Skepticality Breeds Regrets

So I am skeptical.
Last night I decided that I was going to send a friend a care box. Dennis asked me the ultimate question: “Are they telling the truth? Are they really in need or do they just need some stuff to sell and support their drug habit?” Oooo, he knows drug addicts! Probably because he’s an ex-drug addict. I got the usual Twenty Questions: Have you done your homework on this? Do they turn down food and clothing and insist they need cash? Do they want iPods, old cell phones and old computers? Then came the other stuff. “Remember when Debbie was in need? Remember when Janna “needed” that fifty dollars for her imaginary adoption papers? Remember Janna period? Remember Roxanna saying she wanted autographed CDs and then sold them on eBay for less than a dollar?” Yeah, let’s rake up all the dumb shit I’ve fallen for over the years on the internet. People pretending to be my friend and then screwing me out of money, and after I cave in, I’m the Ultimate Freak. I know. I know.
I am a caring, giving person. The year before I went into nursing school, I was Volunteer of the Year. I helped Jess make a play room at the hospital Children’s Oncology floor. I have donated thousands of dollars to Children International. Predators take advantage of people like me, who want to save the world. Usually they do it in the form of “I’m your friend! I need help! I’d help you if the roles were reversed!” and I melt like butter on a hot stove.
Somehow, I got the box together. I asked Dennis for a box of his band’s pens. A couple of years ago, we had boxes of merchandise littering the floors of the living room and the bedroom. Stickers. Notebooks. Pens. Car decals. Buttons. Posters. Shirts. He said he thought he put a box of the pens in the attic. Ok, I’m in pain. I can’t get in the attic. The ‘door’ is about 3′ tall and I can’t stoop like I used to. Dennis gets in the attic and battles mice, rats, birds, and he called down to me that he was going to start rummaging through some boxes. Could I go check on my dad?
Oh, that’s right. My dad showed up yesterday, wanting a favor. So to bribe me into letting him ask for that favor, he decided he was going to clean out our furnace and light it for us. “I see why it didn’t work all summer…All these wires in here….” he then yanked out several of the wires from it, and tossed them aside. I think he burned up a family of rats living in the wall. Something smelled like bacon after he nearly burned the wall up. After the furnace was lit, he offered to check the dishwasher. It wasn’t running right. He took the bottom panel off and made the comment that the pilot light was lit. “Um, dad? Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked. Dishwashers don’t have pilot lights. He sat up and started to tell me that he’d been working on appliances since before I was born, when the “pilot light” rushed out of the dishwasher in the form of two huge flames. Dad slammed the dishwasher panel back on, smothering the flames. “Maybe you should call Maytag?” he suggested. I sighed.
As if on cue, I heard Dennis scream, followed by a series of thumps and bangs. He’d fallen out of the attic! He never found those pens, but he did find some other things to put in the box. Of course his elbow hurts now, and he can’t get out of bed.
I had several of the family members here put stuff in the box. Even Chloe. I have the best family ever.
Harvest Moon is tonight. Or, the celebration the family is going to. It’s also Ziggy’s birthday. I’ll post some pictures later on, maybe tomorrow. I have to get dressed and get ready for tonight.

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