Is it Dumb? or Numb?

We moved. The apt is huge, four bath, four bedrooms, maid's quarters, kitchen, dining, hall, etc. It's high in the air like an Aerie. Pigeons visit. My dog runs at them and tries to explain that they should leave her balcony, but they rudely hang about until she stands on her hind legs. That's scary. So they leave. It's the same routine. no books. no familiarity. You can buy anything you want out of the stock that's available. So you end up with a mirror sparkly coverlet, and silk curtains with orchids on them. You have tiny bowls for soup, and tiny cups for tea. Whatever is the going "norm" for where you are, you squeeze, shove and mold it into a life for yourself. you change. You use things wrong. People laugh. it works.

I met a person I think will be a friend. It's seldom you get to know someone who more than dusts the surface of getting to know you, though. You can't tell someone that you are beyond lonely. That "waiting" has become an artform to you. That you are not living life, just..... coasting thru it, hoping you will see a brass ring along the way to grab. You can't tell someone that you have allowed yourself to become a fixture. You go in the shipment with the furniture, and when you get to the next place, someone plugs you in. You might need an adapter, but.... voila', you work. The point is, you serve some vague purpose, like a microwave. It does not matter if you are witty, beautiful or kind. You need to be able to spend long periods of time without affection, interaction, intellectual input, or understanding. .... long periods. long. you get shown off sometimes, like a mechanical golden jeweled bird, in a cage that is a work of art, singing when you are wound up.

but you can have cable tv. fast computer. maids and drivers. golden ornaments. feed the lil' orphans. And you can cry into the finest of Egyptian cotton towels.