All right. A few weeks ago, when Patrick and I “reunited” via email, he mentioned that he’d never imagined me “living in the country.” HA! Little he knew me, eh? Truth is, I really really wanted to “Escape from New York” so badly for so many years. Do I sound like a traitor? Not to me! I know myself well enough that the sounds, smells, and sights of the “country” make me feel great. I never was a diehard city person; always found boyfriends who were ambivalent about the city or had family elsewhere (like Exeter, Pennsylvania or Hamilton, Ontario!).
Even the nasty smells of the country -- in a manure of speaking -- don’t make me feel awful, whereas city smells (garbage, diesel fuel, etc.) set me to the verge of puke-dom. The biggest plus, for me, in country living is the greenery that surrounds us out in the sticks. Sure, there’s Central Park & whatnot in NYC, but come ON! That’s nothing compared to a woodsy trail around here where you may not see anybody (and their dogs!) for hours.
I also don’t mind driving around (and I do have a bike, which I take out when not in a rush to get downtown to Chester center or when the mood to go “pedaling” grabs me). I do mind the expensive car repairs, on occasion -- but so it goes. And gas prices! At least, I’m able to sympathize with that fuel-dependent demographic. . .
In a nutshell, I just don’t think I’m fond of mankind enough, as a whole, to want to be packed in with a lot of them. Nope. Not that I’m a total misanthrope, but give me people one on one -- and one at a time, preferably. That’s why it’s easier for me to be on stage than in the crowd. Crowds make me uncomfortable and nervous. The stage seems special, andn safe. I’m highstrung enough as it is!
Aging has not mellowed my high-strungness -- although I’ve always done a good job of not showing it. I may look unruffled on the surface, but deep down, I am pretty much a “silent screamer” in stressful situations, situations that occur with far more frequency in urban environments, for me.
It was laughingly ironic that the movie, “Escape From New York,” came out when I was living in London. I went to see it with friends more than once. Every time I went, I laughed my cute American butt off -- much to the chagrin of many others around me. But I didn’t care. . .
Ha ha ha: I HAD escaped from New York. “Snake Plissken! I thought you was dead.” Yup. That was me, the young female Snake Plissken, returning to the city when I finally had to come home to NYC from London eighteen months after my adventure had started. . . .