
What is your weird old person’s pet of choice? (Of course by then we might have bioengineering, allowing for my colony of iguana-moths buzzing around the bare lightbulbs.)
Yeah, in case you haven’t guessed, that old man will be me too.
I am fully planning to become a crazy old recluse, kind of a combination of Miss Havisham and Bette Davis in Hush . . . Hush. . . Sweet Charlotte. Can’t you see me, leaning out the attic window, shouting, “GITT—OFF—MAH-PROPE’TY! DAMMMNNN YEWWWW!”
I like snakes. Maybe I could be a Crazy Cat Lady who happens to be keeping your snakes for you, and you can be a Crazy Snake Man who happens to be keeping my cats for me. Of course that would complicate the recluse bit, but we wouldn’t have to actually meet or anything.
Sounds like an appropriately eccentric arrangement. I am looking forward to it.
I’m going to be the Wierd Aunt that nobody wants to visit because she smells like mothballs. I’m not really very pack ratish, but I have trouble trying to find something, other than work, worth leaving my apartment for. I don’t really like being around hordes of strangers, I dont’ really drink so there’s no need for me to go to bars and I can’t stand the night club crowd. Nope, my weekends consist of a good book, the T.V. and my apartment.
I have a large family and small group of friends that I see quite regularly. They come to my apartment or I go to their houses. I’m slowly eliminated the need for outside human contact. In fact, ever since I discovered Publix Direct (a grocery store chain that delivers groceries to your door) I have almost completely eliminated most of my “I have to go to the store” outings. If only Walmart had a similar service, then I really would never leave my house.
Well, I don’t plan on going crazy, but I do see myself in thirty years living in a one-room apartment in a bad neighborhood, without friends, with nobody who knows or cares I’m alive.
Oh, I plan to skip the part about the weapons too.
I could see myself like that, sort of. I don’t deal well with people on a personal basis - which is funny, because I can do customer service with the best of them. But I’m quiet and reserved, and it’s just tough to meet people.
I also have the packrat tendencies, though I fight them. The upcoming move is a good thing, because it made me open up and empty out the contents of boxes I hadn’t touches since the move from Nashville to Mississippi (2 moves and almost 3 years ago).
But it’s all good. And maybe grad school will help me break out of my “shell” so to speak. Of course, maybe I’ve been in it too long, and I’ll just stay in it. Either way, I don’t dislike my life. Most times I enjoy it.
I worry along these lines a lot, but I’ve recently started trying to work at changing it. Getting out more, periodic purgings of stuff I let pile up (time for another one soon), trying to get back in contact with old friends, etc.
When you listen to the last part of 'Pencil-Thin Moustache" by Jimmy Buffett, and say, “That’ll be me some day,” with detached calm rather that trepidation - it’s time to worry.
I’m another one like that. I leave my house to go to work (where I’m usually alone at least 50% of the day), laundromat and grocery. I do stop in the 7-11 on my way to work for coffee. My only friends are cyber. I’m sort of an “invisible” person.
If I wasn’t so huge into musical theatre, I’d never do anything. But I have to go to NYC at least every other week to see a show and buy CDS. I have about 500 cast recordings, and I’m always buying more. I hope I have some advance notice of my death, so I can give them to people who will appreciate them.
Fortunately, if I die unexpectedly, I live in a town where everyone knows your business. Someone will check when I didn’t show up for work.
