Hostile House

I don’t even have a tin cup. I never played guitar on a street corner with an open guitar case for tips, though some respected minds have suggested I could make decent money if I did. Honey & Quinine (Cry, mine if you prefer) is not “an open guitar case of a different color” despite what some visitors may believe. It’s the story of a freelance writer trying to connect to full time employment. It’s the story of my life.

November 13, and still no heat. I paid the bill two weeks ago. A call to Ameren would have reinstated it if I had cared to take time off from work here on the edge of the world. But aside from being 10 minutes late in to “Rock City” because I mailed a book to a buyer or visited the bank, I can’t afford the time “off the clock.” The office manager, whose hours I added to my part time schedule here after she had a terrible traffic accident that’s kept her away since late August, will be returning to this  environs next week. With her return, my hours will be reduced. There will be time enough for me to address the litany of obligations beyond here — things I could accomplish with two months of four-day weeks here — AFTER she returns, and I’m getting a mite anxious over this incipient advance to the rear, so to speak.
  
  One of the first things I intend to catch up with is heat and hot water, including my first hot shower since last March. Yes, I could reconnect heat any time, but I just don’t want to pay Ameren for heating my home when I’m here at the edge of the world. The only thing that will force reconnection of gas will be the threat of my water pipes freezing before my hours are cut here.

Last year I had heat by now, and throughout the winter of 07/08 I was comfortably warm because I knew I would not have to pay until after they disconnected me in the spring. I was okay with that because I would have bet factors would combine during winter to make my obligation to pay the bill, largely a non-issue: i.e. I’d not likely live to spring. Now it’s another circumstance. Instead of being afraid I won’t live to see next spring, I’m afraid I WILL. So I’ll go light on the heat re-connecting action because I know I’ll have less to pay in “April, come she will” — thank you Simon & Garfunkel.

    It’s a hostile house at home. Inside where it’s the outside temperature or close to it except for my office where an electric space heater makes a difference. Until three days ago, the last time I did more than urinate anywhere other than my own “water closet” was in motels encountered while traveling. Call me ” ‘ retentive.” Guilty as charged. Three days ago I started using “the boss’s paper,” so to speak, and even then, only after closing. It’s no fun doing it at home. Theres nothing I can read  during such activity that provides adequate compenstation for my near-fetal posture in the appropriate little room.

I’m in no rush to return to Hostile House after work, especially with darkness arriving earlier. For most of the last two months, I’ve lingered — off the pay clock — half an hour to avoid rush hour traffic with my car and brakes in their current condition. But with darkness and what seems to be the snarling angry night blazing into my eyes, I’m not leaving until an hour after quitting to be sure of MINIMAL traffic en route home. It’s okay. There’s nothing on TV — even PBS — until 7. And with my night driving that resembles a 92-year-old under heavy sedation, on account of my car brakes and unpredictable traffic lights, I can take my frikking time, knowing there are no dogs to feed (previously my only real incentive to go home at all).

I have a TON of things to do here when I’m not directly contributing to the well-deserved success of “Rock City. In the last three weeks I have transcribed thousands of magazine index cards and sent them home for further processing for AeroKnow. I currently proof-reading and correcting articles slated to appear in the Winter 2009 issue of the American Aviation Historical Society Journal.  This is major progress that I could not accomplish at Hostile House even with real heat. If this continues, I might even start writing poetry here. Aside from being a mite chilly (though the last few days have been okay with a sweater girding me like armor against the Black Knight) it’s a well-lit office, with a terrific computater, and easy access to WGN and WUIS. If there were a bed and a TV here, I’d never have to go home.. . . . almost. I have to be around to let the esteemed upstairs residents into the laundry room.

So it’s after 6 now, and I’m going to prepare for another zany “heart in my throat” trek “homeward bound” — thank you Simon and Garfunkel.

Drive well . . . . . and proper.
A