It’s what’s inside that counts

After spending a fair amount of time yesterday outside these four walls (actually, there are more than four, but it’s really just a “figure of speech” and doesn’t require me to count, which is a good thing because since the amputation, I can only go as high as 15), and being subjected to noxious body odor generous enough to not only assault my sense of smell but to invade my sense of taste as well; weedy, pungent armpits exposed when the man-arms to which they were attached felt compelled to hold onto the subway straps; sweaty, moist shorts crumpled far up into the wearers’ crotches; women’s underarms with five o’clock shadows at 1:30 p.m.; too many toes; too much inane chatter … yes, after spending a few hours outside these walls, and wanting everyone to be sucked through the hole in the ozone, I decided that my original opinion regarding the Outside World During the Summer still stands.
Which is why you’ll find me inside all day today. Which is why I’m sitting here in a semi-lotus position, hair atop my head (just like in the drawing at the top of this page), pretty glass filled to the brim with a Clamato Fizzy (see my comment to the previous post). I am, thus, happy as a clam — at least the ones who avoided being made into juice. Cool as a cucumber. Footloose and fancyfree. I have nowhere to go, no places to see, no one to meet.
I have stopped telling myself I “should” be outside. I have stopped thinking that Something Exciting is going on in which I am not participating. I have stopped thinking I should be at a gallery, at an exhibition, at a bistro, in a park, in a store laughing at pricetags and the idiots who obey them.
My friend Christine stopped up today after our Pilates class (I am trendy, yes) and hung out with me for a while. It was the first time she’d been up here. “This place is fantastic,” she said. “No wonder you never want to leave. If I lived here, I’d stay inside all day too.”
Why leave heaven for hell, I ask you? There will be plenty of time for that once the underarms and armpits are hibernating inside thick sweaters and thicker overcoats. When toes are crammed into boots, where they should be. When people are scurrying to get inside, away from the cold, that’s when I’ll be the first one outside, my coat unbuttoned, its tails flapping behind me in the refrigerated breeze. But until then, I’m staying inside, hibernating, away from the moist wet-sponge stench of unwashed flesh and more bare body parts than I can bear.
See you in October.