Wish I Was There

A postcard is supposed to say "Wish you were here", but I wouldn't invite anyone I know and love down here. Jacksonville is where the jobs are. Miami is where the action is. Orlando is where Mickey and Goofy are. Lady Lake is redneckville, plain and simple.

My dreams are of skating, Coney Island (where I learned to skate, Chris Ferrand (an old boyfriend), Lafayette High School's football field, Shore Road in winter, snow, my childhood home and of many things past. The attic of my brain does this every winter, particularly every January. It's a cleaning of sorts. My brain has gone into overdrive with the almost-six month passage of being down here. To say the words 'longing', 'confusion' and 'painful' are really the tip of the iceberg. My sense of humor--which has gotten darker and more evil than usual--is loving this cold snap. It was a perfectly wonderful 28 degrees this morning and I felt alive. I am not sleeping most nights due to a cold I can't shake and the fact that jobs have dried up. Not that I had one, but no one told me waitressing would be a good future for most college graduates living in a redneck town. The wonderful thing about this place(and my fangs drip with sarcasm) is that the developer knew taking land away from swamps, horses and 10-grade graduates would be a complete success. Republicans are funny that way. Inside this place is a land of money, privilege, and "lifestyle". Outside? Abject poverty, Walmart futures, and children that will make as much as their 20 year-old parents. Minimum wage is that future of which I speak. It's ugly down here, folks. Much uglier than the seediest reaches of NYC could ever be. I see the truth, I see reality. My mother has always chosen to look the other way. I'm my father in female form, a simple fact that makes her grit her teeth as I furrow my brow.

Regarding the weather, these poor folk don't know what to do without hats, scarves or heat. Me? I thrive in it. I consider them amateurs. Many a night in my childhood was spent going to sleep with seven, eight blankets and a full-body covering of hats, coats and scarves. Anyone remember the Winter of '78? Brooklyn and Queens were covered in 7 feet of snow and we had a mean landlord and a shit boiler in the basement. I have often joked that I have polar bear blood, which may have been why I chose Coney Island for my photo. Those crazy Russians are swimming again. I have congestion and a bit of a cold, but that's par for the course this time of year. I have chosen to stay inside. There is nowhere to go and nothing to see without a car. My lack of caring for this place is complete. I have Anthony Bourdain, the Travel Channel, CNN, and Food Network to make me happy. I never thought my life and wellbeing would depend on a television, but so it is.

Something mystical watches over me. I was stunned, amazed and a bit suspicious with last month's Christmas programming: all the things I watched had Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx and NYC in them. I knew the names of people and their deocorated houses, but never the stories behind why or how they lived inside. TLC, FLN, and public television suddenly had documentaries on these families. It kept me thisclose from crying through most of December. No light trips this year since 1998. Strange indeed, but I'll take it.

Dexter has a touch of arthritis in his back legs and Kashi has grown to 16 lbs. Mom's crazy cat chases her so that she sits atop the bookshelf for hours on end. No running or birds (FL is pigeon-free) for her. She freezes and yowls during these attacks, and I have to break up the fights. She's more dependent on me than I thought possible. Oh well.

Our new boarder has more in common with my mother than I do. Three kids, a failed marriage and very 'girly'. She enjoys babies, weddings and appeasing boyfriends. Three things I've questioned since I was about 9 years old. I do not fit. Never did, never will. I'm not about to start now.

Still, Con Ed will keep my spot open for five years.I've got to fight for it. I will be returning to NY for the second week in February. I can't wait, although my former neighbor's druggie daughter will most certainly scream at me like the person I previously stayed with. I'm keeping her at arm's length, too. My new rule from now on is: treat me like shit, yell and take me for granted and you will never get a damn thing out of me. I refuse to give second chances anymore. It does not one bit of good.

More about the politics of this place later this week. I'm not sure I can find the words to describe the worship of Sarah Palin, Mike Huckabee and Mitt Romney will a straight blogging face.

Stay tuned....