The Places I Stay
I have become a super duper expert on places to crash. I don't mean squats, I mean gray-market, on-the-fringe places where shadows can flit in and out of the shade without being noticed. There is a place on Union Square, run by the Lutherans, that has no internet access and I have to walk down the hall to get to the bathroom, but it's $80 a night. If I get there late, there's always parking on the street. I never see anyone else who stays there, but it's always the same Eastern European man at the desk. He seems handsome and lost. The last time I went there, I arrived at about 1:30 am and three people were sitting in the lobby having an argument about the Gulf War. Lutherans argue really loud. They're really well educated and opinionated. One guy was so loud and so opinionated, I wanted to thump him over the head with my laptop after about 30 seconds. I looked at the guy behind the desk and he didn't even seem to hear it. He is there every night. I suppose he hears a lot of things.
On Queens Boulevard, there are hotels that run about $100 a night.For the extra twenty bucks I get a parking space, HBO, and high-speed internet, plus a little breakfast. They are run by Indians (the ones from India) who are extremely friendly and solicitous, and the other people who stay there are tourists. Sometimes they murmur in French to each other as they eyeball the cornflakes. One father was taking his daughter to visit colleges, and he chit-chatted enthusiastically with anyone who'd meet his eyes as he waited for the shuttle to the subway. Once I saw a rock-and-roll couple with rolly-bags; she was organizing things while he stood lost like a kid.
There are directions I don't go in. A Super 8 in Long Island City? Bad idea. You get free internet, but you hear hookers having sex all night and trucks go by at all hours. Stick with a Best Western or a Howard Johnson's. There are extremely cheap places on the Upper West Side that I have not investigated, because I know I won't be able to park up there.
I don't like to stay with friends, because my mate tends to call early in the morning to shout at me, and I shout back. I am also in chaos and I know that's horrible to be around. I do not want to upset people. I do not want people to know how bad it is and then see me go back. I do not want people to hear the way my voice rises to a whinnying whine, then blasts forth with a roar as I curse out my mate for demanding to know where I am. I do not want anyone to witness what happens. Maybe what I don't want is for people to stop me.
Besides, he has forbidden me to stay with friends. He kicks me out, but he tells me where I can stay. He says I am bringing unwanted attention to him. He says people will think badly of him for kicking me out when in fact it is my fault. He has no choice but to kick me out because I "give him so much lip." I have never heard people actually use terms like this. It's as if he watched entire seasons of The Honeymooners and took them as his guide. I understand the ridiculousness of my adhering to this rule. At the same time I adhere to it because what if I don't? What if? What if? I worry that he can see everything I do. I worry as I type this that he has installed spyware on my computer. I worry as I put it online that he'll come across it and guess it's me. I know this is irrational. But he's in my head. He is a small chip in my medulla oblongata. He is a dye in my bloodstream. He is radiation injected into tattoos in my midriff. I see everything through his eyes. I suppose this is what it is like to be brainwashed. I'm like a Scientologist. Well, that's exciting.
I have not managed to find a place to park my car and sleep in it. I am afraid to be anywhere too deserted, because then someone could attack me. I'm afraid to be anywhere too populated, because then someone could see me. Also, if I slept in my car, I would have crossed a line into the marginal world I'm so afraid of. I'll be someone who has to sleep in her car, like crack-smoking people before they sell their cars for more crack. I'd be like Whitney Houston. Well, that'd be exciting.
There are lines I won't cross. Then again, there are lines I thougth I wouldn't cross before. I never thought I'd stay with someone who threw my wedding ring in the garbage. I never thought I'd … You know what? I'm not finishing this paragraph. You get the picture.
I found out that people rent their extra bedrooms and even their couches out on Craigslist. There's a theater that, when there's no production going on, puts out neat rows of air mattresses separated by curtains. You can sleep there for $40 a night. I have not done that. I have rented a girl's bedroom while she was on vacation for 3 weeks. Her roommate was excited to be having a new romance with a rich guy. She watched movies in French. I had a place to my own for a little while. When I told her that my mate did not allow me to have my books in his house, she wrinkled her beautiful forehead. "Why would you stay with him?" she asks. "I love his kids," I say. She blinks. "I'd rather have a bookshelf," she says.
Girlfriends Are Relationships Too
Back To Boyfriends
On Queens Boulevard, there are hotels that run about $100 a night.For the extra twenty bucks I get a parking space, HBO, and high-speed internet, plus a little breakfast. They are run by Indians (the ones from India) who are extremely friendly and solicitous, and the other people who stay there are tourists. Sometimes they murmur in French to each other as they eyeball the cornflakes. One father was taking his daughter to visit colleges, and he chit-chatted enthusiastically with anyone who'd meet his eyes as he waited for the shuttle to the subway. Once I saw a rock-and-roll couple with rolly-bags; she was organizing things while he stood lost like a kid.
There are directions I don't go in. A Super 8 in Long Island City? Bad idea. You get free internet, but you hear hookers having sex all night and trucks go by at all hours. Stick with a Best Western or a Howard Johnson's. There are extremely cheap places on the Upper West Side that I have not investigated, because I know I won't be able to park up there.
I don't like to stay with friends, because my mate tends to call early in the morning to shout at me, and I shout back. I am also in chaos and I know that's horrible to be around. I do not want to upset people. I do not want people to know how bad it is and then see me go back. I do not want people to hear the way my voice rises to a whinnying whine, then blasts forth with a roar as I curse out my mate for demanding to know where I am. I do not want anyone to witness what happens. Maybe what I don't want is for people to stop me.
Besides, he has forbidden me to stay with friends. He kicks me out, but he tells me where I can stay. He says I am bringing unwanted attention to him. He says people will think badly of him for kicking me out when in fact it is my fault. He has no choice but to kick me out because I "give him so much lip." I have never heard people actually use terms like this. It's as if he watched entire seasons of The Honeymooners and took them as his guide. I understand the ridiculousness of my adhering to this rule. At the same time I adhere to it because what if I don't? What if? What if? I worry that he can see everything I do. I worry as I type this that he has installed spyware on my computer. I worry as I put it online that he'll come across it and guess it's me. I know this is irrational. But he's in my head. He is a small chip in my medulla oblongata. He is a dye in my bloodstream. He is radiation injected into tattoos in my midriff. I see everything through his eyes. I suppose this is what it is like to be brainwashed. I'm like a Scientologist. Well, that's exciting.
I have not managed to find a place to park my car and sleep in it. I am afraid to be anywhere too deserted, because then someone could attack me. I'm afraid to be anywhere too populated, because then someone could see me. Also, if I slept in my car, I would have crossed a line into the marginal world I'm so afraid of. I'll be someone who has to sleep in her car, like crack-smoking people before they sell their cars for more crack. I'd be like Whitney Houston. Well, that'd be exciting.
There are lines I won't cross. Then again, there are lines I thougth I wouldn't cross before. I never thought I'd stay with someone who threw my wedding ring in the garbage. I never thought I'd … You know what? I'm not finishing this paragraph. You get the picture.
I found out that people rent their extra bedrooms and even their couches out on Craigslist. There's a theater that, when there's no production going on, puts out neat rows of air mattresses separated by curtains. You can sleep there for $40 a night. I have not done that. I have rented a girl's bedroom while she was on vacation for 3 weeks. Her roommate was excited to be having a new romance with a rich guy. She watched movies in French. I had a place to my own for a little while. When I told her that my mate did not allow me to have my books in his house, she wrinkled her beautiful forehead. "Why would you stay with him?" she asks. "I love his kids," I say. She blinks. "I'd rather have a bookshelf," she says.
Girlfriends Are Relationships Too
Back To Boyfriends
posted by OutOfAbuse at 11:33 AM
1 Comments:
You love his kids. Love yourself, you're worth it.
Beverly
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