Dr Maude has left the
house country. He is gone. I\’m out back but not in the out back, just a left over without her dinner, and yes, fully in the clutches of one dosage of Ambien.
Oh, and one codeine. Almost forgot about the codeine. Easy to forget after because the pain has slid to a point where it can be ignored. Before, it was keeping me awake. Now I will sleep in a pharmaceutical bliss, and wake tomorrow with the pharma itch.
When we were out the other night, talkin\’ about the good ol\’ U-S-of-A, Dr Maude asked what I missed the most. Despite having just been bitching about expensive book prices and the near unavailabillity of a good cocktail, what I miss first and foremost is black people. There\’s no way of saying this without it sounding wrong. Australia, particularly this corner, is very white. Very, very white. Quite a lot of Asian immigrants, mostly Chinese and Vietnamese, some Japanese tourists, that sort of thing. Not a lot of diversity in residents. Not many aboriginals in this area of the city. Not many African immigrants — I think I saw one small family some months ago, but that was it.
I feel like I\’m watching people through a white washed lens, ya know? I need to turn on the tv to see some color. I come from Chocolate City, for chrissakes, and I like dark chocolate. Even milk chocolate. This white chocolate thing is not cutting it. The lack of racial diversity is what I miss. And American Indians, northern, central, or southern? None. None! Not a one. So unlike what I am used to. I miss so much of those cultures. That\’s what I miss.
Oh, and dryer sheets. And the subway. My books back home. Microbrews (dammit, where is my Apricot, my Peach, my Double Chocolate? AUGH). Salvadorean food. Puerto Rican women and their no-shit attitudes.. Black girls cat calling on the streets out of boredom. Everybody hanging out on the front porches and street corners cos it\’s just too damn hot. Cherry Coke. Bitch magazine.
I miss weird things. Nothing hugely important, you know? Nothing I can\’t live without. Things here are the same, but not.
Dr Maude\’s off in California now. I spent the day masturbating and working, working and geeking and masturbating to my little ice heart\’s content. Headed off to the doctor\’s where neither the allergist nor the receptionist recognized — it\’s only been four days! Oh yeah, the hair. I forgot about the hair. I\’m channeling David Bowie now. Or kd lang. Or something. And then I fell down Spring Hill to the river, looked at the murkiness and felt my ears burning in the cold. Stopped off and saw some art, made my way home to find myself out of breathe, a sweaty mess. Hands red and cold, toes tingling, ears burning and purple, faces blotched and flushed, hot and cold and sweat. Yum.
I tell myself, I am going to start my day, and I am going to be fine and things will go well and I won\’t carry a bag so I can\’t hurt my back and there\’s nothing that will hurt me. But it\’s only two hours from time of departure to time of arrival back home, and I feel like a fucking loser who can\’t lose enough. i want to lose the denial, but at the same time, the denial is the only thing that occasionally gets me out of the house. Otherwise I\’d just be hanging my head in defeat every day. I rest up, recover, dream of climbing mountains when I can barely climb the hill outside of my apartment on the way to the corner bar.
Nothing wrong with me, no, it\’s all in my head, all in my head and its leaked into my body. How do I make it stop? How do i make it go away? I want a real life. Not one that\’s based on preposterous hopes and dreams. How do we, the gimpy, ever learn what our physical limits are so we can find a way to work around them? I want to visit Antarctica and scuba dive and sail and box and train dogs and hike mountains and climb and I don\’t want to say no. I can\’t even figure out how to get by on a day to day basis — how are you supposed to figure out even that simplest part? I mean, if I don\’t have to leave the house I pretty much have it sorted, but beyond that, disaster strikes. And that ain\’t living. That\’s like being a lab rat. A prisoner to my body. I want to live. LIVE. With my body, not just with my head. How do I get there? Sleep on it, aswers in the morning.
Something I really miss. The brownstones. I miss the soul of the city but none of the entrappings. Really, I\’d just as soon stay here as every go back again.