Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Documented Minor Emotional Breakdown

Another day, another week, another event crossed off a calendar of adventures to look forward to.



Each individual hour is dominated by some certain preoccupation, and the ones following dreading and planning the rest. Sometimes intentionally avoiding the necessary, sometimes tackling it. Blurry eyes and unstead walks against a frighteningly strong wind, cold hands struggling to find gloves, ID, iPod, keys. Hesitation and fear at touching an electric doorknob, sparks and sizzle while peeling off an outer layer of coat and cashmere. Late nights in front of a laptop screen, scouring the internet for images that are surreal in their beauty, captured and photoshopped in certain lights pieced together for a fantasy realm that hardly resembles reality. Pieces of poetry, the Bible, sandwiched between blog posts and a longing for so. much. more.

In the afternoons, most week days, a new habit. Speed walking down a street that used to be unfamiliar, intimidating, now nearly routine. Past graffiti painted walls and certain buildings captured by daily photos, past men in puffy hooded jackets and sometimes comments blocked out by bright teal earphones and the blasting of something familiar and catchy, Yelle or Santogold thudding a fierce beat in my  head. Past empty parks and coffee shops to an elementary school that is so vaguely familiar yet completely alien. In classrooms smiling at children, with their stories, from the very first day (the eight year old girl who told me, "daddy left us today. He slammed the door and said he was never coming back.") and their questions (the boys who asked, "do you have a little sister?" the girl who asks "why do you wear a dress?" "you took the train here right?") and culture, unnerving, sligtly, in their viciousness, tendency towards violence--but not reading too deep into it. After all, a new job as an America Reads tutor is not the same as a sociologist nor psychologist.

Lunch grabbed to go, dinners wasted at dining halls that hardly appeal. Naps that drag on for all days, or not long enough. Songs repeated over and over again. Fantasy scenarios playing in my head. A walk turned into a revelation. Not enough walks. Not enough time. Too much time wasted. Too little motivation. Theoretical habits. Things easily forgotten.

These are the ordinary. This is the new and exciting. Broken only by the long weekend--punctuated by adventures and walks and feeling like a tourist, McQueen for Target (or failing to find it), seeing Los Campesinos! two nights in a row, the first night leading to guestlist spots for the second (sold-out) night, the second night leading to the afterparty, sharing a cab with the band and loud music, conversations screamed into ears, British accents, strangers and new friends and unlikely connections. Return to bed, and reality, and a Sundayish Monday requiring indiepop and making origami lilys.

Friday, February 6, 2009

February

It's Feburary (how did that really happen?). The dead of winter. Where waking up each morning is excruciating, a tortured feat dragging minds out of heavy dreams, groggy and exaggerated slow motion movements, the idea of staying tucked under the covers for just five more minutes, skip that 8am class a painful temptation.

Feburary where stepping outside requires layers upon layers of fabrics and textures: cotton, cashmere, wool, gloves, hats, scarves, boots, anything and everything to be wrapped and protected from the fury of the air oustide, biting, sharp, and vicious. The relentless wind and the relentless cold, deteriating motivation like few things can. For a day, snow might grace the sky, white flurries slashing against vulnerable faces, but beautiful. Then the sludge and dirty piles of snow on sidewalks, impossibly slippery roads and boots dragging in dirty ice-water.

Feburary where the gray skies dominate the city, the park, the buildings monochromatic, stained black and white and gray.

February when it is easy to sigh and despair--over every little thing. When it is easy to foresee no end to the dreadful days. When it is easy...and yet impossible not at all easy.

I haven't blogged in forever. I can try to blame that on the winter, excuses that slip into words that slip into nothingness. But what good are excuses?

Anyway. No more of that. I guess this is a greeting: hello. Let's get reaquainted. Let's sip tea or hot coco in front of glowing screens and let's have a conversation. Let's work magic. My words, your mind. Perhaps it'll make the winter that much more bearable.

(OH AND, another "excuse" for the lack of writing has definitely been the 365 tumblr, where I take a picture a day and post it. It's been going surprisingly well--I can definitely already see my photography improving and have only missed one or two days near the start. But um, also it's only been going on for a little over a month. You should take a look. This photo is from there.)