My last days in Watertown

I am looking forward to writing in retrospect on my last days in Watertown and I hope my writing comes out funny.

Actually, it might come out sounding rather pathetic.  Life has rather sucked.

There are a few people I don’t actually look forward to telling that I am moving, or planning to move, namely, my brothers, because they will tell me it’s a stupid idiot thing to do.  Why will they tell me this?  Because they tell me everything I do is stupid and idiotic.  They do this because they only care about their own monetary gain.

To my brother Ned, I am not a “real writer” because I am not published in the New Yorker.  That’s how he defines real writers.  He constantly puts me down and I hate talking to him.

I hate talking to my brother Phil because it’s damn obvious he doesn’t give a shit about me.  He only cares about his own stupid petty life.

I think I will move and not tell them until after I’m moved.  No rule that says I have to tell them.

But meanwhile, back to life in Watertown.  Remember I told you someone might come out of the woodwork and tell me they were going to miss me or something? Well, I think folks are looking forward to not having me around.

After all, I’m nothing but a nasty bitch, right?  No one really likes me and I never do any good for anyone.

I never did anything good for the church.  Not that I was really asked to or even allowed to.  I wasn’t on a committee and didn’t make any meaningful contributions in any way.  I don’t think anyone really wanted me around.  I think they will just breathe a sigh of relief when I’m gone and know that they won’t have to deal with me anymore.  Folks just kinda put up with me and they won’t have to do that anymore.

Me, I can hardly wait to get out of here.  Itching to take off.  I can’t afford to fly there and check out places, so wherever I settle for, I’m going to have to take it sight unseen.  I know folks who have done that before and although I have heard of scams, it often works out just fine.

There was one place that sounded okay, but then it sort of didn’t, and then it turned out she would not take Puzzle.  I thought about the place and decided I didn’t like the idea that the owner would be showing up every now and again whenever she felt like it (she claimed it would be extremely rarely, and just to do business for a few hours) as “absentee roommate” and giving me a lower price for that deal, so it’s just as well that our conversation ended abruptly as soon as she found out about Puzzle.

I can hardly wait to write about how crappy my life has been these past couple of weeks.  I will tell you once I’m out of here and safely in my new town.  I can hardly wait to split the scene.  Mostly, I’ve been in bed.  Not that that matters and not that anyone really cares.  And no one really knows why or cares to know why or understands even or wants to understand.

I’ve pretty much given up on the idea of having a friend, or anything resembling one. I mean someone you can really tell what’s going on with you, and share and stuff.  That’s kinda sad.

As far as staying on the planet, well, we’ll see.  Might give up on that, too, at the rate things are going.  Just seems pointless.  But, you know, starting a new life in a new place, who knows…anything can happen.

Basically, my plan now is to find the new place and spend a lot of time in bed for quite a while.  After all, I’m going to be tired, right?  Then, we’ll see.  Life might be worth living, might not.

Crying while walking Puzzle, a wicked awesome thing to do now and then

You can cry and walk your dog at the same time so long as you have a supply of tissues in your pocket.  That way, you don’t have to use your sleeves.  Another thing I’d suggest is to make sure nobody’s looking.  And if you do anything out loud, make like you are talking to your dog or talking on a cell phone just in case anyone drives by or walks by with their own dog, or is listening out their window.  That way, it’s all kinda foolproof.

So I was out walking Puzzle this morning down a street I frequently walk on, and sure enough, started thinking about folks at church.  Don’t ask me why I thought of this particular person, never mind who, but this person is wicked, wicked nice.  I said to myself, “Oh honestly, Julie, you have not had one single negative interchange with this person, it’s all been entirely positive and pleasant.  Julie, this person and this person’s spouse, they are about the nicest people you could ask for.” And then I proceeded to think up more people at church that I thought were the nicest people you could ask for, and more and more people.  In fact, I had such a list that there was no list at all.  I just kept thinking of more and more wonderful people, a whole conglomerate of them.  You’d think I’d thought up a whole church full of them, more than ever show up on any given Sunday.  Actually, if that many people filled our teensy parking lot, a zillion cars would be double-parked and I guess there would be all sorts of problems for the first ones that had arrived.

Oh no, I didn’t get that far in my thinking.  By then, I  was bawling my eyes out.  Don’t ask me how many tissues I needed cuz I have no clue.  Me, leave Watertown?  Well, yeah, I really am planning to leave.  It does truly suck when you end up getting sad over stuff like this.

Relationships.  Well, like I said in previous entries, stuff happens like this.  There will always be folks I wished I had gotten to know better while I was here.  And folks might appear at some point and make it known that they wished they had gotten to know me a bit.  It was like that in every town I lived in and then moved away from, years ago, and so the pattern will continue.

Goodbye old city, hello new city

I guess I’ve been through this before.  I pick a new place, set a date, get my stuff packed.  And then, eventually, word gets out.   A few weeks pass.  My stuff is packed.  Boxes, boxes, boxes, everywhere.

Why is Julie leaving?  What’s the scandal?  Talk, talk, talk….

So my door rings.  Or knocks.  I never did have a doorbell.  I suppose this was 1986.

There were two women who came to my door that I recall right before I moved who had about the same message.  They were both on foot.  It was essentially this:

I wish I had gotten to know you better, Julie.

Well, I’m sorry, too.  Maybe I’m not.  It didn’t happen while I was here.  I mean, you didn’t come around, then, right?  So I’m leaving.  That’s the breaks.

Of course, I didn’t actually say that stuff.  These two women let me know separately and privately that they were sorry the town of Bennington and North Bennington, Vermont and Bennington College had been rotten to me, and they wished it had not gone sour for me due to gossip and mental health stigma.

I assured them that I was going to a big city and I was steering clear of small town gossip.

Am I expecting about the same thing to happen now.  Yep.  Someone’s gonna come out of the woodwork and tell me the same thing.  Someone’s gonna tell me they wished they had gotten to know me better.  Or I’ll get to know someone suddenly and they’ll introduce themselves and then say, “Oh, sorry you’re leaving.”

Well, damnit, too bad.

Not that I have a destination in mind or anything yet. I’m sort of thinking Tennessee.   There’s a river there.  That’s a good thing.  It’s inexpensive.  Cheap is good.  It’s warmer than here.  There are a lot of small cities, but I don’t want cities that are too small, because too small means gossip and it also means the public transportation system’s gonna suck, or the budget won’t hold out and they will cancel the buses the year after I move there.

People ask me why I don’t drive. I know this sounds dumb, but to me, it was like slavery to a piece of metal.  It was like all these mechanics would ask me, “Oh, are you Jewish? You must have rich parents.  I will charge you an extra $100.”  So I’d get slapped with an extra $100.  I’m not kidding you. And in the gossipy town I lived in in Vermont, there was only one mechanic, and he’d charge an extra $100 every time he’d fix my car.

It was similar with all health care practitioners in that town.  “You have Jewish parents?  Let me see if I can call your parents and arrange finances….”  That part of it totally blew. I’d tell them over and over that I was over 18 and not dependent on my parents, and not to betray my confidentiality, but that didn’t matter.  Money mattered more than confidentiality.

I suppose that’s the way real life is anyway.  People do what they damn well want to do and they don’t care what the law is, whether it’s legal or not doesn’t matter.

So goodbye, Watertown, hello, wherever I end up.