I'm feeling very mellow today, even melon collie. (I'm not infinitely sad though; it's not that bad.) I'm out of antidepressants, have been for a few days, so that's probably why. That's also probably why it was so hard for me to wake up this morning. That or four straight days of hours upon hours baking in the hot sun. That shit'll wear a brotha out.
This morning was beautiful. It stormed last night and when I left the house this morning, there were little rain droplets all over everything. Everything was damp, the air smelled like rain and was cool and refreshing. The sky was still mostly cloudy, but it was a textured kind of cloudy so you could see the clouds, rather than just a vague fuzzy gray. It was nice.
Anyway, I'm sad. I'm reminiscent today; I miss things. I miss when I lived in my very first apartment. It was a little studio apartment on the 8th floor of an old building downtown. It was a corner apartment, so I had windows facing south and west. Got to see some great sunsets. Anytime there was even a little bit of wind, I could open windows on each side and get fantastic breezes through the place, which is one of my favorite things. I had it lit mostly with christmas lights, which you could see from the parking lot and the street below. I ate frozen chicken breasts with BBQ sauce or fish sticks with tartar sauce and cans of fruit most days. I had a gas oven and stove but no microwave. My bed was a box springs & mattress that sat on the floor, no frame, and the rest of my furniture was all pillows and cushions. That was how I wanted it; I didn't want furniture.
The building was built in the 1920s and had been remodeled a few times; the bathroom had a small sink and a very small mirror/medicine cabinet. Everything in the bathroom was painted white. The apartment made me want to listen to Simon and Garfunkel records and just sit and look out the window at the busy city life below me, and I did a fair amount of that. It had character and seemed old, like the seventies.
That place also had some undeniable spiritual presence. Not a ghost or anything like that - I mean, there was a spirituality there. I was in a position in my life where I was very very vulnerable and open to that sort of thing; having just gotten out of jail I was appreciating life and having just had a girlfriend die in a car accident I was valuing life tremendously, just appreciating the experience of it. I had almost no money and almost no stuff. My TV was a small 13 inch TV which sat *under* the coffee table because I almost never used it - music was much more important. The coffee table was against the wall and held my stereo. Maybe it was just where I was in life right then, having all those factors come together to make me appreciate the experience of life, or maybe that apartment really was a spiritual place, but either way I felt very much in touch with myself and with life while I lived there. My life was simple then, and even though I was dead broke and constantly sweating about my bills, I miss that time in my life. I've never been able to duplicate the feeling of freedom I felt while I lived there.
And damn, was that ever a great place to be during a thunderstorm.
What's interesting is that while I lived there, Tandra and her ex-husband lived directly below the apartment across the hall from me. We lived close to each other like that pretty much the whole time we were growing up without ever meeting; it's freaky how many places we lived where we were within blocks of one another.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to take a sabbatical from life and go back there. The place cost me about $350 a month, and that was all bills paid. I wonder what it would be like to quit my job and get some part time job making $1000 a month, get rid of a bunch of my shit including my TV and PS2 and maybe even my computer (or at least store that stuff at my parents house for a while), and just move in there. Work 20 hours a week and spend the rest of the time reading books and listening to music and taking the time to appreciate being alive. And since I wouldn't be on probation, I could probably even smoke some green, which is not something I do now, but probably is something that would appeal to me in a situation like that.
Ha, did I just say I wanted to quit my life and become a pothead loser? I guess that depends on how you look at it.
Or, maybe I could keep my same job and just ditch the rest of my life and move there. I'd have a ton of leftover money to pay off my credit cards. I like the thought of the weirdness of living an almost indigent lifestyle outside of work, having this small crappy apartment and a crappy car, but with nice work clothes in the closet and a pretty nice job. Come home, take off nice work clothes, put on cut-off jean shorts and a tie-dyed shirt and sandals. Read some self-liberating hippie book and take a couple bong hits. Let homeless kids I meet at the coffee shop hang out and crash one night so they don't have to sleep in the park. The only part missing is that I'm not really artistic, so I couldn't spend my time carving stuff in limestone or making beaded and sterling silver necklaces or painting. I could write though. That would be good.
Of course, I have too much invested emotionally in the rest of my life to ever be able to actually do anything like that. I love Tandra and I couldn't leave her and the kids behind. I guess it's just a dream about what I'd like to do if I didn't have those emotional ties and obligations. If I ever actually tried to do that, I'd just be in despair the whole time missing them.