A casual travesty
I have a hard time leaving the house - why?
Am I trapped? Am I cozy? Is Coziness the ultimate trap?
The world is so uncontrollable - even opening the door feels like the space between not my space and my space - and that makes me think about how we are paying quite a lot to borrow some area to put our things - a storage unit that’s hard to get into but for humans and dogs and barbecues - and some big part of me thinks all of this will finally go away when I have my own place - my own place - what will go away? The difference between here and there? The difference between hers and theirs? Maybe if I scream no one will hear me - but is that really so different from if I scream no one will care?
Here we are a little more than we were and less than we will be - a string of lights that keeps blinking even if one goes out - that one is Mike who has handled the snow and the leaves and the trash with resolution - absolution - you could set your watch to Mike but you can’t any more.
And this is George - George acted tough and could be a little slow to get around to things but he never let anything be undone - nor the relationship - deep down he was kind and gentle and patient and I think he kind of liked having us around - a couple he couldn’t quite understand doing something that doesn’t quite make sense - but they almost always pay rent on time and if they don’t it’s only ever because it slipped their mind. Well George got knocked up the head and even though he spent all his little years putting big thoughts of owning a lot of houses and designing them too - he had long since figured out how to be an architect and how to buy a nice fur coat for his wife Camille and how to scare and support his grandsons into figuring out how to do something fun and interesting with themselves. Well whatever he put in his head has spilled out and everyone is trying to put together the pieces - his grandson was really angry but really didn’t mean to hurt the old man - certainly not deprive him of a much needed retirement - though to be fair George is the kind of guy that was gonna work until the day he died. Well now Camille can’t figure out who’s who in the phone book - when George knows everyone by name and gives the electrician’s information to my neighbor upstairs and tells her no need to bother old George she can call herself. And Camille - her job used to only be to tell George he really shouldn’t put up with that or this - and that he really ought to raise the rent. Well now she’s in over her head - but she’ll figure it out.
Something something peace on a mountain in you to begin with
maybe if I could wear my shoes to bed I’d be one step closer to getting out the door in the morning - why is every step in the list a cause for pause - concern or consternation - a distraction - the traction action totally dissolved by that thing you’ve been doing your darnedest to forget about all week but can’t seem to make it another moment without handling now.
Where’s the self help book on how to get out the door - how to get off the couch. Or is the couch time always in harmony to the outside time? No I know that’s not it. Is it only me?
