A meditation on short term memory loss and neurotic repetitive behavior.

The buzzer in our apartment doesn't work. The intercom does, you can hear and talk to whomever is at the door, but you can't remotely unlock it. Yet nearly every time I order food, or UPS arrives, or there's a repair person or the exterminator; I hit the buzzer. And it's not like it broke recently and all my button pressing is simply an old habit dying hard. No. It never worked. In fact I've never lived anywhere with an operational buzzer. I had the key on the string in the LES. A sliced-open tennis ball to toss down to street level from my sixth-floor walk-up in the East Village. The tenants had a nod-wink agreement to leave the door open when I lived in the tenement beneath the Twin Towers. Our last apartment didn't even have a front door half the time. But when my doorbell rings and I walk over to the intercom box it's like I'm seeing it, and realizing its potential, for the very first time--each time. Hey! Look! This button says "door"! It's the button you press to open the front door! Neat! I shall depress that button and allow my visitor to enter! Worse, I'm always shocked when the doorbell rings again a few moments later; my visitor reminding me the buzzer doesn't work. Again.

I love the size and color and texture of a bunch of bananas. Their perfect yellow, their hand-like shape reaching out to you with healthy mineral, vitamin and natural anti-depressant goodness. And although I enjoy banana flavor (in bread or cake or ice cream or candy) I don't like eating bananas. Can't stand them. Firm or ripe, whatever temperature or state of being. I peel open a banana and take a bite, and my gag reflex goes off instantly. I can't remember the last time I've taken a second bite of a banana. Now...a quiz:

1. How often do I buy bananas?
(a) only when I will be using them for baking
(b) only when I'm entertaining banana loving guests
(c) each and every time I grocery shop

2. How often do I throw out an untouched bunch of rotted bananas?
(a) once a year
(b) once a month
(c) six days after each and every time I grocery shop

We have a hook on the back of our bedroom door, which is in a corner of the room. From the hook hangs G's robe, my robe, and an ancient hoody I wear when I'm painting. We have lived here two years. The hook (and the clothes which hang from it) have been there since day one. To say, I know the hook is there. I am consciously aware of the fact that there are clothes hanging there, I use it everyday. However at least once a week I wake in the night and see a man standing in the corner of our bedroom (Goddamn Blair Witch for etching that fucking image in my head). I freeze in the dark, unable to move or scream. After a few, panicked, terrified seconds my brain tells me "It's just the robes. On the hook. Don't be silly. The dog is right here. No one could get into the apartment without the dog flipping out. It's just the robes. Like last time, remember?" And I relax for a second. Just one second. Because on second two my brain adds, "But...you'd better check. In case. What if it isn't the robes this time? What if something IS there? Something that dogs can't smell or hear...what if it wants you to think its the robes so you'll roll over and go back to sleep..." So I grab the four-foot metal level next to the bed [I know, I know...why is there a level next to my bed? So I can stay level headed! So I can level a deathly blow! Nah, I kid. Beats me. There's a guitar within reach too, and a paper shredder. I have no idea why those things were deemed 'bedside necessities' either] and raise it over my head, and click on the light ready for action. It's always just the clothes. But I go over and take a whack at them anyway. Might as well. What else have I got to do wide awake at four in the morning? G sleeps through everything.

I should own toilet paper with the words "beets," "Pepto-Bismol," "iron pills," "grape juice," "blueberries," printed on it. So on those mornings I use the toilet and have its contents convince me I'm bleeding internally, I'd have a list to consider before calling 911. A handy review sheet, if you will. My doctor and the local authorities would appreciate that.

Posted by Antigeist at January 20, 2006 12:41 PM