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 |  In progress----Chapter 1,2,3 (The insanity of public housing!) Satirical humor... |
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The Little School House Asylum (and others!) “Relax” said the night man. “We are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave!” The Eagles ‘Hotel California’ December 8, 1976 INTRODUCTION Let’s just get this unpleasantness and my soul-crushing embarrassment out of the way. I have multiple diagnoses, as you will encounter throughout your journey amongst these pages. In effect, I have major depressive disorder, Bipolar I disorder, PTSD, and generalized anxiety. Swirl all this in with borderline personality disorder to boot. Thus, you get a cocktail at the local bar that you struggle to figure out. Your brows are furrowed in concentration as you try to explain to your friend what this new, delicious concoction is made with. The cherried, tropical, neon green drink escapes your palate. With only half the drink guzzled down, you realize you can no longer see nor hear your friend because you are now on the floor in a filmy haze. So, if it were me, I would have guessed a high concentration of several liquors, including absinthe along with a half shot of Everclear. That’s my most accurate account of myself. This is me in a hurricane glass. Spin the wheel and pick a mood I always say. Despite all of that, let’s hope that you keep reading instead of saying ‘FUCK!’ and chunking my book out of an upstairs window. Wait! Keep reading because I have meds and the other people in this story are either not on any or need some electroconvulsive therapy. And you think I’m joking. Okay, ECT may be a tad too archaic for me to pick, but believe me, you’re going to thoroughly enjoy your meeting with each one of them! So, let’s get on with this and see what we are headed into. It was a lovely ride for me I tell you. Remarkably lovely. PART 1: THE SCHOOLHOUSE ASYLUM Chapter One After five years of living in a room with three filthy roommates, I finally received a call from the Housing Department saying that they had an apartment for me! Let me tell you. Living with three other guys who don’t clean was horrific. Might I say, I have just minor bouts with OCD. This mess was monumentally indescribable though and I Cloroxed the kitchen every—single—day. I also mopped the whole apartment continuously. In addition to moving into the Taj Mahal, I was subjected to a gnat infestation throughout the entire apartment. I’m not exaggerating. Who got rid of these black flying roaches? Yours truly. It took me weeks to get rid of them because, of course, maintenance was non-existent. Just in case you are interested, Clorox does nothing to a gnat; they laugh at it. You must do intensive, dissertation-like research on the internet to find out the exact home remedy for killing these flying gnat-roaches. I specifically said CLEAN and STUDIOUS! That means give me clean and studious back you moronic weasel-looking simpleton of a property manager. Not only that, but a young guy living in one of the other rooms of the apartment told me something that completely rattled my soul and brought my brain to the pit of my stomach! “Oh man, I meant to tell you. That dude that lived in your room had bedbugs.”, he said in his off-the-cuff manner. I retorted in a high voice, “What the hell!” It was as if my voice had lost every iota of testosterone that was supposed to flow through my body. “Oh no, it’s all good man. They bombed in there.” I stormed back to the room in complete panic, which I certainly did not want him to see happening. It wouldn’t be prudent as George Bush once said. ‘Oh—My—God.’ My anxiety and PTSD started to take hold of all my senses and rose higher than a malevolent Chinese balloon waiting to finally get shot down by fighter jets. ‘I don’t even know what bedbugs look like NOR what they do. He sounded deadly serious though!’ ‘This can’t be good. This can’t be good. This can’t be good.’ ‘Breathe. Breathe…Breath. Oh, fuck it take the pill! TAKE THE PILL!’ I swallowed the Clonazepam and waited fifteen or so minutes to know I was not having a stroke, a heart attack, or going bat-shit crazy. By now you would think I would know this, but it all escapes me in those moments of pure terror and thinking of my imminent demise. I looked around after getting up from crouching in the bathroom closet. Tiptoeing on the carpet to the computer, I reach over and Google ‘bedbugs’. One of the things in my life I wish I had never done. I only had to read slightly before they became worse than the flying gnat slash roach issue! This is a horror movie, right? It’s some little thingies that feed off you at night like miniature vampiric babies. ‘GET MOVING!’ I ran to the kitchen, pushing past Mr. Harbinger of Joy who was ignoring the gnats and eating cereal out of a box, grabbing every cleaning supply I had bought and every cleaning tool. ‘Thank God I have this anti-anxiety med in me, or I’d be at the hospital sure as shit.’ I went back to my room and started fanatically and frantically cleaning like I was going to rent my room for outpatient surgical procedures. By the time I finished, I probably could have made a lucrative amount of cash just by putting an ad up—‘Sterile Lab For Rent’. Most likely, the hospital would not like the carpet or working in an eight-by-ten room for procedures. Although, they would have that bathroom's square footage to utilize. Maybe a nice Tattoo parlor would do. It turns out that their bomb and my cleaning worked well, I never had bedbugs, or I would have been out of there extraordinarily fast without anything but a backpack filled with a few clothes. Now that I think about it, there was also a time when I came out of the apartment and the other side of the hallway was marked off with police tape. What in the hell was that all about? I ignored it as I had become oblivious to things of that nature, only thinking that it was a break-in or some such sort of crime. However, when I returned home much later at night, Mr. All Light and Cheer was up playing Dead By Daylight and I finally decided to ask him what it was all about. ” What’s with all of the police tape for on the other side of the hallway? It’s a pain in the ass to go the other way.”, I say while putting my groceries away. ”Oh.”, he said, never looking away from his screen of placing his killed women on meat hooks. “Dude, someone got stabbed in the middle of the night and they found his body in the hallway.” “No freaking way!”, I exclaimed with my eyes bulging out and my heart suddenly being ripped out of my chest. I stopped putting any groceries away and stood there with a jelly jar in my hand. “Yep, Hey, ya know what? You can still see all the blood on the concrete even though they cleaned it up.”, he says as he continues to chase down another player with a chainsaw. “Man, seriously, right down the hall in the apartment next to ours?!” I noticed the jelly jar had started shaking in my hand. “Oh yeah, I scoped it out.” He laughs and then emits this ominous chuckle at the woman screaming on the meat hook after he, oh-so-carefully, placed her there. I’m living with Ted Bundy. Maybe he killed him. Then, at that very moment, my phone call came through. I started not to pick it up, as it was one of those Unknown numbers but decided to take a chance that it wasn’t a bill collector that I must hang up on and then block them forever. This was THE call. This one small ‘restricted number’ was about to change my life. An apartment, all to myself, and one that I could afford on SSDI. However, the county housing department told me that it would be in a small town twenty miles from the college town I lived in. Oh well, a small town might be just what I’ve been in want of. I especially needed to get away from the serial killer sitting in the living room. Chapter 2 Since it wasn’t our choice, perse, to pick our apartment in the building there were two I could choose from. The top floor, which had more space, or the bottom floor. Well, of course, I picked the top-floor apartment with more space. I was now in my mom’s car that I borrowed, taking my meager number of possessions to my apartment, mostly clothes and my beloved books. My apartment! It’s hardly believable. A twinge rips through me when I start to think that maybe they made a mistake, and my apartment won’t even be vacant to move into. ‘Damn, dumbass, stop being paranoid and try to enjoy what you are being given! I new life!’ Passing all the bucolic farms and estates while I’m navigating the winding road is all so peaceful that I even smile to myself. Sure, I’ll be far away from the city without a vehicle, but it will be fine. The walkability score is 80 percent there! And I bet the rate of serial killers per capita is more than likely a big fat ‘zero’. My apartment! It sounds so good that I smile again to myself while driving and singing Travis Tritt’s song ‘T-R-O-U-B-L-E’ at the top of my lungs. Hell, if I know George Jones, Conway Twitty, and Dolly Parton then all these country people will love me. I happen to know many other country singers from being subjected to watching ‘Hee Haw’ when I was younger. I’ll name-drop when I find an opening. Why am I suddenly reminded of the book “Hillbilly Elegy”? If I hadn’t been all in my head, I would have at least seen where the speed limit had dropped from 45 mph to 25 mph in five seconds flat. I hastily hit the brakes and the car went into a quite impressive fishtail. Exhilarating! I finally got that kick-ass Kia back in my control and under 25 mph. My adrenaline surge didn’t want me to crawl right now, but to Mach 6 instead! ‘What the fuck kind of shit is that?! 45 mph to 25 mph on a freakin’ dime? I was almost eviscerated in front of a goddamn dollar store!’ That’s when I saw the sign, WELCOME TO THE TOWN OF SCOTTSVILLE. A stunning, wooden, brownish-red stained sign welcoming me to my new home. I continue at the said speed and go onto Main Street. Going down Main was indeed a misnomer. How could they name this Main Street when it was barely four blocks long? Go figure. Maybe it used to be a larger town? Until the settlers moved away. My turn was coming up and my stomach and head felt like I had swallowed a Red Bull laced with cocaine. Not that I’ve ever done this, but I imagine it would be like this in said case. Turning onto Page Street I saw my new apartment building at the end of the two-block street. An old red, brick building adorned with an immense front covered porch and oversized colonial columns going up to the top of the third floor. Mature trees surrounded it, and perfectly manicured hedges marked the walkway to the front door. It was magnificent to behold and ever so inviting at the same moment. The grass was a lush aromatic bluish-green. I pulled my car up into the visitor’s parking lot so that I could move my scant bundle of items into my new apartment. I’m glad the property manager didn’t forget to give me the code to the keypad on the door. I would have freaked out trying to get stuff in while fumbling with the double door key. Although I hear voices while I’m pulling relentlessly on my faded army-green rucksacks, I ignore them and keep manhandling. “Hi!”, they said in unison. Turning around I see mostly many old people, and a few younger people, filling this concrete-floored and brown-shingled roof picnic area. It’s beguiling looking, with annuals surrounding it with a kaleidoscope of colors and many tables and chairs sitting there just calling for more people to come and join the others. They are smoking like every hit is the perfect one. Ah, this is most definitely the smoking area. And, of course, they are all staring at me. “Hey.”, I say as friendly as I can muster, even though they are now taking up several seconds of my oh-so-valuable time. People-- ugh-- “Are you moving in?”, yells the older lady in a well-worn fleece, flower-ridden, housecoat and pink flip-flops. I presume that she is the leader of this smoking pack. She just has that ‘look’. “Yeah, I’m on the third floor”, I say as I finally get one of my rucksacks out. “We know! You’re going to like it there!”, she yells while blowing out smoke, and a small cough as well. Hey, I smoke, I have no room to talk about coughing. I wish I could smoke one right now or at least have an IV nicotine drip. I’m too focused on getting to what is making my heart pound like an African steel drum. ‘It assuredly does not look like these people play ‘Dead By Daylight’ or ‘Resident Evil’. Probably more like, Candy Crush Saga or whatever that witch something or the other bubble game is, on their phones. I think I’m safe in the serial killer slash monster department.’ “The stairs are far away from this side door so just grab a grocery cart and load your things in there.”, she yelled while crossing her legs and dangling a flip-flop off her toes while adjusting the fleece housecoat she was wearing in 75-degree weather. “Thanks!”, I say and wave. Which meant, people, I’m done for now—enough of this social intrusion into my anxiety. ‘Food Mart shopping cart thieves! Eh, no harm done here I suppose.’ I take my rucksacks and fling them in one of the stolen baskets. Starting down the hallway, it is unquestionably the original hardwood floors, and the slats are only about three inches wide with a much longer length that varies as you go along. It has been worn but has retained its luster due to it being taken care of properly. The floor creaks, moans, and rumbles as I roll the cart down the long hallway past many apartments. Occasionally I stop to peruse the pictures on the walls of eons ago. The black and white photos of the schoolhouse with children standing with their teachers in what once was the schoolhouse. Gazing at one to get a closer look, I see that this building was constructed in 1929 and closed in 1956. It’s now a historic building and cannot be modified at any other point in time. ‘Shit-ghosts. I know damned well some of these old people have croaked in here or there are still ghost-children hanging around waiting to attack me. Just…move…forward…Josh. Stop it with your poltergeist, weirdo, conspiracy theories today.’ I turn the corner to get to the stairs and what do I see? All these people sitting in the chairs staring at me. Not in a stare-you-down ‘I hate you’ kind of way but more of a who-is-this just nosy fashion. Ogling—ACK! They are ogling me! Sweat breaks out on my scalp immediately causing it to automatically itch and I feel the need to take an immediate shower. I nod. “Hi.” They nod, smile and most say “Hi. I grabbed my rucksacks as fast as possible out of the cart and then bound up the stairs as if these Stepford people could chase me up to the third floor to make me talk. There are only four apartments on the 3rd floor, and I find mine #217. ‘217? Where have I heard that from? Oh well-‘ I put the key into the deadbolt and hesitated with pure ecstasy outside petitioning that it is all I have built it up to be. CHAPTER 3 I cautiously open the heavy door to just peek in so as not to deflate my exuberance. “Oh-my-God”, I whispered. It was exquisite! I close the door and run through every room in the apartment. There’s brand new, light, beige-white carpet, a large kitchen decked out with brand new cabinets and appliances, new vinyl flooring in the bathroom and kitchen, and finally, freshly painted pure snowflake white throughout the apartment. I cannot say how much I fell in love that day. My wish for an apartment for myself was sincerely a dream come true. There were the original schoolhouse windows that bordered every wall facing the outside of the building, from one end to another in the apartment. I could see the mountains, the train tracks, the baseball fields, and… “Holy shit there is a library right outside of my window across from the parking lot!”, I exclaimed with gusto. (If you knew me more you would know that books are something that I cherish more than my family! Well, some of them. And libraries! There are so many I want to see in the world. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands of books and every library is unique in its way. They have a distinct life to them. Splendor! I am enraptured by them.) I almost started to cry with joy. ‘Okay, you have no food so let’s make that the first thing on the list of to-do’s.’ Rushing through the Food Mart, I almost got run over by some lady with shades on in a motorized wheelchair going a good clip at me. She screeched to a halt in front of the pizzas and grabbed two DiGiorno’s. ‘Damnnnnnn-what the fuck! Did you seriously need those DiGiornio pizzas that badly? And she took my frigging cheese ones! I’m like the kid from ‘Home Alone’ lady! I need that cheese pizza just for me and me alone!’ After she grabbed her pizza, she proceeded to slam the freezer door on me as well. ‘Rude, just wheelchair reverse racism I tell you! She almost left skid marks on my body for a fucking 6.99 manager’s special pizza.’ After picking up a few more sundries I took my mom’s car back and had her bring me back to my new town. My mom had been worried but from hearing from me her mind was at ease about her ‘child’ again. I’ll always be a kid to mom, and that’s fine with me. Yes, I’m a momma’s boy, so what?! Alright, that was somewhat of a disorganized mood outburst. Hey, I’m under a lot of stress here! A move is number one on the list of anyone’s stressors. So, I rank without having to pull out my whole mood disorder card and slap it to my head. It was completely dark outside by the time I got back, and the quiet was eerily stunning. I stood there for a minute drinking it all up when I noticed that the smoking area was clear of zombies. Yes! I ran over, sat down at a picnic table, and lit up my cigarette. After a few long drags, I eventually started to relax a little. All I could hear was the chirping of the small frogs in the area and, I must say, a tremendous number of mosquitos in the mix. Buzzzzzz…twirp…croak…over and over. I lit up the citronella candle and soon the buzzing started to dissipate somewhat. I sat there just soaking up the quietness that I hadn’t heard for so long and admiring the flowers surrounding the area in the moonlight. I made lists in my mind as to what I needed. Furniture is an immediate need. No big deal. That’s what Amazon Prime is for. Tomorrow I will get on the bus and go to the dollar store, where I almost got my head lopped off today, and get all the other things I need that my mom did not give me. And believe me, she gave me quite a lot! Just about everything a brand-new apartment should have. So, there was no need to worry myself to death about getting there. I could always do it the next day. Right now, as I smoked the last hits of my cigarette, I just want to go inside and enjoy the fact that I have a charming apartment and that it is here in a quiet, enchanting town. Turning around as I get up, I see the dimly lit library and I softly smile. What would be in store for me? |
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