This week, news broke that Roman Polanski has been granted a release from Swiss prison and will be placed under house arrest at his Swiss chalet.  The $1.6 million vacation home, which boasts a view of the Alps that rivals the cover of a Caran d’Ache box, will be his prison until the court decides whether to extradite him back to the United States.  He will have to wear an ankle bracelet and is not allowed to leave the premises, no matter what.  He is allowed to order in, however, so he’s got plenty of good Swiss food going for him.

You might think, geez, tough life this guy has, living in his gorgeous chalet, looking out at one of the most exquisite views in the world.  But you know what they say, “for every beautiful woman, there’s a guy who’s tired of screwing her.” Any view, no matter how great, can become boring if that’s all you look at every day.  And any house, no matter its size or sumptuousness, can become a prison if you can’t leave it.

As a writer, I often wake up dreading another day of being trapped in my house.  I sit at my desk and look at the same four walls, the same photos on the wall and scream a loud, internal scream.  My house, which is lovely, with light streaming in all of the windows, birds chirping outside, and every creature comfort I could possibly ask for, often becomes a hellhole to me after sitting in it day after day.

I frequently wonder if it would be the same if I woke up tomorrow in a place I’ve always dreamt of, like a villa in Italy or a beach house in Cape Cod.  If I looked out over luscious green hills and endless rows of olive trees every day, would I eventually get sick of it?  Or would the appeal of windswept dunes with their gently waving sea grass, diminish over time, leaving me longing for some other place, any other place?

Now readers, I know what you’re thinking.  You, Mim*, can leave your home any time you like, unlike Mr. Polanski.  You did not allegedly commit statutory rape of an under-aged individual some thirty odd years ago.  Well, readers that is indeed true (although a few of my friends’ teenage sons do have some very cute friends…whaaat?…I’m just saying!).  While I am not technically under house arrest, the existence of a dedicated writer often just feels that way.

All day, you sit at your desk looking out at folks walking their dogs, strolling with their babies, enjoying the outside world.  On some particularly crazy days, you even get just a little jealous of the gardener.  Look, he gets to work outside in nature, making the world a prettier place.  Am I making the world prettier?  What if no one ever reads a word I write?  What if I’ve spent years indoors, stringing little words together like plastic beads, only to make a necklace no one wants to wear? Maybe I should become a gardener.  There’s steady work in that.

These are days when you know you have to get out more.  Alone with your dog and your Mac for hours on end, you begin talking to yourself.  You remind yourself of things that need to be done or comment aloud on items you’re reading.  You tell the dog a million times how cute he is and how much you love him, until even he, man’s most faithful friend, can no longer stand you, and heads off to the living room for some nice peace and quiet.

You know things are getting desperate when you go all day without looking in the mirror.  You throw sweats on in the morning to walk that poor dog, and find you’re still in them at bedtime.  You’ve been running your hands through your hair all day while thinking up pithy phrases and eloquent turns of phrase, enjoying the sound of crackling electricity. Hours later, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, and shriek at the crazy-looking creature before you sporting mismatched layers and standing-on-end hair.  This is not good.

So, while I do not condone what Mr. Polanski may or may not have done a thousand years ago, I do commiserate with him.  I know what he’s in for.  In prison, at least you have a routine, plenty of free time, three hot meals a day.  You know what’s expected of you.  When you’re under house arrest, whether imposed or self-inflicted, no one sets a schedule but you.  You’re responsible for setting a path for yourself and doing whatever needs to be done, every day, so that you accomplish your goals.  You get lonely sometimes, and stir-crazy is a term that takes on real meaning when you stare at a blinking cursor all day.

Somehow, though, I think Mr. Polanski will have a better time of it than me.  His days in the “big Chalet house” will probably not last too long, and while he’s inside, he’ll most likely have lots of rich and famous guests, not to mention a personal chef.  The experience will probably inspire him to such an extent that he’ll end up developing the idea for his biggest movie ever.  At the very least, he’ll get a book deal.  All in all, I don’t think it’s gonna be so bad for him.

As for me, I look forward to the day that I get to leave the house, hopefully to go on my own multi-national book tour.  Until then, however, I will continue to suffer for my art and say to you, Roman Polanski…“Here’s to us, the housebound!”

Watching the “Moday Mhow”* a few weeks ago, I saw a story on people who are professional caretakers.  These folks live in exotic locales, taking care of other people’s properties in exchange for free room and board.  The woman interviewed for the segment raved about her wonderful life, caring for a mansion that overlooks the San Francisco Bay.  Her duties are cooking, laundry and general housekeeping.  During a month, she said, she’ll work a couple of 12-hour days or so, but otherwise the majority of her time is her own.

For a moment, the idea of chucking it all and going to live somewhere completely different, and doing a bit of manual labor, appealed to me.  I could dust a little, I fantasized, and then write my novel while looking out over Sydney Harbor.  Or maybe I could pull a few weeds and then spend my days crafting sunny tales on a Bahamian patio.  I could polish the armor in a Scottish castle, perhaps, or chop wood for a cottage deep in the Bavarian woods. The inspiration would be phenomenal.  I signed up on the spot for a year’s subscription to the professional housekeeper’s paper, the “Maretaker Mazette.”*

Each week now, I get listings for available caretaker positions around the world.  After the first few arrived, I quickly realized that I am not even remotely equipped to handle any of these situations.  I don’t do landscaping, plumbing, electrical, or pool up-keep.  I certainly couldn’t be depended upon to do any cooking, housekeeping, or nannying.  And the listings themselves are not quite as appealing as I had imagined.

HOUSESITTER NEEDED for two weeks in XX, Mexico for an elderly friend with two cats and a small dog. The house is fully equipped with a king-size bed. A car is available. She will need a ride to the airport and then picked up for her class reunion.

Great, so I’d be spending two weeks sitting in a stinky, cat-filled house in a tiny Mexican town, waiting to pick some old lady up after her 80^th class reunion.  Glad it’s fully equipped with a queen-size bed at least…

YEAR-ROUND HOUSESITTER wanted in Bulgaria, preferably through the winter. This is not for the faint-hearted and it is a hard lifestyle. We live in a rural setting in a village with very basic living conditions. There is one village shop and three bars. Winters are extremely harsh and we need someone to stay in our house because it is for sale and is in the process of being renovated, but all the work has stopped so it is unfinished at the moment. The house has a swimming pool. Hardly any of the villagers speak English. We cannot provide any transport but there are local buses and taxis.

Are you kidding me? I’d be hanging out in an unfinished house, freezing my a** off for an entire Bulgarian winter, taking buses to places where no one speaks English??? Well, thank goodness they have a pool…sounds very inviting.

HOUSESITTER/LANDSCAPER needed in XX, a suburb of Birmingham, Alabama. We are looking for a housesitter to maintain both our house and gardens while we are away this winter. Our private house, including utilities, is offered to stay in for free in exchange for several hours a day of taking care of our gardening needs. Our preference is for a single, non-smoking person, who is financially secure since we are not offering any compensation for this position. Please email your interest and reasons for wanting to take this three month housesitting assignment.

“Uh, I just robbed a bank and am looking for a place to hide out for three months?” Who else would want to live in a suburb outside Birmingham, not get paid and do nothing but watch the grass grow?

One look at the “Positions Wanted” listings and I should have known this caretaker life wasn’t for me.  Here’s a sample of one couple’s qualifications…

Christian couple from Montana relocating to Redding, California area. Ages 56 and 51. Seeking a caretaker position or other possibilities. Background is residential building contractor. All phases. Maintenance manager for large camp. Animals and horse experience. Grounds maintenance. No children. Great references.

I tried writing my own ad, just for fun.

Lazy Jewish girl (44) from Hollywood, CA seeks to live somewhere beautiful and not do much work.  Good at loading dishwashers and washing machines but doesn’t like putting stuff away. Experience is mostly in reading, writing and watching TV.  Hands are soft and back is weak. Likes nice doggies, hates cats and is expert at killing plants of all kinds. Has lots of Facebook friends who will provide good references if they’ve been drinking.

While realistically I know I will never rent my house out and toss my glamorous Los Angeles lifestyle (HA!) to go live in Bolivia, there is a small part of me that looks forward to receiving the listings.  As odd as they are, they’re real opportunities, and maybe one day the perfect one will be amongst all the oddballs.

YEAR-ROUND HOUSESITTER NEEDED IN ITALY to care for an enormous Tuscan villa.  Must like wine, olive oil and cute Italian men who work on the property harvesting crops.  Some light grape-stomping and pasta cooking required.  Respond to Vito.

I’ll take it!

Illustration Credit: Kendra Schwabel