If you were somehow able to transport South Beach to Georgia, or Indiana, or Pennsylvania, I could say this place is crazy. Insane. Problem is, insanity is defined by society, and here, EVERYONE (almost) is so extreme in some way, that extremeness and uniqueness are the norm. Baptists who come here from Georgia are so easy to spot. They look "normal", but at home they're probably amongst the most rebelious in their subdivision. That's probably why I feel so at home here. I can be what I am, and most people think I'm boring, not aloof.
I really don't care now if anyone knows I sleep in my truck. Atleast I have a truck. Here, there are so many disgustingly rich, or extremely poor, or blatantly superficial, alcoholic, sex or drug addicted, or just plain so into themselves that they don't notice crowds building behind them wherever they happen to be pursuing their own adgenda, that some guy quietly sleeping in his truck is barely worth commenting on. But some do, at 2:00 in the morning, very loudly, while they are having their friends take their picture in front of the cool dog park under construction... why is next to my truck, in the middle of the night, the best place to decide which picture she should put on facebook? I hate weekends, especially three day weekends.
So, I still haven't covered my bed. I have worked out a system to deal with the wet clothing issue; pajamas, a couple extra items of clothing, and more trips to the laundromat. The rain in Florida comes pretty much every day. Mostly, it's in the early evening, and results from cooling of very moist air as the sun goes down, resulting in a change in state of water from gas to liquid...condensation and precipitation. Atleast I'm pretty sure I remember that correctly. Anyway, all the standing water also provides habitat for breeding mosquitos. So if I get to sleep in the bed of my truck, when it's not raining, the mosquitos become a real issue. I've learned how to not scratch the bites, so I don't aggrivate the inflamitory response, but in the middle of the night, when my mind is half in dream space, I would swear that I get so many bites on my arms that large patches of skin go numb from the neuroactive substances the mosquitos secrete to make dermal puncture less noticable to the animal source. The mosquitos, the lack of comfortable places to sit, and the interminable blasting of hiphop or house music through most of my day make me a little tired sometimes... all it takes though is an hour or two at the beach, at night when I have it almost all to myself, a cleansing swim, and subsequent chill from the seabreeze on my wet skin, and I feel restored enough to do it again. It also helps when my bartender friend plays reggae for happy hour for as long as she can tolerate it. I can listen to it all day, most people don't feel the same.
Not everyone here is crazy. There are a few angels. People who think, and care, and work hard, and do good things because it makes them feel good, not for what they think they can get. And living among extreme people also gives you patience, and tolerence because everybody here really is just trying to make it. The reason there are so many skinny people on South Beach is because we're all hungry. The people I know who work for tips eat with the extra money people they serve leave for them. The busboy, the Russian kid, today asked me what was the story with the fettuccini alfredo sitting on the bread table covered with a napkin. I put it there because a customer sent it back. It wasn't good enough to sell because the cook was tired and probably drunk, and he didn't care, but there was nothing "wrong" with it. My friend wanted to eat it.
It makes me a little sad that I, and all of the people I work with, in the front of the house, are so poor from lack of business, crappy tips, no hourly wage, and tip stealing owners, that we will eat off of the plates before they go back to dish. It reminds me of the custom of leaving a small bit of food on your plate for the help. I always thought this was a little pompous, until I saw myself and others living off of the discards of others. But it only makes me a little sad because I really admire the spirit that overcomes pride to live. You will eat and do many things you never thought you would if you become hungry enough. And yes, I am talking to you specifically, not to any general person. There but for the grace of god go I... never forget that.
Most people would not put themselves into this situation voluntarily. I have voluntarily, and with foreknowledge of the consequences, made my self homeless. I did it because I have been away from the ocean, landlocked, for eight years. I have gotten into unhealthy relationships with people and with drugs in the past as a way of dealing with the duhki, the pervasive unsatisfactoriness, in my life. I chose to become homeless and stay in South Beach because I am by the ocean, and I know that gravity grows around you wherever you are, if you can stay alive. I am surviving, I will build here, and buy my boat here, and leave here as soon as I can. And I will probably always consider South Florida (and New York City) my homes. I stayed because I knew it was the right thing to do, and if I left I would be continuing to live my life by what others think is right for me. I would be back to self-medicating with something within six months. I am making foundational changes in my life now. I don't recommend it unless you are willing to let go of yourself completely. How else are you going to build a new self?
So thanks to my angels, they keep me alive and sane. There are way too many to name, but I told Oshi I put her in my blog, and I hope Beau is reading... :)
No comments:
Post a Comment