It’s the last morning for a bit that I can wake up with the door wide open and actual fresh spring air floating in. Tomorrow we’ll wake up to snow, apparently. t’s mid-April. (My incredulity is out of sync with the fact that I have lived in New England for essentially all my life and know perfectly well that snow in April is not unheard of). Meanwhile, the weather today is my actual favorite — windy, foggy, rainy, dramatic. It’s the kind of grey that makes lit spaces seem friendly and comforting.
After taking a critical look at my piss poor attitude at the end of last week, I decided to be a little bit more forgiving of myself this week.
Here’s the thing. I walked through Ikea yesterday, not because I needed anything but because I wanted to, I wanted to be out and moving. Most people walk out of Ikea bogged down with flat pack boxes, memories of squabbles and getting lost in the enormous building, and exhausted. I walked out feeling like I’d been through an emotional wringer.
And I realized that underneath all of these poor moods is a serious discontent — and a lot of guilt. I burned some bridges when things were bad last summer because I literally didn’t have the energy to not do so. Throwing the match was easier than walking forward. I couldn’t ask my friends for support, because I’m not great at asking for help, and would rather deal with things on my own (relatives call me distant. It’s more, I’m private. Despite all this word vomit here). So instead, I just cut out everyone who wasn’t family. There’s no excuse for it, really. I’ve never really been the best at keeping in touch anyway, so it’s not a one time, forgivable thing. The guilt kind of eats me alive, though. This summer I often didn’t have energy for anything after work, after worrying, after nightmares. The energy required to make an explanation was so unattainable it might as well have been the energy required to get to Mars.
Meanwhile, I’m walking through Ikea yesterday and remembering doing the same thing in DC and it was… Well, spring is when I miss DC, and my life there. And it has been such a tough few years, first with my grandmother and then with all the constant crisis of last year or two that bled through into this year. And I still have sand in my shoes, and still want out. What’s holding me back? Well, I’ve got a good job that has taught me a lot, and I have a dog. He’s not technically mine, but in every way that counts, he’s my dog. We go for walks every day. He turns into my shadow when I get home. He’s waiting outside for me as I drive up to the house, and when I lean down to greet him I have to be quick to avoid adoring kisses.
A lot of my relative paralysis is related to unreasonable guilt, I guess. But I’m slowly moving towards that tipping point. It’s been on the horizon for a while, but it’s growing. And every day I look at Craigslist and every day I sigh as I see the huge, oversize prices being demanded for apartments or even houseshares. It’s spring. I’ve got sand in my shoes and a desire to be, well, outta Cape Cod tonight.
I didn’t walk out of Ikea empty handed because it is much like going to Target. I bought a duvet cover, which I legitimately needed because sometimes Baxter hops on the bed and washing an entire duvet is a pain in the butt. And, because Ikea sheets are cheap and decent, I bought summer sheets (the flannel ain’t gonna cut it once it warms up). And, ok, a little vase. And a plant. And a pot. But I did not succumb to the office chair, desk, or bookcase. Or bedframe. Or pillows. Or new lights. Or candles. Or posters. So all in all, I was proud of my self control.
Anyway. Tonight I have to do taxes. I’ve put them off because of the confusion and preponderance of forms that I have to deal with this year. I could file for an extension because we did get one of the necessary forms only last week, but really I’d just like it off my back. I’d also like to take Baxter for a walk. It looks like the heavy rain won’t start till after dark, so if we’re lucky we can be in the woods before there’s more than a light shower. It is supposed to be very, very windy but after the tough winter I do think that all the weak trees have been weeded out already. It’s survival of the fittest in my woods.
I’m trying to be a bit gentler with myself, as I said, this week, in the sense that I want to leave more time unscheduled to do what I’d like to do (while still keeping up the habits I’m forming). So, essentials, and then freedom. We’ll see how it goes. Even as I type this the lure of a to do list is calling to me. I LIKE to do lists. But they trip me up in the end.
And finally, in my word blast here. I was talking to my coworkers this weekend about how I miss listening to albums. I was on a nostalgia kick with Disintegration by the Cure and I listened to the whole album on repeat for a few days. An album is crafted in an order, you know? And sometimes you have to listen to a song over and over before you realize how much you love it. So as I drove all over the state yesterday I listened to High Violet and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot over and over again. The latter probably didn’t help with the DC missing, since I remember listening to that walking from the metro to my job on Connecticut Ave by Dupont. And High Violet is just the soundtrack to so many of my more thoughtful moments. Sorrow gets me every freaking time, the feeling of staying afloat when things are trying to drag you down (“Sorrow’s my body on the waves…”). I’m not really sorrowful now, but I was not that long ago, and that dragging weight is exactly what it felt like. “Sorrow waited, sorrow won.” So my goal for the week is to give full albums a shot, when I want new music. Let them sink in so someday I’ll look back at April 2014 and remember the music that went with it.
Today’s the anniversary of the Boston bombing. It was a shocking day, and heartbreaking. I was so grateful that everyone I knew was safe and sound, and that as bad as it was, it was not worse. Boston is the city that I love, and for a few breathless days it felt like it was an alien place. The bombing wasn’t my tragedy, but I loved that my city won. I love reading about the survivors talking today about how they felt supported and loved, even as they learned to live life without limbs, or without loved ones. It’s a perspective moment of how lucky we are, in general, here in the US. That’s why it was so shocking, watching the smoke billow and seeing the awful aftermath pictures. That’s not supposed to happen here, and we’re lucky that normally, it doesn’t.
I’ve written enough for the day. I’ll be back to game posts shortly, I’m sure. I just had to feel it out, a little.