The dog next door, the one who attacked my mother on her front porch, has stopped barking. The neighbors don’t pay attention to the relentless barking, so I have taken to going out in back and spraying water from the hose. It may not be the kindest thing, but it does shut up poor Kayla.
I’m not writing because I have anything to say, I am merely hoping to stumble on to what I think, or some level of connection with myself (and you?). You’ve heard me say before that I was (am) lost. Being back at the parental homestead has put me in some sort of shocked time warp. At this particular moment, I have no sense of who I am, who I ever was (if anyone), or who and how I am going to be.
Dislocated in my life again? At this point, I would question if I had ever actually been located in my own life or if all this time, these many years, I have been faking it or fooled.
There doesn’t seem to be much joy in Mudville or Santa Fe Springs, Casey.
Yesterday, in the midst of an emotional crises or acute reality calibration emergency, I took a bicycle ride instead of eating or drinking or bingeing on visual narrative. I am still getting the hang of the bicycle I “inherited” from Carl; the seat is neither at the right height nor angle and I can’t figure out how to adjust it. The gears are not as smooth as the ones on my trusty Aretha (1983 Nishiki) or my 1995 mountain bike back in Brewster. However, I was able to finally make it to the bike path along the San Gabriel River channel (thanks Army Corps of Engineers!).
(My current ride and a blue bench.
|The swingset in question.|
The bike path and freeway overpasses as well as the channel are apparently home to many homeless folks. There was enough clothing and small appliances strewn along the path to open a thrift store there. (Not that you would want that stuff.) I saw several older men in various states of prosperity riding bikes and picking through the detritus. I saw no females.
For a breather, I headed over to Santa Monica to spend the night with WD and help her organize her daughter's closet. I am so unused to and confused by who I am (not) that I find it a bit challenging to have a conversation to someone I haven't spent a lot of time with for a while. It was good to think about how to frame my story so that I had some perspective on it.