i did get my feet in the mud. my face is flushed with sunburn and i have the most terrocious haltertop tanline. i did the latushi dance (tooshie out!) among pagans, children, and salt-of-the-earth christian pennsylvanians out for the day with the family. and a bear. back in the city i have strange dreams.
i feel grateful for the farm, to rob and lucy for making the farm, and the company of friends, my extended family of brothers, sisters, and lovers, people with issues, who are beautiful, who have lives different from mine, who i adore and who adore me, who dance with me or watch me dance and make sure i have a place to sleep and make sure i get home safely. i'm glad these things are a part of my life. back in the city we all look away from the man screaming incoherently in spanish on the train. the coffee cart man remembers i take it with milk no sugar. my cubicle mates sing along when i put on the kinks. it's springtime and i'm not missing lost loves. someone on the first floor was mugged in our doorway the night before i came home exhausted at 2 am rolling my suitcase behind with $100 in my wallet and treasures from the festival in my purse. i started smoking again with jay up on the hill among lucy's grapevines and i bought my own after we broke down halfway home near rising sun, maryland, where the aaa lady suggested we find a hotel and hunker down till monday. my roommates play the new gta morning and night, filling the apartment with the sounds of screeching tires and screaming women. the gas station on the corner has closed, so i won't wake on saturdays any more to blasting soul music as the locals wash their cars. "lost lease," says the sign. they'll be putting up condos more'n likely, right across from the cascade laundry factory and the marcy projects' basketball courts. i talk more about leaving the city one day, but for what? this life suits me more than anything else has. no lilacs, no spring peepers, no smell of earth, but a larger concentration of people that i love than anywhere else. and no hiding from the misfortune of others. until you can afford to taxi it everywhere you are stuck on the train with the screaming incoherently. i don't mind so much the man who mumbles obscenities to me in the corner store, or the kids who shout "hey, white girl!" when i head back to the apartment with my six-pack. we all live here together, with the rats and the posturing pigeons. the chugging of the bus on the corner comforts me as i write this late at night on the roof. i love it here. i belong to it. does it belong to me?
my mother wants to buy a house to live in with her children. so i dream of someplace in the mountains of north carolina. the world gets smaller. i don't want to grow old breathing the exhaust of the city, and i'm growing older every day. but i like the way the city keeps me on my toes, forcing me to keep my shit together and be stronger than i think i am. it helps me remember that no one else will make sure i get what i need.