[astigmatic much?] pith.org content, daily-like
most recently
archive

Tuesday April 24, 2001, 02:24

I would rather be doing things other than writing right now. Rather, I would much rather be doing other things, having already accomplished the writing for the evening, having had the words come out, expressing thoughts in an interesting and thought-provoking, or at least mildly entertaining way, without being too heavy-handed and/or melodramatic. Because really, what I want to do write now is write about writing, but doing so always makes me feel like that's what I'm doing. (Well, which it is.)

It is too dark in this room and the computer is too bright. The lights aren't right and the room doesn't feel right. Too much clutter. Not enough outside influence. Too quite, and my computer is too loud.

I have been reading over my old journals lately. You can too, if you have time to kill. In many of them I write about the sun rising, as I was often up at five or so in the morning, just as the sky was changing from black to something like a slate gray, with more than just a little blue in it, and I would be reminded that it was time to go to sleep as I would have to wake up soon enough to go to class. College was a time for doing stupid things like not sleep and then talking about how little sleep was gotten.

I have tried to stay up late. Realizing that I have nowhere to go in the morning it seemed logical for me to stay up to all hours of the night, just me and my words and the night and the sleeping world. But what I find is that it just does not work any more. Environment? Mind set? Lack of destination or urgency?

Perhaps all of the above. Sophomore year I would look out over the construction site and watch the sun rise. The sky would turn colors and soon enough the light would start streaming in through the window, reflecting off of the roof (well, when the thing finally had a roof). There was life outside. Junior year I faced a quad and I would watch people passing by on their way to class. I would catch snippet of conversation, or spy a young couple stealing a kiss before parting ways. Senior year it was the family behind my house, kids always playing in the yard, clothes always hung up on the line. Even in Boston there would be the people lounging around the swimming pool.

And they were all mine. Mine to watch and to experience, even peripherally. The sublet did not really allow for that. Mostly because, while there was a lot of people-watching to be done, it was not mine. The experience was just a borrowed one, and one for which I am grateful (for it spared me three months of introspective babbling like this) and yet it lacked that sense of ownership.

And so even staying up late, to write, did not feel right. I felt like I was standing in and that at any point, someone would come out and yank the scene outside my window away and I would be left with nothing but the suitcase I was living out of and my laptop that had become my best, late-night friend.

And so I have all of these dreams for my new apartment. Most of them focus on sitting there, late at night, looking out over the city. There is one light over the desk and I stand up and walk to the window. I can see the reflection of half my face in the window and I look out over the city that (as they say) never sleeps.

My city.

[ permanent link ]

[ email love | your love | consumer love ]

------------------

search the past

remember the past

1999
    aug 04 05 06 08 09 11 12 15 17 22 26 30
    sep 01 03 07 12 20 28
    oct 04 14 18 22
    nov 02 07 12 19 25 26 27
    dec 12 15 18 28 31

2000
    jan 02 06 11 12 18 29
    feb 03 10 14 17 21 23 28 29
    mar 05 06 20 22 25 26
    apr 02 05 06 08 09 10 12 13 17 20 21 24 25 28 29
    may 03 05 08 11 12 15 17 17b 18 18b 21 23 25 29 30 31
    jun 01 01b 03 06 07 08 10 13 14 16 18 21 23 25 30
    jul 03 06 09 10 13 16 26
    aug 02 03 04 08 10 17 21 25 29
    sep 06 07 12 13 18 24
    oct 06 11 12 19 30 31
    nov 08 11 22 26 30
    dec 01 10 14 21 30

2001
    jan 01 09 14 16 30
    feb 11 15 20 22
    mar 06 08 09 21 25 30
    apr 01 04 05 09 13 18 23 24 25 28
    may 04 09 11 14 16 17 21 25 31
    jun 02 08 20 21 28 29
    jul 07 13 17 28
    aug 14 24 26
    sep 09 12 23 24
    oct 10 26 28 31
    nov 11 17 18 28 30
    dec 02 08 15 18 26

2002
    jan 03 07 08 18 20 23
    feb 04 05 17 19 22
    mar 06 10 13 15 17
    apr 13 16 19 26
    may 03 13 16 21
    jun 08 15 21
    jul 03 05 10 18 24
    aug 03 18
    sep 11 20
    oct 03 05
    nov 10
    dec 30

2003
    jan 19
    feb 04 14 27
    mar 10 23 31
    apr 11 15
    may 26
    jun 16 29
    aug 17
    sep 15
    oct 08
    nov 30
    dec 11 24 28

2004
    jan 06 23 30
    feb 01 21
    mar 04 09
    apr 15
    may 02 10
    jul 03
    aug 02 16 30
    oct 04 17
    nov 28
    dec 28

2005
    jan 03 24
    mar 24
    may 28
    aug 01 10
    sep 03
    oct 12 28
    dec 25

2006
    jan 01 07 16
    feb 02 13 28
    mar 12 13
    apr 17

other things to look at

back home