housesitting

Okay, so I posted about discipline last time. Doesn't mean I know a damn thing about it though.

I smoke, take drugs, drink (in addition to being allergic to alcohol), and lately I've been putting the food away in pounds. I'm a slave to my dick and I spend all my money on CDs and party-nights out. I keep doing things that are bad for me, and yet I'm posting about... discipline.

The truth is, I do have discipline. I'm two people, you see. Remember?

I'm an old man and a little boy, and it's the little boy who breaks the rules and stays up past his bedtime and goes out without mittens and catches cold and doesn't eat his Brussels sprouts and is afraid of snails.

The old man is the part of me that gets the job done time and time again, despite the best efforts of the little boy to sabotage it all.

The old man is stronger and wiser, but he doesn't have much time. There's a sense of urgency to everything he does, as if he cannot forget those Depression-era days of yore and keeps memories of them fresh in his mind like cut flowers in a vase.

And the old man knows only one thing: that he doesn't know the first thing about how to master a discipline. At least the little boy has his five working senses and an awestruck view of life on this planet to help him get by. The old man squandered that part of him and now he is desperate.

They need each other. Those two different sides of me are interdependent upon each other to survive.


*/*


Eve's brother Randy left town and asked her if she could housesit. Eve agreed, knowing very well that this entailed watching over Randy's dogs, Victoria and Fargo.

Victoria is an epileptic Chihuahua, who needs to be medicated with phenobarbital to manage its seizures. Fargo is a beautiful Golden Lab, barely a pup but already big enough to knock someone down with unbridled enthusiasm.

I'm not crazy about dogs, but Eve asked me if I wanted to hang out with her while she was housesitting, and I figured it would be nice to do that. But I'd been feeling bad ever since my meeting with The Green Fairy on Valentine's Day, and after playing a show with my band the following evening-- in the freezing cold with only a sweaty shirt and tie sticking to me in the frigid temperatures --it was safe to assume that my ass was done for.

Ever the Angel of Mercy, Eve began nursing me back to health with a series of incredible meals that gave me the vitality to continue through the remainder of the week. I must have gained at least 15 pounds from this past weekend, what with all the good eatin' we got in.

There was the promise of the hot tub, but then it started raining, and even if we wanted to say 'the hell with it' and use the hot tub anyway Eve couldn't figure out what was wrong with it. That was probably a good thing, though, because I was trying to recuperate from illness-- jumping into the hot tub during the rain would set me back a few days, no doubt.

If the hot tub had been working, I just know I would've jumped in.


*/*


Have you ever housesat for an extended period of time, only to find that you are being sucked into the comforts of a home that doesn't belong to you?

It's a weird feeling: after a while, you walk around like you own the place. You're not afraid to walk around naked, or rummage through the fridge. And yet, if you make a mess, you are a bit mindful of it. However, as time goes by you become less mindful, thinking "Oh, I'll clean up right before they get back"... you keep telling yourself this over and over, so as not to get in the way of your own enjoyment, but then comes the day when you have to clean up and leave.

Then, the reality sets in, and you realize that you were getting used to that way of living. And when you leave, you end up shaking it off of you, no matter how appealing it may have seemed.

Eve and I slowly transformed into a domesticated couple during our stay at Randy's house. She and I are apartment dwellers, and to be inside a spacious two-bedroom home in Burbank, with a beautiful kitchen and a baby grand piano in one of the rooms, with the TiVo and widescreen TV and the comfy couch that mold to your backbones as if it were tailored specifically for you...

We did crosswords together. Together. Halfway through the Sunday puzzle, I realized that I had never shared a crossword with anyone ever. Sure, I've asked people for help with clues every now and then, but she and I were looking at the same puzzle, figuring out answers.

Weird. But not scary. You wanna talk about scary? Try dealing with the bevy of snails that oozed out of the woodwork when the rain came. That was scary.

Eve did laundry and cooked, I played with the remote control and looked for movies to watch on cable. Granted, I was taking cold medicine and trying to keep myself from getting sicker, but my discipline was selective: no alcohol, but cigarettes and pot were fine; no dairy products, but loads of carbs at every food op...

On Saturday night, Laurie and Daniel (The Dynamic Duo) came by and we ate Thai food while watching The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. It was still raining, and watching a movie about an underwater explorer seemed to hit home. It was as if we were miles beneath the ocean, in a submarine, or perhaps a waterproof cocoon.


*/*


I'm feeling better now. I'm here at work, sitting around doing nothing all day, wondering if I'll ever have a home of my own or a hot tub or a TV the size of a large fishtank...

The only reason why I'm wondering about all that stuff is because I gave up on the way of thinking a long time ago. By age 16, I was no longer an active participant in The Game: I did everything I could to ensure that I would end up a loser.

Now, at age 32, I realize that I failed-- I didn't become a loser. Yeah, I'm far from a winner, but I haven't lost anything. In fact, I've gained something, if anything.

I've gained a positive outlook on life. I'm at a point now where it doesn't seem like some unattainable sham of a dream; I'm talking about the whole 'settling down' angle. It doesn't seem like something I will never have anymore.

Granted, I still don't want it (at least for now) but it doesn't feel like sour grapes when I say that I don't want it. In the past, I used to refuse it with a bitter taste on my tongue, as if I was secretly envious of anyone who had the naivete to dare dream the impossible.

Now, the impossible seems, at the very least, plausible.

Weird.

It unnerved me, but not as much as it did to Eve. When we met up later on Sunday night at Purple Paulie's house, she confessed that a metaphorical cloud had lifted from her head when she left her brother's house for good.

She said to me, "When I got home, I threw my laundry on the bed, and sat down and said, 'Ah yes, I have a life of my own!'"

I laughed. "Isn't that funny how that happens when you housesit? You start thinking that you own the house. Then you wake up from the dream."

"More like a nightmare. I can't believe I was actually domestic!" Eve shivered for effect.

"It wasn't that bad. A bit decadent, but not bad."

"It was weird," she said, grinning. "I don't want to see another crossword ever again."

Well, I happen to like crosswords, so she may have spoken too soon. But it was weird... in a nice sort of way. It was a nice weird.

Eve said, "My mother said the same thing when she housesat for Randy. It took her a few days to get out of the haze."

She and I still have that hunger. We're not ready to settle down yet-- we're too restless, both of us. But, it's good to know that the alternative is not virtual death. It seems more like a prison sentence for a Mafia boss, with all the amenities and special benefits that come with such an arrangement.

Maybe if I can channel my bipolar impulses, I can discipline myself and get the house with the two-car garage and the 2.5 kids without having to defer my hopes and dreams.

Maybe.