Welcome to the fondue party, everyone.
Things are good. Things are very good.
First of all, and most importantly, things have been tranquil. Relaxing. I’m starting to sense August in the air. It’s one of my favorite months: softly chirping insects all day long, slow days, a golden hue that announces imminent autumnal delights… Slow days, hushed days.
I’d been needing this badly.
I’m at work on Hit the Road, which will be completed by the end of August.
As far as the news and ongoing world nuttiness are concerned, my motto is Adam Savage’s: I reject your reality and substitute my own. The planet can get back to me once it’s gotten its shit together again.
I’ve had enough difficulties coping with this year as it is. I can only buy so many bottles of Jack Daniel’s over here.
But as I’ve already mentioned, my stress levels have been decreasing, more or less. There’s been a return to normalcy that’s helped tremendously. And in many ways, life has never, ever been better.
In August, we’ll be celebrating the sixth month anniversary of a Most Glorious Event.
The other day, I received my vintage 1977 Play-Doh Burger and Malt Shop, and it’s now displayed next to my work desk. The sight of it fills me with continuous bliss, like a cascading joy fountain.
My burger and fries Num Noms are perfect companions for this treasure.
I have other treasures on the way. A vintage Fisher Price A-Frame house (the fireplace! The yellow kitchen! The sliding transparent doors!), and vintage Fisher Price school house (I plan to store small journals and notebooks in it).
I got a vintage item as a gift for a cherished loved one too.
When it’s not toys, it’s disco and New Wave records.
As I’ve said before, I’ve been on a rescue operation, retrieving my happy moments from my past like a scavenger on a mission. I’m taking back what was stolen from me and cutting away the horrors that nearly swallowed me up whole.
I’m saying, this is MY life, and I’m taking what’s rightfully MINE. I’m reclaiming all my joys, whatever form they took.
It’s like, you know, if you once lived in a dark place, a dangerous, threatening place. On the outside, it looked like a perfect dream, like a gingerbread house covered with bright candy and soft icing, right? That was a facade, something for those outside to marvel at, something whose purpose was to create the illusion of benevolence and devotion. But its architect was a demented ogre, and you and your loved ones were confined in it, prisoners, hiding as best you could in the shadows, in the corners, trying to fashion your own small sanctuaries to the extent it was possible, trying to hang on, knowing there were booby traps concealed in the hallways and main areas—anywhere, in actuality.
Over and over again, you’d hear how “ungrateful” you were for not appreciating your prison and its “generous” tyrant.
Well I’ve been salvaging everything precious to me, everything I can still have, from that place, however I can.
I’ve been taking my childhood and adolescence back. I’ve been purging them of the slime that choked them.
I’ve escaped from the blob.
Whatever made me happy, whatever helped me survive, I’ve been taking it all back. Everything I can find. Tokens, objects, moments, reasonable facsimiles. And my memories focus upon who and what made me smile.
I’m living my life, my way. I’m reliving it my way.
I’m rewriting it, erasing whole paragraphs from it. Chapters even. I’m erasing them and yet not removing them.
This is very empowering.
I proclaim that my life is mine and I am mine. I’m not a possession. I’m not a puppet with strings. I have cut the strings and thrown them in the garbage: I am a real, live person, with my own thoughts and desires and voice. My power.
My thoughts and desires and voice, my person, my self, are real and they matter.
I am not invisible.
Another thing I got my hands on this week is a 1975 Eaton’s holiday catalog.
This is from a 1973 Sears Wish Book.
In the 70s, you could buy a combination fake fireplace and stereo system. Yet another reason I adore this decade.
One word: spectacular.
You want to visit WishbookWeb, trust me.
Or how about decorating your bar or office or van with empty soda cans? I love this idea. 1977:
In other news, I’ve been watching all the episodes of Married with Children oh most gleefully. It was such a subversive show. I have no end of admiration for all the people on this show, who were willing to do the most ridiculous shit and who did so with such gusto. It was good ridiculous shit. Cathartic ridiculous shit.
And on this fine note, back to work on my book.