This is a very noisy train. Not because of the passengers, not even with the presence of annoying little toddlers that make weird and loud sounds as they got more tired. It's the conductors talking to the engineer over the PA. I never understood why they carry conversations (loudly) over the PA. Doesn't "PA" stand for Public Announcement? "Public" as for the public. I don't think we need to hear what track they are dumping the train into after the final station.
The final station is New Haven. That's where I am going. Last time was a month and a half ago. The mission this time is to move everything is mine out of the apartment. That depends partly on what my roommate might want, and if she's staying till the end of the year. I am going back to gain some connection with the house that is a constant nag. Unlike a souring relationship with a woman, I can't just end it so easily. The barriers aren't the emotional baggage and drama, but rather the bad economy and the tricky real estate world. The real deal. But the heart still is a factor. If I find some peace, I wouldn't have so much trouble with it. Because, well, in the end, it's really about money. When I am disconnected, the only thing I can hold on to is the idea of money. It's easy for people to just hold on to money when they feel lost.
I passed Bridgeport when I started writing. I remember writing every morning coming from New Haven. I remember the cold. The dark mornings. Now we are returning to those dark mornings and darker evenings. Soon, when they turn the clock back, I will be boarding the 7 Train before the sun rises, just as I boarded the Metro North diesel engine train before the wintery sun woke up. Now I am pulling into Milford, one more stop to go.
There is no nostalgia here. It's funny how 8.5 years in a place and my nostalgia had worn away so quickly, in less than 8.5 months, at least. I sometimes wonder what I have done those 8.5 years. What the significance was in my life. I have grown up, for sure, matured in a positive way, in the right direction. But I wonder if I couldn't have done it somewhere else, too. Like in New York. What would have happened if I had come to New York after my sister left. Everything would have been different, unless you believe in the immutable fate. I think about the people who have affected my life, my best friends, the girls that have broken my heart, and sometimes they are the same people. My work? And I think about the people in my present day. I think about the pianist. I wonder if we would have met. She told me last week she wish she had met me before, before all the trouble she had gone through with very vicious men. It was a nice compliment. Still, we are here for no reason, but the reality is that simple: we are here. And we get to enjoy wherever we have ended up, and the paths that we have taken we should be grateful for.
I will spend about four hours in the house, around the house. Don't know if that's too little or too much. But I hope to find some connection that will allow me to get through the rest of the year without going crazy over the issues of the house. Like being in New Haven, the best thing to do is appreciate and be grateful for the path I have taken with this house. It has not only given me some extra revenue in the form of cash and equity, but it gave me, well, a place to live, a place to invite friends, all the conversations, all the connections, they happened in the house that I decorated, that I in my best efforts took care of. Perhaps I should love it. That's just an idea.
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