Sunday, November 30, 2008
I often pull away from the people I care about when I’m unsettled, in a funk, or low on energy; as a mode of self-preservation, it is imperfect. So long as I keep close tabs on myself and the withdrawal doesn’t evolve into a full-blown exercise in isolation, however, the practice appears to serve me well: I often come back recharged and having gained new perspective on whatever had troubled me.
For the past two days I’ve stayed somewhat busy, but have done so alone and at home. Phone calls and messages have gone untouched as I’ve focused instead on slogging through a particularly trying bit of heartache. Yet I knew matters had gotten out of hand tonight when, after several satisfying rounds of Wii batting practice, I found myself designing those little Mii avatars in the likeness of old friends, including several exes. I continued to half-seriously consider their individual eyebrow shape and hairstyle choices for many, many minutes — too many minutes to admit to — before shaking off the crazy and backing away from the game console. Now seems like a good time to reconnect with the people in my world again.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Dressed in brilliant colors — its evenings merely hinting at the winter to come — October is fall at its flirty best. November, on the other hand, is when the season gets down to work. The sun rises and grows thinner with each passing day, until one afternoon you look up and realize that its heat no longer reaches your skin. Cooler nights make for grand sleeping under thick comforters, and on more mornings than not you’ll pull on a sweater to ward off the chill. It’s a beautiful and melancholy month of incomplete to-do lists and catching up with the people in my life.
We’ve had perhaps the last of our seasonal heat waves which, tonight, finally gave way to the first true rain to pass by in many months. I had just woken from a nap, book in hand, when I heard the soft padding of raindrops on the pavement. I love that smell: I love how it lifts my spirits, how awake and alive and delighted I feel in it.
I am craving fresh air and time to stretch and clear my head a little bit. The sky was so clear this morning… it took all I had to keep myself from driving until I reached San Francisco. I need a break, but from what — and to where — I’m not entirely sure.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
A few weeks ago, the fog began drifting in from the coast just as the sun dipped behind the horizon. For several evenings, it would settle into parking lots and linger in the roads, where neon lights took on a pleasant softness and the geometry of the city was erased. Ghosts emerged in the milky air, their outstretched hands reaching for mine. I was breathless and confused: why were they here? How could I be sure of what I was seeing?
As I summoned the courage to reach back, a Santa Ana was sweeping across the mountains and pushing the clouds out to sea. The skies, now unbearably clear and hot, revealed what I had feared: my hands were empty. There was nothing there.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
A coworker’s phone rang, and after glancing at it she handed it over to me. In large, clear letters, the caller ID read ‘Joy’. I knew a Joy through a program at the office, so I expected to hear her voice at the other end of the line. Instead, the connection was crackly, then silent: the call had been dropped. After fumbling around with the phone for a few minutes in search of a “call back” function, I scrolled through its contacts and found entries for three different Joys.
The easy thing to do would have been to dial each number and ask if she had called. Instead, I froze: anxious and afraid of making the wrong choice, I rang none of them.
As I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I mused over how I missed connecting with Joy even when she came calling for me.
Sunday evening, I settled in to watch the latest episode of Mad Men before turning in for the night. The main protagonist ran away from his clients (and problems back home) with a young woman and her traveling entourage of rich and aimless friends and family. Whose car to Palm Springs does he get into without looking back?
Joy’s, of course.
Monday morning’s doctor appointment ended later than I had planned, so I sought out the nearest freeway entrance for the quickest route to work. The red light before the on-ramp left me just enough time to take in an embankment dotted with campaign signs. My eyes flicked over the large type, blues and greens, stars and stripes without truly seeing any of them. But I sat up and took notice when they settled in and focused on a simple red on white sign. Its message?
‘Vote for Joy’.
