This Old Portable House

She found the Hunke Event interesting.

Dr. L was excited that I was in a cramped space with so many people. It appeared as if I overcame my aversion to crowds. I don't see the big deal if you ask me. It was like riding transit. Something I can do. I told her that I spent much of my time in a stairwell, away from the crowds. That's where I met Patti Smith. That sailed past her. She was just amazed that I was in a crowded room of people.

Well, she wants me to go skipping like a lark to Dr. D's office and tell him of my breakthru. Why? So that this guy'll stick me in another room with twelve people?? These guys do push and pull a lot. I"ll settle down to a continuum all on my own, I sure of this. I don't need to sit in a room with a dozen people or feel the need. I am making changes on my own that I find exciting in my life. I'm on a meaningful diet, which I'm already feeling better about. And I went shopping just before coming to Dr. L's. But I'm jumping ahead of my day here.

Early in the morning there is a ringing on my doorbell. It's the exter- minator. These guys come around all the time. This one walked in, sprayed around the corners and crevices of the room and then left a rat trap behind under the refrigerator. Hmmmm. Mice in here? How would the little motherfucker get in. There wasn't much space underneath the front door. Could one squeeze in thru there? Those little devils do get about. I wonder what it would be like if I caught a mouse in there? Will I hear it crying, struggling? Will it drive me nuts? Make me throw the fucking trap out on my own? That'll be nice. NOT.

I get ready for Dr. L's office, really feeling reluctant to go. It's not that I don't want to see my "Push-me-pull-you " shrinks. I don't like the fucking crowded commute. I hate having to deal with rush hour, or Kid's Hour, to be more exact. Here in New York, the schoolkids get out starting around Two Thirty. By Three, they are all over the subways, just before their older counterparts fill the Way with Rush Hour. This I hate. And I deal with this three times a week. Well, I shouldn't complain. When working, it was five times a week. OH! that's not true, counting Mondays...then it's four times a week! I should be used to Rush Hour, but god, I'm not (sigh).

I open my door to find a note taped at eye level, waving in my face the minute the edge of the door sailed past me. What's this?? It read: 'Dear Hobobob: As part of living at The Spot, you are require to meet with me at least once per month. My schedule is Sunday-Thursday 8-4. Please stop by the office so we are able to schedule a time or us to meet.' OH great. Now a meeting with this person. I still don't even know what to call her. Well, it's best to get unpleasant things with over right away or you'll just keep putting it off.

I head downstairs and walk into the office. There's someone in all three rooms that I can see offhand. No one looks up except for this one, white on white blonde. The striking part of her were her eyebrows were blonde too, giving her entire face a bleached out look. From this point on, I'll call her Snow White. Snow White looks up to me an asks if I need help. Yeah. I'm looking for Snow White? "Yes, that's me," she replies cheerily. "You must be...." Hobobob, I relate. I got your note on my door. "Oh, yes! I have to meet with you, Hobobob. Can we schedule for tomorrow?" Sounds good. "Around 10:30?" Sounds good. "It should only take about ten minutes of your time." That's alright. I've got the time tomorrow. "Well that's good, see you then." I take off. I wonder what this is going to be like? 'Hobobob, you have to do so and so and you can't do so and so.' That's what these things usually are about. The rules and regulations.

I brush off the meeting. I'll see her tomorrow and deal with her then. Next stop on my list, Duane Reade Pharmacy. I drop off my pre- scriptions, all EIGHT of them, and that's not even half. I also slipped them the letter from ICD too, stating that I was to get twenty units of pharmacy visits soon. Hopefully I can get my hands on my meds tomorrow. These are the make and break meds. Blood pressure and heart meds. The serious ones. Too long without these will put me in the hospital for sure, but quick.

From there I head down the block to a linen's store. Outside, on their windows they have sheets for sale. It's time. My sheets are so thin they are like sleeping on gauze. I buy a blood red set, which match my towels. I'll never be able to find another set of blood red towels, I'll betcha that. While I was at it the guy sold me a SUPER pillow. Firm and large, far different from the little whatever I sleep on now. Little by little I'm making my little room into a little home. It will seem strange when it moves from its more spartan appearance to a real 'room' like a bed room, or a sitting room. I wonder if it will feel any different. Any more like a home? Home is where the heart is, yes?

And I guess that's the rub. I see that everything that I've been buying as of late, can be put in my bag and carried out of here on my back. I haven't been buying anything at all specifically for the room. Maybe if I started with a picture on the wall, I'll start to purchase more stuff. I still can't shake the feeling that this is only very temporary. I'll have to ask Snow White just how long will this paradise last. Because, you know, other than my Darling coffee maker, I can just pack everything back up and head into the street. Hopefully during the summer months.

As OBSIDIAN likes to point out...don't trust anything that the government gives you, because they take away as quickly as they give. This may be true.

But as long as it lasts, I'll enjoy, like a tick on a dog. Life can't be that good, right??

And when it's over, I'll just return from whence I came.

Or, something better might come along. Maybe a staff writer at some online mag?
Maybe get this handbook done?
Maybe this screenplay?

Maybe I'll get my shit in gear and get finished with something this year.
This year of change.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/01/this-old-portable-house.html
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