Murderers, Blisters, and What Was That?

This morning, before eating breakfast, we killed 100 ants with wings that covered the floor inside of our door. She with the spray bottle of cleaner, me with tattered paper towels. Those ants stood no chance, for we have no patience for filth.

Also, a few days ago, we were roasting marshmallows on the gas range. I know what you are thinking, that this is the height of sophistication. Well, yeah. It worked well until I decided to tempt the hot fork with my lip, and now it is all burnt and blistered.

Last night I was in bed reading, for hours, and I heard two gunshots and one massive BOOM!
I have no idea what that was, but knowing the area it could have been either kids playing with firecrackers or a meth lab blowing up. Either way, I screamed like a girl.
The thing that bothered me most, though, was a conversation I heard outside the door. It was a gaggle of teenagers, dirty clothes and dirty mouths. The slang they were speaking was as foreign to me as any Slavic language. I could pick some of it up, and when I understood, I backed away from the window. It was scary stuff. A grocery list of crimes, and the louder their voices, the bigger the felony. Laughter, encouragement ensued. What the hell could motivate someone to not only do these things, these horrible things, but to brag at the top of their dirty lungs about them? I just don't get it. I hope I never do. I don't ever want to understand.

Montage Since Last.

In no order:

Church with strangers, I am under dressed.
Squirrels having sex, up and down the tree.
Girlfriend cutting white hairs off of my head, I am old.
Picnic in the park, I put too much garlic in the salad.
Boom. Boom. Gun shots or fireworks?
An argument here and there, eyes rolled.
Address found, library card received, books read, movies watched.
We eat marshmallows on the bus, diets a bust.
After six weeks, still second looks in the neighbourhood.
Missing father's last day at church, regret.
Craving a cigarette, then seeing someone coughing up a lung.
Staying up until two to talk about our respective countries dismantling, or in my case near-dismantling, better than that movie we were going to watch.
Three months, long months, of the beginning...

My Element.

After 10 days of microwaved soup and oatmeal, our gas was turned back on.

The gas man and I started talking about the cross-town series this weekend between
the Cubs and the White Sox. I asked him what made this rivalry so rich, and so deep.

'I could spend hours trying to explain it to you, and you still wouldn't understand'.

I kind of felt like he was belittling me, an avid Cubs fan, but his wrench was on the
gas main and I really wanted to eat something warm tonight. So I bit my tongue.
He kind of took it upon himself to start explaining it to me, though, and after about 15 minutes the conversation turned to race, class, and beer (consumption).
I got to talking about how I had lived here nine years ago, only in a slightly better, safer, neighbourhood.

This is where it all happened again.

He told me that my girlfriend and I were crazy to be living in this area. He said that once it gets hot, really hot, that we should mind our business and stay away from the window. He said that they don't look where they are shooting, and that their aim is usually quite pathetic.
He said, you are out of your element.

The gas was back on now, and I was scared stiff. I figured this was a good time to say thanks, take care, and be safe. He said, the same to you.

He looked me in the eyes when he said that. I knew he meant it. As he shook my hand, I knew he was right. I am out of my element.

Cold Showers and Microwaves; Shootings and the Wrong Address.

Rough notes, in no order, as to what has happened since my arrival.

1. First night here, double homicide around the corner. Gang-related. Funeral up the street, cops everywhere. Cops warn ' you should move, this area is not safe. ' Obviously they don't know us.
2. Three different mailing addresses tried, still no mail. It's hard to think that we are paying rent for a place that doesn't even exist. Not according to the Chicago Public Library or Citibank, anyway.
3. I am beginning to think that I don't exist. When we walk from the bus stop to our front door, men gesture and make comments to my girlfriend. Sometimes I look at them with hate, other times I laugh. Sometimes I curse that I am the same gender, the same breed as these dopes.
4. I just counted - 73. That is how many e-mails I have sent out to potential employers. Replies from eight. One with some hope. Hope. That's a word I am losing faith in.
5. The lady we are subleasing our apartment from didn't pay her gas bill. Nine days since we could last fry, boil, or bake anything. Eight days since I felt the warmth of a real shower.
6. I judge. In the neighbourhood we live in, you have to. It's not that I am a bigot, it's that I am afraid.
7. Living with someone for the first time is an incredible experience. Fighting with someone for the first time, however, is not.
8. Neither is having to put back groceries. You know, when you just can't find all the change.
9. I am loved here, and I am loved from afar. I am loved out of desire, and I am loved out of duty. I really don't care why you do, just keep doing it. I'll figure out why someday.
10. I have no idea how to change the light bulb in the kitchen, dear. Just keep using the light from microwave and the fridge to see what you are doing.

11. After travelling on many buses, spending countless hours at the library and through our impoverished neighbourhood, I am noticing how many unfit mothers there are. The next time I hear one swear at their two year old, or smack them on the face, I am going to lose it. Seriously.
12. I hear the oddest things on the bus. Girls talking about bowel movements. Drunk teens talking about their drunk parents. Men talking about my girlfriend. You know, normal stuff.
13. I miss meat, but I won't start eating it again. Seriously, meat is all around. Everywhere. Gimme gimme.
14. I have work to do. All over. Just give me time.

This is Peter, This is Chicago.

This is just so you know that there will soon be something here to read.

Somethings will bore you, somethings will make you laugh, and something will make you cry.
I haven't been pulling my weight lately, giving me time to listen to people talk about themselves on transit (CTA), at the library, or even outside my front door.
These things scare me, push me, encourage, and discourage me.

This is my project, this is my life.