The City and Tramptics

I often walk alone now. Walk through the crowds, through the streets, through the park. Watch people.

I miss forests and rivers and mountains and the ocean and being near the things that put me in perspective.

For this reason, I don't like the parks. They tease me in a variety of ways. They hold the promise of greenery and seclusion, but then, by their very nature, are sterile, manicured versions of the original. Parks have coffee and newspapers. They have tramps who hassle you for 2 dollars 'for the bus', and swarming oozes of happy couples.

I can't be myself here. With people watching all the time. They'd think I was crazy. I want to run my hands over the bark of trees, to walk for miles without seeing anybody. To sit and watch the birds, and have the birds watch me, without being watched myself.

I often get an urge to run, just run, run as fast and far as I can until I can finally find some place where I am alone. But then I get the impression that it might take a little more running than my legs could take. You're never alone in the city. And the more you want to be alone, the more people seem to stare at you.

Is it frightfully odd, to be lonely and yet to desire to be alone?

I am currently a little lonely, owing to an event which has led to other events which have led to several of my supposed friends not speaking to me when I have done absolutely nothing wrong. What happened?! I can hear several of you cry (in my lonely imagination, with its auditory hallucinations). Well. This is a family-friendly blog (barring my ranting sessions, where I probably should start putting in CENSORED signs for every other word), so I can't go into too much detail on here, but needless to say, I am basically being scapegoated. Anyone with a slightly raised eyebrow and a 'what, Louise the innocent victim' look on their face can jolly well bugger off (or, you know, ask me what happened and I'll tell you. Just not on the blog).

ANYWAY. It's entirely unjustified but completely understandable and unfortunately I am taking the brunt of the blame for the matter. But yes. It is hardly palatable to me that emotions have got in the way of rationality and friendship. But there we go. Guess they weren't very good friends after all.

It is very hard to make friends. I have never been very good at it. Might sound a bit strange, as I'm sure most of you see me as the extroverted gregarious type. Okay, probably ALL of you see me as the extroverted gregarious type. But, nevertheless, gregariously extroverted as I may appear, it is still frustratingly difficult to make friends.

It's probably my own fault really. I'm naturally a little suspicious of small talk...innocuous behaviour in general. But of course, generally, people don't tend to dive into topics like philosophy, psychology and ethics at bus stops and water coolers. And even when I have managed to talk to interesting people, they are naturally solitary creatures or already so well established in their own cliques that they don't generally take the initiative on making new friends. And you can only try and arrange social activities so many times before you start looking like a complete loser instead of just desperate. I'd hope that I am neither of these things but there we go. Thus the Law of The City speaks.

Of course, there are people who want to 'make friends'. They are invariably male, invariably dull, and invariably after something other than friendship, if the last four are anything to go by.

When did my life become so pathetic? I never realised how much my friends give my life meaning. How easy it is to doubt who you are when nobody sees you, or cares to try. I miss proper laughter, that really good laughter with friends where you laugh at nothing at all.

Neither of my closest friends read this blog. I wonder what this signifies. If they are my closest friends surely they would be interested in reading about my life and thoughts beyond sending me the obligatory 'How are you? What's happening?' every 2 months or so. Or perhaps because they are my closest friends they don't have to. Still, I feel like I'd read their blogs if either of them disappeared for a year traveling. They both have lives and boyfriends now. Haven't spoken to one of them properly for four years. Perhaps we have grown apart. People inevitably do when one of the friends gets a boyfriend, gets a job, settles down, gets married, has kids, and whoomph the next 20 years have passed and one wonders what happened to all that time you planned to spend with friends X, Y and Z. Seems like it's pretty much over once people move in with their partners. Until of course they leave their partners and then they come running to your doorstep for that long overdue late night chat. But heck, that's what friends are for right?

I'll get the horrible feeling that when I get back, everyone will have gone on without me. Not entirely unexpected. But it smarts to think that the fabric of my existence is so easily unraveled by a few loose threads. And I'll have to start all over again. Or finally, finally, get used to being alone.

Okay, this is all getting far too depressing once again, so here's a pick-me-up of a Variety of Interesting Encounters between Louise and Hobos.

Ever since my first lone journeys on public transport I have come to believe that I have a Tramp Magnet somewhere mysteriously hidden upon my person without my knowledge. Perhaps it's that vacant smile, the general air of openness, or the naive looking face. Either way, they come.

In Sydney, I have seen:
- One incoherent mutterer.
- Two bag ladies.
- Three bin scroungers.
- Four 'Have you got any change for the bus' askers (who never look like tramps and probably aren't but still make it onto the list anyway). One asker followed me down a whole street after I said no. I held onto my handbag very tightly.
- Been shouted at three times by schizophrenic tramps.
- Seen a tramp eating raw bacon (yes, raw).
- Seen a scruffy smelly old tramp combing and stroking his beard in a highly vain fashion. I wonder if the length of the beard is a mark of hierarchy in the tramp world, alongside the scruffiness of the coat and the quality of footwear. I imagine the smell is also a mark of superiority in ones general Trampiness Rating.

Okay, so its more of a list than a story but there we go. There was a tramp I met on a subway once (or rather, I had the unfortunate combination of painful high heels and only one available seat left on the platform - next to aforementioned tramp - so I foolishly thought that sitting down would be a harmless act). Up he gets, eyeing me up in a most suspicious fashion.
Tramp: 'Whatsyurname?'
Louise: 'Er....Louise.'
Tramp (triumphant): 'No it not!'

I didn't really know what to say to this, so I just sat there, quietly looking into middle distance and trying to be as invisible as possible.

Tramp (muttering): 'Noitsnot...no...noitsnot....'
Louise: -trying very hard to stare vacantly with a placid smile on face-
Tramp (shouts to himself): 'No! No it's not!!' (resumes muttering)

I was unfortunately unable to find out what name this gentleman had assigned for me as my train swept in and I quickly swept myself into it and down into the next carriage where I hid very convincingly behind a newspaper.

On the subject of tramps on trains, have you ever had the ones that come onto your carriage and give you a speech about their sorry destitute lives and then begs at every specific person in the carriage. I find that style most unsettling. Sometimes I wish I was a tramp. It's a freedom, of a sort.

What do tramps do in their spare time?

Tramp 'To-Do' List:
6am to 10am Beg.
10am to 11.30am Collect rubbish from bins.
11.30 to 12.00pm Mutter at passing strangers.
12.00pm to 1pm Mutter at imaginary friends.
1pm to 3pm Beg.
3pm to 6pm Ride the trains, stare at people weirdly and ask them if they'd like to see you manuscript for a book you're writing/to repent and be forgiven for their sins/ to give you some change for the bus.
6pm to 7pm Beg (hard work all this begging).
7pm to 8pm Buy drugs, cigarettes, booze, food, tea and imaginary bus tickets. In that order.
8pm Find a park bench.
8.30pm to 9pm Defend territory around park bench from weaker, more feeble tramps.
9pm- 11pm Try to sleep on park bench (that has evidently been designed to discourage such behaviour).
11pm Get hassled by police so have to abandon bench anyway. Feeble tramps rejoice.
11pm - 2am Beg from drunks.
2am to 6am ???? (-mystery witching hours of tramps-)

Rightyo. Cheered myself up. Off we trot. Toodle pip. Tally ho. Etc etc.