A Hint of Color...

It’s gonna be a while til I own something pretty again. Not that I’m a materialist or anything—not in the true sense of the word in that I think material possessions are the end-all be-all of our existence on this planet. However, theres a part of me that just… Appreciates the finer things in life.

As one of my dear friends put it, I should have been born wealthy.

Pair that statement up with my penchant for dumpster diving, and it’s just one of those things that has most shaking their heads in wonder.

But hell, if it’s free, I’ll gladly take two. Three, if they are available.

I didn’t bring much with me, although I had that trailer packed so tight, you’d think I did. I come from a long, long line of pack rats, however. So for me to give up 2/3s to 3/4s of my material possessions, knowing that my mental and emotional well-being were at stake, well, that’s a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things.

As I sit here in my uber-white living room, within easy view of my uber-white kitchen, uber-white bathroom, backed by my uber-white bedroom, I can’t help but think of Nathan Lane’s line from The Birdcage: “Well, one does want a hint of color.”

And this, my friends, family, and other reader’s who are unknown to me, is why I find myself 1732 miles from my former life: A hint of color. Read that as year-round sun tan, read that as “life in Pennsylvania was boring,” read it however you wish. That statement in poetic that way, in that color to one is listless and dull to another.

I am gonna paint at least one of these rooms, however. I can’t live in a white world anymore than I can live in a black world. Trading the emotional black for the literal white just ain’t my cup of tea—and, since we’re on the subject, Orange Peoke isn’t my cup either. But then again, there ain’t no Turkey Hill or Icey Tea to be had ‘round these parts, and I am loathe to try the local brands, as I remember the last time I had tea in the south. Let’s just say, one does want a hint of lemon and an understatement of sugar at times…

I am managing to scrape by, just to put you at ease. And when I say “scrape,” well, I wish that were hyberbole. I never knew pennies had such value when Friday is approaching but not quite here yet and that paycheck is needed to keep food on the table, or electricity in the apartment, or to make sure you keep that car you had to buy in your own possession. Truth.

But strangely enough… No, scratch that. I don’t feel it’s strange at all. Also Truth. I am happier. Contenter (if you will allow the creative wordsmith to create words, that is…). Calmer. Not only because I am now in control of all money coming and going within my world, I don’t have to listen to anyone else bitching about it. Being depressed about it. Being morose about it.

Yes, you could say I’m still a bit bitter about the way the last relationship ended, but you could also say I’m simply processing yet, and move on as I am trying to do. It is funny that, even though I’m poorer than I ever have been in my life, I’m doing more in life than I’ve ever done. Part of that is not living in the country, surrounded by the woods and fields and solitude I love and miss. Part of that, though, is I don’t have to argue over spending $5 here or $2 there. Part of it is also there are more free things to do in Florida than there ever was in Pennsylvania—be that because of the beach, the tourism centered economy, what-have-you.

But I refuse to be defined by how much money I do or don’t have. Do I miss pretty things? Yes, of course. Who wouldn’t just die to have the money to buy every single shiny thing that caught their eye? (Well, perhaps not die to have money… A bit self-defeating upon reflection…) But you catch my drift. Now if I owned a cat that had an ounce of common sense, that would be of immense help in keeping the (shrinking) number of pretty things I already (used to) own! He’s just lucky he’s a good mouse/bug/lizard killer…

I do finally own a bed, after what—3, 4 months?—of futon sleeping. A luxury I will never ever take for granted again… That is, bed sleeping, not futon sleeping. Ugh! But now that the futon can stay a permanent couch, well, things are feeling a bit more homey around here. It’s amazing the psychological and mental implications of not sleeping in your living room… But again, that could just be me…

I realize I’m rambling and that most of the paragraphs above don’t stay on topic, but hey! Them’s the breaks…

I’d also like to point out that, despite what Animal Planet or Discovery Channel would have you believe with all their shows about Florida, it is not rampant down here with alligators or pythons. Nary a one has darkened my doorway, let alone my postage-stamp-sized yard or pool. Talk about disappointment! On the bright side, I’m not worried nearly as much as I was previously about coming home and finding Beaux trapped atop the kitchen cabinets while watching Hawthorne be devoured my an albino python…

But that is part of having an over-active imagination, too, I suppose…

Other not-so-interesting items of interest:

1. Floridians also drive slowly in the passing lane, and you must pass them in the non-passing lane;
2. Craigslisters for the "free" section are much more numerous than in PA, and it's much harder to get the things you desire;
3. The weather is GORGEOUS all the TIME!;
4. I like the beach much better than I thought I ever would...

I just wish the circumstances leading to my new life would have been not-so-dramatic... Then again, one does want a hint of color in one’s life… Til next time, my friends…