Seductive Sun
February 23, 2008
Wherever you are, yes, there you are. Where are you? Are you in the sun or in the dark? Many of us are craving Florida, despite the endless strip malls, traffic and Republicans. For a few short months every year, Florida seems to have the upper hand. The cold weather makes cowards and expatriot’s of us all. We’re ready to give it all up for the sun. The sun. It’s intoxication by association. It takes up residence in our fondest memories and our future dreams. Long ago, we were running on a beach with someone we loved who has since died. We will someday be sailing to Costa Rica, leaving our troubles behind. On gray, colorless days, our hearts yearn for the life we’d expected. We think we can patch up the life we now have with sunlight. The sun makes promises. She is a seductress who preys on our ancestral fear of the dark and goads us to leave when we should stay.
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.