Continuing with the theme of weird things about me that could possibly point to some psychological conditions - I hate birthdays. Rest assured that it's not my birthday. I wanted to write this on my birthday, but instead I waited some amount of time so that no one would know when it is.
Yeah, that's right. I don't tell people when my birthday is. My family knows, since they were intimately involved in the event we're supposed to celebrate, but very few of my friends know. Kristen bribed me by making me a really cool clay rock for my fish tank, so I told her. The only two friends who called were Nicole and Nick, both of which I would have thought would never call. I've seen Nicole once in the past two years, and Nick has been in Pennsylvania for quite some time.
I don't know exactly what it is about birthdays. I just don't like people making a big deal out of it. I hate getting birthday presents (along with Christmas presents), and I hate it when people wish me a happy birthday. All these family members and Nick and Nicole called, and I ignored all of their calls. I didn't call them back either.
On Wellington Street
There is an old home, more decrepit than any of the others on Wellington Street. I have talked to the current owner, who is living with a local relative, about the condition of the home and their plans for it. When it was in its prime, the house must have been quite beautiful. So to see it in its current state was puzzling to me, especially considering the well maintained manner of the other homes around it. It was a Thursday when I talked to him, and the owners face tightened when I mentioned the home. The following story is what he shared with me, though he would not give me permission to enter the home to investigate.
I purchased the home ten years ago with the hope of renovating it. If you look outside the building you may notice some of the abandoned 2x4's I had bought for the project. I had first come upon the building quite by accident. I was driving through, heading towards a local restaurant. Somehow I became lost, and ended up along side the building. I pulled over, trying to sort out where I was. I looked around, trying to find my bearings, when I noticed the house. At the time it was still in relatively good condition, the paint fresh and the garden well managed. Something about the home drew me in, and even after I managed to find my way I couldn't help but think about it.
After about a week I contacted the local residential listings, and was thrilled to find that the home was being put up for purchase at a steal of a price. I checked out the place quickly, and found that everything was in good condition. At the time, the explanation I got was that the previous owner had moved away, and that payments on the home had inexplicably stopped, causing it to come into the possession of the community.
It wasn't until a couple days after purchasing the place that I managed to move in. The place was a dream, and though there was some things that needed repairing I was surprised at the condition it was in. It was during late fall, leading into winter that I moved in, so the first thing I did was check the radiator and make sure it was working properly. It was a old Victorian one, and though everything seemed in order it wouldn't turn on. And so I went to the basement to check the fuses.
After going downstairs I went to work finding the fuse box. It didn't take long, and after a little time I found the one of the fuses was burnt out and replaced it. I was just about to go upstairs when I noticed something in the corner. It was a tall mirror, oval in shape with a patterning of leaves along its edges. It looked like it was very old, and the mirrored surface showed some level of deterioration.