New Aerie

I'm stuck at home waiting on the phone man, who's come to set up my Verizon service.  He got here about an hour and twenty minutes ago, and after poking about for a moment or two, he went in search of "the backyard," where I presume he needed access to some phone company box or something.   That was the last I saw of him.  I'm afraid that some hole in the building may have swallowed him, a la some slasher flick.  I'm afraid to poke my head out of the apartment for fear that Jason Vorhees is out there or something.

So, as it turns out, he had to go across the street to the Charcuterie and get the keys to the basement from my landlords, Michel or Mike.  Now I'm looking at an afternoon and an evening of nothing to do!  I'm really tempted to go out and see a movie, even though it's so not in the budget for this week.

The budget has been well and truly shot by various moving expenses, which is killing me.  But it's what I signed up for, and in the long run it'll be better for me, I think.  Once I'm settled in here, I suspect I'll be unable to imagine how I didn't live alone before.

So this whole Midnight Prophet thing (see yesterday's entry) has really thrown me into a black mood the last couple of days - and it seems to me a little overboard to go so whacky over a guy I met once.

But is has less to do with Midnight Prophet the person than it has to do with how hopeless I feel about ever finding a person who wants me as much as I want him.  And don't get me wrong:  I'm aware of my newfound shallowness.  That second part is the hard part.  There are plenty of guys that I've run into who want me, but I keep holding out for some one who falls at least a little closer to the mark of my "dream" man.  I'm all for sticking to your guns, but there's, it seems to me, an increasing chance that I'm gonna end up a spinster.

There are, of course, those of you out there who would rightly point out that, nearing forty, I'm already a spinster.  Fuck you.

Anyway, the extra-disturbing thing to me is the stock I seem to be putting in physical features.  My perfect man is somehow a physical copy of this man I've never met before!  Someone about whom I know nothing of any import.  He could be a complete asshole, and it wouldn't mean much to me... at first, of course.  I think that's where my recent dismay comes from.  I'd like to think that I'm beyond that - but it always comes as a shock when I discover I'm every bit as shallow as everyone else.

The odd thing about my new apartment is that my living room & bedroom windows look out on my old apartment.  And so - not having cable or TV, I tend to sit here at the window (the sill of which is curiously suited to use as a desk!) and watch the world go by as I'm waiting for inspiration to strike.

I get to look down on the people who're coming and going from the old apartment building.  And you know what's weird (to me)?  I'm seeing people I never  saw when I was there - which is nothing if not a wonderful and pointed indication of how little we see of our lives when we live them - indeed, it seems that, until I was removed from that building, I had no sense of the web of people around me.  I was way too focused on my own little world.

So did I mention that I'd been up on the roof o my building and checked out the view?  It's quite something, actually.  I should have pretty good views of Manhattan come fireworks time.  And I saw the most beautiful pink and blue sunset from my living room the other day.  I think I've really lucked out in finding this place.

Getting my bike up and down to my apartment is going to be a challenge.  I have to figure out how to carry it without whacking the hell out of both the walls and the bike.

Funny, I just flashed back to what Dean Boustead called my house on Mt. Washington back in Pittsburgh, because of the steps he had to haul my crap up when he moved me in:  The Aerie.  Well, sadly, this apartment puts The Aerie to shame.

I think I'll name it New Aerie!