The weather in the Northeastern U.S. was incredible, eighties and nineties, low humidity, nice and sunny. We live on a lake, so I had the pleasure of watching my friends stop over by boat. They were having a great time, invited me out to the bar across the lake (two minutes by boat!) and left three minutes later when they realized there was no fun to be had our lakeside hacienda.
Balls.
It’s going to be fucking winter before we all know it and the summer of ’10 will be a faint memory. I had great plans for this summer but things didn’t pan out as usual, for me anyways. This lack of productivity is mostly due to permanent health problems that keep me a virtual recluse. No traveling journalism anymore for this intrepid writer. But there will be no whining or lengthy ruminations of my woes because no one wants to hear that crap, so let’s talk about seclusion, or even cooler, reclusion.
Being a recluse is obviously not for everyone. It usually starts because of some sort of illness, being mental or physical. But we’re past the health issues so what does a recluse do all fucking day?
Let me tell you, in this day and age it’s a lot easier to hang around the house than ever before. Literally dozens if not hundreds of channels of crap on the T.V. Surfing the internet has taken reclusion to new heights. Hours upon hours, turning into days, are spent experiencing every “E” activity that can be found.
Online dating is one thing I just don’t get. Encountering a complete stranger through what is, more or less, live interactive television. People have conversations that last for hours by typing onto a keypad. The most intimate details of their lives are exchanged in an online chat room.
I guess it would be easier for people that have a real problem with shyness to converse this way, but if you want to do the nasty you got to meet! I can’t imagine how incredibly awkward these first meetings would be. What the hell do I do now? I really fucked up! She actually wants to meet me!
A recluse can’t leave, that’s not very “reclusive”. You can’t invite them over to your hideaway, God forbid anyone invade your comfort zone, your safe place.
There’s a difference between being a recluse and just being a lazy sack of shit. A recluse would like to be social but is hampered by having bad experiences while out in public.
Things like being accosted out on the street can cause people to retreat into their safe places. People from bad neighborhoods often run into this type of situation. Also, if you’re in a situation where you have to live in a strange place like accompanying a spouse on a foreign assignment where you don’t speak the language and the natives are not welcoming would cause some people to just retreat.
We were living in a place I like to call Shithole, New Jersey, right on the Hudson river across from NYC, where there was a lot of transient automobile traffic. By transient I mean the commuters would have to pass through our town to get to a ferry boat system that takes people into New York City.
These were a bunch of angry-ass motherfuckers, and this was not their town. Road rage to them was proper etiquette. There was a time when I wouldn’t even drive to the supermarket that was less than a mile away. During certain times you could not even get out to the main street without some asshole cutting you off, running lights, tossing trash and just plain disgusting offenses for people of their age.
We got to the point where we would have just about everything delivered and I wouldn’t go out unless I absolutely had to. Once again the internet enabled me to order groceries, beer, liquor, clothing, and anything else I really needed. It finally got so bad we were starting to think it was time to move out of Shithole and find someplace more civil.
At this time the housing bubble was in full swing to the point where we received offers to sell our house (it wasn’t even on the market). It looked like we would make a tidy profit and when 9/11 ripped through our collective psyche it was time to go.
The eleventh day of September in 2001 created a lot of reclusives. People wanted out of the city. There was constant talk of buying land in the middle of nowhere, arming your family to the hilt, and live behind a great big fence. It sounded good to me (still does…).
This led us to our current domicile about an hour north of NYC. We’ve never regretted the move, but for me, the damage was done. I’d had it with the general populace and being a rather cranky fuck in the first place didn’t help much!
So my house now is my sanctuary. The only real complaint is that of the harsh Northeast winters, when the lake freezes over it looks like Siberia in my backyard.
We still have neighbors and that’s always a drag, you just can’t seem to get rid of them (especially now with the DNA testing…). I always wanted to live in a place I could do work outside my house without any nosy dickweed staring at me like I’m his favorite T.V. show.
I like to talk to myself while I’m working in my yard. I use foul language and like to throw shit when I crack a knuckle or cut off a toe accidentally. I also like to be comfortable, so I prefer not to wear a shirt if the weather is hot and/or humid. And because I own a mirror I realize that this is not a sight I wish to share with the world.
We live on a road that is a popular walking path. It leads right long the lake and ends at a glorious castle, a real one that is owned by one of the New York Yankees. And this too pisses me off to no end. Meandering slowly out of my way when I’m driving on my road going to my house is a good way of getting yourself killed. When I’m driving my Lincoln Navigator, the biggest most obnoxious vehicle known to man, I could take out a half dozen wandering idiots without even having to switch to four wheel drive.
I know this sounds extreme but they can find another place to walk, I however have only one way to get to my home. Standing in the way of a recluse and his home is what we refer to as a “bad idea”. Standing in the way of a crazy recluse driving a bright red Lincoln Navigator is downright suicidal. I warn my neighbors about myself by flipping them off whenever they wave at me. Who cares? They’re not stopping over for cocktails – I have friends for that.
Neighbors do not make for good friend material. What if they turn out bad? You can’t take them back, they were already there. One of my neighbors sits out on his deck and stares at me whenever I’m outside working on a car – or working on anything within his range of sight for that matter.
I’ll be out there working away, talking to myself, swearing like a truck driver, scratching my ass – whatever. Then I suddenly hear a cell phone conversation that sounds like it’s taking place ten feet away. This is when you realize this guy has been watching you the whole time. And he’s done it every fucking time I’ve ever been out in the front yard for more than five minutes.
If that’s not bad enough, then there’s his fucking cell phone that not only reminds me that he’s watching and listening to everything I’ve been doing, now I have to listen to his goddamn, mundane, motherfucking, shoot-myself-in-the-fucking-head conversations! This is the same guy that asked me if it would be okay to use my dock for fishing with his four year old nephew, two seconds after introducing himself. Literally two seconds!
I guess he figured that trying to manipulate me by mentioning children and fishing would form a bond. A bond that would allow him to freeload off of my dock giving him access to the lake through (and in) my backyard. He couldn’t have been more wrong. The only thing I hate more than fishing in my backyard is children!
He then tried the same shit again but he went behind my back and asked my wife. His little trick this time was asking if it would be okay if he docked his boat on my dock when his girlfriend had to “run in the house to pee”. Oh sure, every woman can relate to that! His mistake was thinking my wife would actually believe he had a real girlfriend. Or fall for his bullshit for that matter; the wife is one smart cookie.
Now this is crap I ran into just minding my own business in my own fucking front yard!
Can I use your dock? Can I stab you in the face?
I like the side of the house that faces the lake much better. It’s just safer for everyone involved…
So here I sit, happily typing away in order to try to entertain you, my dear readers.
Oh beloved Sanctuary!
Selah.
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