July 7, 2013

Recalibrating


 
 
 
A week before I left for the States I got lost in my own city. I was headed to a party, at a house I had been in before, and I miscalculated some train stops. Had to take a turn, and a longish walk back, and some winding streets among some looming buildings in the dark before I found my way. It was a good party, with wine and guitars and dogs running around and just the right ratio of cool vs. annoying people to keep you on your toes.

 

I am back in my home city and, again, I am one of those people.

 

People who get to work when they want, and play when they want. Who show up at parties alone, the lover overseas and six hours behind, and get to stay out as long as they want. Who take cabs home, and mind their drinks because there is no one to say “My baby’s tipsy” and take them safely home and tuck them in. Who live on the other side of town, and when it’s time to say Goodnight hold no one’s hand walking back.

 

At sunset, when decent folk scurry home after picking up dinner at the grocery store, I drag my feet because home is elsewhere. I am one of those people again, that get lost in their own city after living in it for thirty years. I take the longest walks and have time for all my errands. I write letters, stay up late and early, and bury myself in work. Sundays are lonely and the weather doesn’t mean anything.

 

I check my complexion, my weight, the look in my eyes in the mirror, as if I had just returned from the Moon, as if gravity were somehow different overseas, and scales and mirrors and human eyes registered different values. Funny, it seems that nothing has changed, even though I am a pumpkin again. Pft.

 

I have everything I want, only slightly misplaced and mistimed. I am happy, only dissatisfied. There are not enough hours in the day for all my projects, yet I wish I could go into hibernation and wake up a year from now, just in time to watch the cherry drop on top. My heart is contracting with this tough-love anatomy of longing.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

9 comments:

  1. I feel as though my life, my happiness, my satisfaction is tied to the whims of others. And I hate that about myself. I rack my brain for hours a day trying to discover some thing that would make me whole that does not include the rollercoasters of relationships. I am tired of dependency. I am tired of 9-5. I am tired of everything. All the tethers that keep me tied to this life. I walk around my house and everything seems foreign. Every bill I pay feels like a shackle. There is happiness to be found within ones on soul, I know there is. I look for it every day. I keep people at a distance. I don't want that happiness to depend on them. I need to write. I need to travel. I want to quit my lame ass job and throw everything I own in a backpack and just go. Life is too short for shackles.

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    1. That sounds like the curse of the introvert. Keeping most at bay, but those you let in - you give them your all, down to the last cell, brainwave and heartstring. It is a threat to the self, and the dissolution I was born for.

      You have had an intense 18 years. Especially for someone so young. The great news is that you are absolutely still young enough to do all of the things you mention. You are revving up for something, that's for sure.

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  2. Chris, my darling love-sick poet-friend, the cherry shall drop. I wish I could push time out of the way and make it be now. It is now isn't it? It's always now.

    My heart is bleeding with yours, and if so much good stuff wasn't on the horizon for you I'd be tempted to recommend drugs or therapy;)

    Even when you're lost your writing is supreme.

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    1. LOL Leah, I know I ought to get some cheese with that whine. But I have given myself license not to hide madness, sadness or anger when it takes over. It might sound pathetic at times, but it's real and it's mine.

      Tonight was one of those nights, too. I returned from a party at 5 a.m., by myself, in a cab. I took a picture of the sunrise to my right and a ginormous magpie to my left, sitting on the steps in front of my apartment building and clearly surprised to have company at that hour. There were people in the streets and parks on the way back, hungover and loud, and one guy that lost his pants tripping over himself, full moon and everything. I spoke to my man on the other side of the ocean, and we exchanged touchstones of love and reassurance. I went to bed at 7, when decent folks get up and go to church, my ears white-noised out with the murmur of the last group of drinkers loitering on my middle school playground.

      It's a beautiful life in all its goofy sadness. It's not lost on me, and part of the beauty is chronicling the sadness so that it isn't lost on others either.

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    2. And OMG did you just call me a poet?

      *swoon*

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  3. Chris, I'm thrilled that you are sharing that sad and love sick side with us. I would never wish to hush the humming of your heart. The honesty and beauty of your soul comes through in your words. You go ahead and whine, and I shall whine with you.
    That magpie photo was brilliant.
    Love!

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    1. There were two magpies in fact, but one flew away just as I got my camera out, like Bart Simpson's Raven, "Eat my shorts!"

      I've been busy working and haven't been able to write as much as I would like to. Let's hope to rectify that soon. In the meantime, there's love and w(h)ine, LOL.

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  4. I am the same. Plenty of time. Aimless wandering at times. I have no love on the other side of the world, but I can say I am happy and dissatisfied also. The hunger. It aches, but every step is a possibility. Wishing you two in the same breath space again soon :)

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    1. Ha, but you have desire! My phrase of the day is "constructively mad" - let's see if I can speed some things up in this power mode...

      I wish you fulfillment of your desires, too. That lovely word on top of this page, "satiety", can be a bitch sometimes. Thank you. Look forward to reading more of your posts.

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