One Step Closer to Enlightenment
January 30, 2008
Pictured above: Buddhist Monk arrives for winter retreat at Camp Casey. He smokes, he drinks coffee, he reads, he sleeps, he thinks, he thinks some more, he sits at a desk and sketches little pictures that resemble kites in a black book. He eats, he makes hot chocolate, he sleeps, he thinks, he sews a button on his coat, he smokes, he smokes hash, he smokes cigarettes, he is always shoveling something into his mouth or down his throat. Anything but alcohol. Anything. Keep the Voo-Doo Vodka Devil away from my door! He owns one pair of pants and one shirt. He is penniless, and yet I have witnessed him give a bum on the street his last dollar and his last cigarette. He has taken me one step closer to enlightenment. Slowly, through the years I have come understand his thought process. He is living without a safety net, beyond the bounds of social acceptability. You know, that two step that the rest of us do in order to fit in? Or at least fit in as misfits, artists, wierdos, etc. We all pretend to be independent of societal pressures, but we march to different drummers in a very straight line. Do you know how straight YOUR line is? Let me tell you about my line. It is now laced with Adderol. I am severely ADHD. Look it up if you have to. It has destroyed my life. so far. Things are going to change very rapidly now that I know what the matter is. I remember the I.Q. test I took when I was twelve. My score was 81. Below retarded. I believed it. My teacher believed it. My parents believed it. My boyfriend believed it. Idiots. The score was 181. Watch out, world, here I come…………….
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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.