Monday, May 14, 2007
prose going nowhere
From my senior year in high school until 1996, I was alone for a total of about three years. Seventeen of those years when I was not alone were in a secure but mostly unpassionate relationship, creatively fruitful, but neither of us was able to be really direct with each other & we never had clear long term goals as a couple other than hanging in there together.
In 1996, when a 3 year long relationship ended, I had a gut feeling that I was finished, had all the chances I was going to get unless I became, in a sense, "normal." But it was my pushing toward a settled, career kind of job that had left her with no reason at all to go on. I probably needed Zoloft & therapy more than a position as an "Income Maintenance Technician" with Union County Social Services. I hated the job - no thanks to poor training - & was laid off after six months in a wave of welfare reforms. She had fallen in love with poet & underground radio DJ working in an arts supply store for a pittance. I didn't have have to fake who I was or what I did or what was important to me. You knew the truth as soon as you saw the wreck of a car I was driving. When I got the county job, I bought a pair of good shoes, put on a tie, & took a sabbatical from radio. I became unrecognizable even to myself. Who was this guy? What did he want? Inside the beehive of a large county building, I met a lot of dedicated, competent social services workers, but they comprised the largest concentration of unimaginative minds I'd ever encountered. I felt totally out of my element. Worse, regulations (which were enforced) prohibited me from moving out of county, up to Jersey City or down toward the shore so I'd at least have an interesting place to go home to. I'd fantasized keeping my sanity by living in Keyport, taking a convenient train to Elizabeth, & ending every day with a stroll by Raritan Bay, with frequent suppers in the classic chrome Keyport Diner, sitting at a table in the corner with a newspaper or book, a familiar customer. That was a worthwhile, modest dream for a single man expecting to remain alone.
& I expected to be alone because those single Jersey women my own age I met assumed a man would own a late model car & enjoy going to Atlantic City, & definitely not be too "far out." I was hopelessly far out. Just one easy example, I was incapable of saying, "I hate rap music." I could only say, "It's not my thing, but if I were 17 I'm sure I'd be nuts about it." I didn't like most seafood, wasn't interested in cruise ships or vacationing in Orlando, considered gambling a waste of time & money, & was indifferent to the glitz of Las Vegas without Frank, Dean & Sammy on the marquees. Outdoorsy women found out I'd had enough of camping & strenuous hiking as a Boy Scout. Golf looked OK, although there's nothing in my experience to indicate I'd be any good at it, or love it enough to get up for a sunrise tee time at a public course. I was also a political liberal, hardly a wonk but definitely not open to justifying my views or hearing a lot of recycled right wing prattle, which I realized when I briefly dated a Rush Limbaugh dittohead. It's hard being around someone who always knows the truth & wants you to know it,too.
I have no idea where I'm trying to go with this post.
"If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be." Thomas Jefferson
In 1996, when a 3 year long relationship ended, I had a gut feeling that I was finished, had all the chances I was going to get unless I became, in a sense, "normal." But it was my pushing toward a settled, career kind of job that had left her with no reason at all to go on. I probably needed Zoloft & therapy more than a position as an "Income Maintenance Technician" with Union County Social Services. I hated the job - no thanks to poor training - & was laid off after six months in a wave of welfare reforms. She had fallen in love with poet & underground radio DJ working in an arts supply store for a pittance. I didn't have have to fake who I was or what I did or what was important to me. You knew the truth as soon as you saw the wreck of a car I was driving. When I got the county job, I bought a pair of good shoes, put on a tie, & took a sabbatical from radio. I became unrecognizable even to myself. Who was this guy? What did he want? Inside the beehive of a large county building, I met a lot of dedicated, competent social services workers, but they comprised the largest concentration of unimaginative minds I'd ever encountered. I felt totally out of my element. Worse, regulations (which were enforced) prohibited me from moving out of county, up to Jersey City or down toward the shore so I'd at least have an interesting place to go home to. I'd fantasized keeping my sanity by living in Keyport, taking a convenient train to Elizabeth, & ending every day with a stroll by Raritan Bay, with frequent suppers in the classic chrome Keyport Diner, sitting at a table in the corner with a newspaper or book, a familiar customer. That was a worthwhile, modest dream for a single man expecting to remain alone.
& I expected to be alone because those single Jersey women my own age I met assumed a man would own a late model car & enjoy going to Atlantic City, & definitely not be too "far out." I was hopelessly far out. Just one easy example, I was incapable of saying, "I hate rap music." I could only say, "It's not my thing, but if I were 17 I'm sure I'd be nuts about it." I didn't like most seafood, wasn't interested in cruise ships or vacationing in Orlando, considered gambling a waste of time & money, & was indifferent to the glitz of Las Vegas without Frank, Dean & Sammy on the marquees. Outdoorsy women found out I'd had enough of camping & strenuous hiking as a Boy Scout. Golf looked OK, although there's nothing in my experience to indicate I'd be any good at it, or love it enough to get up for a sunrise tee time at a public course. I was also a political liberal, hardly a wonk but definitely not open to justifying my views or hearing a lot of recycled right wing prattle, which I realized when I briefly dated a Rush Limbaugh dittohead. It's hard being around someone who always knows the truth & wants you to know it,too.
I have no idea where I'm trying to go with this post.
Labels: love, Pearl Arts
