When I get upset I start pricing houseboats. Mostly on Boattrader.com but I’ll review the occasional Craigslist. I’ve been obsessed with houseboats since I saw the Sophia Loren-Cary Grant vehicle Houseboat. Although I am not deluded enough to believe that if I purchase a houseboat I will turn into a young Sophia Loren. I have a better shot at looking like a young Cary Grant. We look very much the same in a dress i.e. a little boxy (see: I Was a Male War Bride-1949) I just love the water and think it would be fun.
Living on a houseboat is trap. They don’t seem particularly expensive, because the exorbitant costs are all hidden and attack you one by one like henchmen in action flick. You can rent a place to have the houseboat but you can’t really own the water itself. And you can’t go too far from shore because it is a house, not a yacht. You have to worry about all the land-based vermin like termites and mice but also invasive water species like zebra clams. Sure they have special sprays that discourage them from attaching themselves to the bottom of your houseboat. But there will always be a new kind of sinister clam trying to cause mayhem. You’re on a boat so water pumps and tanks and generators for power. These things break…a lot. And I don't think any of us are prepared to discuss what people who live on houseboats do with their poop. The can't just dump it in the water. A service must be employed.
But I can’t help it. I find myself drawn to houseboats. My life is a chaotic storm and I spend nearly every waking moment freaking out about something. But if I had a houseboat I could direct all my panic towards the boat. Who gives a shit about a fight with one of my girlfriends when zebra clams are costing me thousands of dollars? My weight would move down the list of my concerns when I’m paying someone to repair my generator.
And on the positive side, I love the water. It calms me. The water makes everything okay. And if I woke up every morning knowing I was floating, I’d feel less pulled down by the gravity of failed dreams. And maybe, just maybe, I’d speak Italian and sashay and pretend that I was Sophia Loren. But not where anyone could see me.