I know, I know my public…I’ve been away from my pc and I’m dying…so SUE ME. I’m in the process of moving and boy is it a mess! But since my fans need me, I’ll let you know what’s been on my mind these last few weeks I’ve been kept away from All of You. My nightmare began officially last week when I had to get packing (literally). My life reduced to garbage bags and recycled boxes, courtesy of McDonald’s (thanks, guys!). I’m still not completely out, but I’m out enough, okay? Now stop bugging me! No, really. I caught sight of my fresh digs and my new commute much like a newborn. I’ve never really been away from JC for too long so it seems like a whole new world ~ even if it is just the next town over. Ah, good ole Bayonne, NJ.
*Cue Sopranos music here*
So I woke up this morning and got myself a gun. Not literally, of course. I just need to shoot myself in the head after all of the craziness that transpired during the move. And just in case you took the previous line seriously, maybe you need to be committed. It’s a “joke”, people! Which brings me to an aside that has absolutely nothing to do with my move but everything to do with how people miscontrue phrasing, sarcasm, and mock statements. Allow me to go on a rant in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
Okay, if you currently reside in a place as cynical as Jersey City can be, then you can recognize sarcasm a mile away. Any major city has this wonderful ability to make sick fun of their troubles–which are many if you live in a big city. Follow me? So, why do some people not understand that when I say things like: “Today is so slow I wanna kill myself” that I don’t actually mean it? When I make lude comments or rude noises and gestures it is just a form of expression NOT, I repeat, NOT to insult or hurt anyone. So I made some such allusion to a mock hanging involving my tongue sticking out and a noose I fashioned out of my scarf. I was fooling around and someone offered this bit of help: “If you ever need to talk…” C’mon people! If I really wanted to kill myself I would’ve done so long ago and I probably would’ve been all secretive and hidden about it. If you announce your suicidal intentions, odds are you are too cowardly to do the deed. Just ask parents who have lost their children. They can tell you that what was going on inside of their teen or child was an internal struggle that they knew nothing about. Those “warning signs” that psychologists rattle on about don’t always apply. Even in high school, a young person had written a poem/suicide note that my teacher passed around to show as an example of how silence can kill. Of course impressionable minds took the lesson to amplify our imaginations, inventing all sorts of teen-angst melodramas to curry favor from the teacher. Unfortunately, there sometimes is no “horror show” when it somes to suicide; it’s such a personal thing. But I digress… Where was I?
Ah yes, my move from the 7th circle of Hades. How could I forget? So now that I am (almost) completely out, I’d like to share some of my experiences thusfar. Basically, Bayonne is much, much quieter. I am also near a park where I can walk my dogs and they have their own little doggie park. The park is actually a good area to meander ’round which is perfect for a writer’s “ME” time. I can hear my thoughts now instead of police and fire sirens that could shatter glass. Don’t believe me? Just ask anyone who’s ever called me on the phone while one of those suckers is passing by. Went something like this:
Me – Hello?
Person on the Line – Hello?
Me – What?!
Person on the Line – Hello…uh, Hello, hello?
Me – You have to speak up!
*Siren still going*
Person on the Line – What?!
Me – I say, you HAVE TO SPEAK UP!!
*Siren still going*
Person on the Line – …is that noise?
Me – What?
Person on the Line – Hm?
Me – WHAT DID YOU SAY??
Person on the Line – Well, you don’t have to yell!!!
Exactly. Annoying. It’s quite a bit different now. Understand that there are its quirks (what place could I reside without a little bit of the odd, y’know?) and flavorfuls of enigmatic cast of characters like, Maria Lourdes Baptist (name’s been changed to protect the insane), who attends school to escape from her parents’ 24-7 religious chatter-box diatribes. There’s also the drunken folks at Frankie’s bar who love to sing, “I Will Survive” at say, three in the morning. Then, you got your silent-but-deadly cast who travel around in mysteriously large, ominous vans at all hours of the day and night. Dressed in their floor-length leather finery or just beat-up black leather bomber jackets and flare slacks from the 70s, these wiseguys are out in every kind of weather, smoking their packs of Marlboro Lights. Yeah, mobsters. Only my mom would’ve shushed me, put one finger to her lips and whispered, “mobsters.” I guess that was just in case someone was within earshot (i.e. the FBI) who gave a crap. Or, maybe she was worried that I was wearing a “freakin'” wire!–NOT!
Anyway, NJ is full of weird and highly questionable so I don’t think too much of it. At least I can more or less sleep soundly at night. That is if the drunks keep it down to a low roar.