Nurse Casey At Bat
December 8, 2007
I love life! I was planning on performing in D.C. but low and behold I am now a doggie nurse, and my human daughter has the flu! I love this! I feel wanted. Needed. Like I’m doing something constructive for a change. Friend, Matt, bought Howard a playpen so that he doesn’t walk. He has his pink stroller. I carry him outside several times a day so he can pee. I made my daughter Irish Penicillin Soup. I cleaned. I laundered. I boiled Howard a chicken. This is so much better than singing. Especially the short trips to CVS for doggie chews or Vick’s Vapo-Rub. I am wearing the same clothes I put on four days ago. This may not be glamorous but comforting creatures and daughter’s feels better than squeezing into a cabaret tube dress. I was going to have Artefill injected into my face but now the money for that procedure is gone. My dog will soon be much better looking than I am. Well, he is already. Can’t Help Lovin that Dog of Mine.
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There is somebody in my house in Vermont. A nice man is renting my house and I am thrilled because that man is renting my house and sending me money so that I can rent an apartment in Providence. Now, wait a minute. Does this make sense? I thought so, a few weeks ago, when I was working here, singing, planning, organizing, hob-knobbing, but as of today, as I lugged a bunch of my crap up two flights of stairs on the East Side, all the while knowing I would have to lug the crap back down the two flights of stairs a few months from now— as of today, I thought to myself, “Gee, I don’t feel very good in my head” I sat on the stairs, dirty stairs, very dirty, and considered my situation. I blamed the town of Bridport , Vermont, for not having a Dunkin Donut’s or a Cafe, a bar or a nightclub, a college, tennis courts, health club, movie theater. Then I blamed myself for wanting those things. Then I blamed myself for having those things here in Providence and not taking advantage of them because I like staying home and reading in bed. Now, if I like staying home and reading in bed, why don’t I just move back to my own home, in Bridport, and wait out the winter with Charles Dickens and Mark Twain? Now that I have rented my house, I miss it. It is not available. That is why I was so sad today, moving into what I thought was a nice apartment on the East Side. It is somebody elses house and always will be, no matter how many knick knacks, rugs, paintings, books, personal items I stuff into it. Renting makes me feel insecure, more insecure than worrying about how to pay my property tax. It’s silly, because none of us own anything fully. Still, sombody is in MY house and i am in somebody else’s house, and it’s ridiculous in a way that I can’t quite comprehend and it is making me very very sad.