The new manager at the Great Northern Hotel woke me up this afternoon to tell me that rent has been increased by nearly 50%, and that I am late on payments again. I can hardly understand a $75 increase in rent. Management hasn't followed through on edging out the pushers, the pimps, and the scaries. On the other hand, I've been informed that we will be receiving "free" cable from here on out.
I used to be a news junkie, mainlining TV news and foreign news publications over the internet for a few years. I tried anything to stay informed and to sharpen my mostly leftist opinions, while residing over the local Green Party affiliate. However, my passion for politics and political discourse waned around the "Summer of the Shark". It's easy to get caught in the wheel of politics, and even easier to get burned out.
The following summer the media covered the Big Election, spliced with stories of child kidnappings of mostly 8-12 year old white girls. I lost cable, phone, and internet service when I moved out of the dorms and suddenly lost touch with stories of sharks, Amber alerts, and celebrity gossip. No more round the clock coverage of Laci Peterson, dead American soldiers in Iraq, beheadings, or even Israeli-Palestinian soap-opera nonsense. No more SARS, West Nile, or Mad Cow Disease. No more college girls kidnapped; their fates left to your imagination.
Most of my peers are quite technologically plugged in. Almost everyone I know has a cell phone. Most of them have cable and home internet access. And as far as transportation is concerned, everyone owns a vehicle these days. I must admit that I do own a tracfone, tv, dvd/vcr, computer, and even a piece of shit car. But I don't have cell phone service, no phone or internet access, and I no longer have a license to drive. And quite frankly, I must say that I'm strangely pleased with things this way. Without driving, I am forced to walk or ride my new Schwinn Le Tour bike all over town, keeping me in shape. There's no incentive to stay indoors without cable or the internet. I now spend most of my time hanging out with friends, writing, or even reading. Without a phone, I barely exist. Friends can't locate me and bill collectors can't harass me all hours of the day. Therefore, residing in the technological dark-ages has forced me into a particular lifestyle I have always wanted, but too lazy and distracted to achieve. And the last thing I want to do is hang out at home.
Home is above a tavern on the 400 block on Broadway. I've lived in this piece of shit for almost a year now. Well beyond any of the current tenants or management. I've seen them come and go, from all walks of life. Fifty dollars a week and a handshake isn't the type of arrangement you set roots in. But I have. A "no questions" policy allows any scum or bad-luck fellow to drift through. Most of them are either evicted, or leave without notice, sometimes with their possessions left behind. I recoil from the drunken chatter of the halls and into my room. Across my door is a single window with a view of the brick wall three feet away. There isn't room for a table, a couch, or even a toilet for that matter. I've never had any guests over, except for Allison. She would spend the night and we'd go downstairs to the bar or pick up a sixer from the liquor store and watch movies. It wasn't the most elegant of arrangements, but at least we had each other. She usually excused the mess, and patiently listened to my claims of bettering my situation.
Different neighbors spring different habits. Some drink and curse into the night. Some watch porn at a pathetically loud volume, while others bring sketchy women home with them. I'm resigned to deal with the moaning, the dirty talk, the clockwork creaking of the bed shifting back and forth. It's something you never get used to.
2 months ago.
Terri Schiavo is finally dead. She is now yesterday's coffee/water-cooler talk. Another barrier between the Christian right and the pompous left. The media is praying for another terrorist attack to fill the void. Or Armageddon. Anything to scare privileged white people to stay tuned.
America loves drama. The cloaked enemy. Terrorists, sex-offenders, immigrants, and even black people. Anything to corroborate their normality. Mysteries too easy to solve. I have sought out my own mysteries as well.
It seems useless to try to keep my room clean. I have too much shit and not enough space. Assorted books and magazines sprawl out across the tile floor, pop cans and junk food wrappers collect under my bed or nestle into the corners of my room. All of my clothes rest in a pile inside the closet, while boxes are stacked at the foot of my bed. On my royal blue dresser is an assortment of bills, pictures, and medicine. It's a depressing scene to come home to. Even Allison doesn?t come around anymore.
The coughing began 3 months ago. It started out about 1-2 hours a day, usually at night time. There was little discomfort, as I waited for it to pass as a normal cold would. But in the months proceeding, I began to cough 3-4 hours a day, which typically robbed me of much needed sleep. I tried Robitussin, Dayquil, and even cough drops, but they seemed to offer little relief. As soon as I caught wind of a friend's recent case of whooping cough, I decided to get checked out.
Upon entering the clinic, I was asked to wear a surgical mask to protect others from me, while I filled out the necessary paperwork in the waiting room. Other patients huddled around the tv to hear the live verdict of the Michael Jackson fiasco. My breath comes circulates inside the mask and back through my nose, fogging up my glasses. I should've brushed my teeth.
She pressed the cold, metal stethoscope to various parts of my chest and back. "You can take off that mask," she says. "I strongly believe that you don't have whooping cough." She scribbles feverishly into her notepad. "Your allergies are the root of your cough. I will write you a prescription for Zyrtec and Robitussin," and she sent me off into the day.
The coughing didn't stop. In fact, it got even worse. A coworker suggested that my mattress was the alleged culprit of my allergies. So one night, completely exhausted and desperate to sleep, I ditched my bed for the pile of clothes overflowing out of the closet. I shuffled clothes around to form a nest and knelt down to assume the sleep position. Then a little gray mouse darted out of the pile and through my legs and under my bed. I searched for the little guy, but he was nowhere to be found.
About a month after I began coughing, I developed a furious itch across most of my body. The most severe itchiness developed across my abdomen, my shoulders, and my pelvic region. And like the cough, most of the scratching commenced at night time when I tried to sleep. When I wasn?t coughing, I scratched. Back and forth for hours with no relief.
Current.
I started leaving food out for the mouse at night, including a blueberry bagel wrapped in cellophane. Every other day I noticed large chunks of the bagel missing when I woke up. Other reminisces of snacks left scattered over the floor, devoured by the mouse's ferocious appetite. But I haven't seen the mouse in two weeks. One night I was awaken by a scratching noise coming from the foot of my bed. I turned my light on and found a hole in the floor near the radiator where the mouse was fashioning an escape route. I read a book until he was finished, and went back to sleep. And now he's gone for good. Allison has left too. Another summer slipped through my fingertips.
I finally go into the clinic for my itch. Nearly all of my body is covered in rashes and scabs from scratching most of my days away. In the Dr.'s office, I lift my shirt to support my case. And apparently the evidence and testimony provided leads to the verdict of scabies. Fucking hell! She gave me cream and steroids and shoved me out the door.
I tell my landlord that I have scabies just so that he'll provide me with a new mattress. He calls the State Health Department and they order me to export everything out of my room and have the place disinfected. I am also advised to wash and dry all of my clothes and bedding. I box up all of my possessions and carry them out to my 88 Oldsmobile station wagon and then carry 3 garbage bags full of clothes to the laundry mat 10 blocks away, missing work. For the manager's troubles, he charged me $25.
With the room cleaned out and a new mattress, I sail off to sleep. Everything is in the past. Allison, the mouse, the scabies. All except for one loose end I haven't tied up. I woke up at 2:30 in the morning, sweating and coughing violently. I rolled out of bed and turned on the light above the sink. I look in the mirror and hardly recognize my face. When did I start to look so...ragged? I cough again and spit into the sink. It's red. Blood red. I force another cough and spit once more. Blood. Again and again.
The doctor examines me once more with her stethoscope. "I'm not too concerned about the blood. I think your cough is caused by acid reflux. I would like for you to try a months worth of Prevacid, and hopefully that will help end your cough."
Hurricane Katrina absolutely leveled parts of the South, and Rita cleaned out the rest. With the governments' head in the sand (Iraqi sand), people already in poverty were left behind to die and rot in the streets. America reached deep into its pocket, hoping to solve another problem by throwing money at it, all the while, bitching about steep gas prices. Subsequently, consumer confidence is low, while lawmakers point fingers at each other and hold an endless charade of press conferences. God bless America.
Today is known as Autumnal Equinox, one of two days of the year when night and day are of equal length. For the next 3 months we will anxiously watch the days pull back farther and the sun hug the southern half of the sky. Frost will cover the still green grass, leaves turning yellow, then orange, then fall to the ground. Every year. A lethargic, disappointing summer under-hands me my favorite season. By the time the first day of winter arrives and days become longer again, it is too late. Old Man Winter drops in and ruins everything.