The Straight Life

I drove way over to Chandler last night to get some New Mexican food at a pretty good place over there—chicken enchiladas, Hatch chile, not too bad—and drove by A's house on the way back, curious and feeling like maybe I would get some kind of something from driving through that neighborhood. 

A has completely landscaped the front yard with xeric plants, a great choice, but it looks super manicured. Not my style at all. Then I saw the house itself, embedded in its suburban context, very peaceful, nice and quiet. And it suddenly was starkly, completely clear to me. 

I fucking hated it there. I mean, it was quiet, and it was amazing living in a house that my partner had bought, not having a landlord, and having a yard. But really, overall, I was just pretending, the entire time. There's no art anywhere, there's no culture. It's just a suburban neighborhood where no one talks to anyone else, no one visits, everyone's yard is nice and clean and manicured (even though there is no HOA), everyone parks their cars actually in their garage, etc. Everyone is white. There's no community at all. No music, no one out walking, ever, really, which, looking back, just feels so weird and surreal. I used to go out walking every night, and I'd go running several times a week. I am recalling now that, most times, I would be completely alone for entire three mile runs and long, 90 minute walks. 

I think this settled, rooted, isolated and somewhat class conscious life must be important to A. I think she loves it there, not sure. I would rather live either a little more out in the desert or in a more urban area, such as where I am now, with the train going by, an artist landlady, a funky place, near a university. 

It's wild that I thought I had to pretend to live that straight life in dull fuckin' whitebread suburbia. It's a big part of why the partnership failed. We never went anywhere any more. We used to go to art openings, concerts, plays, bookstores. But Chandler is like Stepford, and it really became clear to me driving by last night that I just hated it. I hated the way she kept the house, all squared away and boring. I hated the way she controlled everything, including my diet. I hated the schedule of chores, the whole deal. Hated all of it. Haha. It hurt to lose it at the time, very badly, because it was so placid, comfortable, supportive and such an oasis of relative peace after a lot of scruffy living for me. But give me scruffy. 

And I want a partner someday, if I ever have a partner again, who wants plays, reading aloud to each other, poetry, painting, mess, concerts, weird friends, probably in an actual city that has actual culture to offer. A partner who is clean but not a control freak, who can be spontaneous, who doesn't wrap her diet and everyone else's up in duct tape. Who is affectionate and emotionally available and warm. Who isn't obsessed with work and social climbing. I've had much better domestic matches in the past, and while those partnerships were problematic, at least, for the most part, I felt far more at home and congruent, culturally. 

The straight life is not for me, even though I am sober. I do not live a straight life even though I live a sober life. I can't take the pretending. The lawn mowing, the wall scrubbing and painting, the towel rack shopping, the menu planning. I admire people who can do it, sure. But whenever I try to do it, I am always play acting and pretending, and it always kills my soul.