I've been sleeping with the blinds open again. The window on the far side, the side with the most city light. The side with the parking lot light that blares orange even when the blinds are closed. Last night I woke and the light was brighter than I could handle, than I remembered. It's brighter than ever, I thought, and I squinted across the bed to let down the blinds a few more inches.
I've been sleeping with the blinds open again. Not on purpose, but not accidentally. I used to do it all the time, but that was when the lights seemed comforting, necessary, and less bright. Since, I've read how even a little bit of light at night can disrupt your sleep. I haven't been feeling well in the middle of the day, and I'm always tired, but I don't bother to put down all of the blinds. Just like I don't bother to wash my face at night half the time because it's easier not to. Just like I ignore my birth control pill at the hour I'm supposed to take it every night and lazily take it some time the next morning before work, so that I'm always one behind.
I always feel one day behind.
I went shopping yesterday afternoon for shorts, which took me to the mall in Spartanburg, a mall I haven't been to in months. The mall left me listless and grumpy--there were no shorts long enough for a 26 year old but short enough to make me feel tall and potentially cute. I went to Target and ultimately found one pair of shorts but no tank tops, which had been a late addition to my search. Today after work, with my one success of yesterday, I went straight to the mall, convinced I would see with fresh eyes and a fresh waist line. But it was all the same and even looked worse on hangers than the previous day. Target again, after, to buy the same successful pair of shorts in a different color. But my size was all gone except in the dark khaki, which created white rings on my things where the shorts ended, clearly a different kind of 5 than the ones I'd already bought. I debated sandals, then, because I needed something new. I debated sandals in colors I didn't want but felt good. I carried three pairs around, then only one, and then none when I realized I couldn't think of a time when I would wear them over my other sandals.
As I drove away from Target, I was immediately anxious about the two hours I had wasted searching the same places for the same thing I had already searched for and, partially, found the day before. Two hours evaporate like they were never there. And all I have to show for them is a bottle of Ibuprofen and a sympathy card in a plastic bag. Once home, I need to cook dinner. I need to cook dinner because I know there is fresh chicken in the fridge that has a sell-date of May 10, thirteen days ago. I need to use this chicken that I spent $5.13 on over two weeks ago, and I need to use the green pepper and onion I bought on the same day to make fajitas, my favorite dish that I don't think I've made once in the near year I've lived here. The green pepper feels slightly wrinkly. The onion is soft and puffed with mold.
This reminds me again that I should never go on a true grocery shopping trip and buy fresh food. I won't eat it. And when I want to it will be too late and it will be because I have to because I know it will soon be too late. I am always a day behind.
On Saturday I will fly to Kansas City to see Jedsen for the first time since the afternoon we shared in mid-February. We will move him to Chicago next week. He sleeps in the dark. In a dark so deep I wake drunk and hungover and sad because I don't know what time it is and when I find out I will be mad because I will have slept all morning. Jedsen thinks it's good that I sleep all morning, but it makes me feel behind, lost, like I have to recover who I am and what I mean. Waking to a forced dark closes me in. Tells me I should forget my love of the sun. Means I am alone even though I am less alone than I ever am.
The lights mean I'm here. The lights mean, are real. The only real time is at home or in nature. In nature, I tend to forget time.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
When you don't know
My problem has been that I want too much and can't decide what I want more when I realize that I can't have it all. I want a house. A house that my couch can fit into. A dog. New bookcases. New dresser. A yard. A kayak. A big savings account.
A few months ago I decided that renting a house and adopting a dog would be my plan for the summer. $550 was my rent-cap, and that's $100 more than I'm paying now for my adorable third-floor downtown apartment. I thought, I'll find a house with all appliances (even w/d) and a yard for under $550 in either Hampton Heights or Converse Heights and then I'll adopt a dog and then life will be perfect. Only recently did I realize that I would not want to live in any of the houses that I could rent for under $550.
So I've been trying to think of what I want more and for what motivations. I want a house because I could use my awesome couch again and garden and have a "stand alone" and get a dog and feel complete, like an adult. But, just now, I'm starting to feel like a social human being, something I should have experienced in college. Just now, I'm making friends that I feel comfortable around and will do things with on a whim because I live so close and because it feels good. Living in a house that wasn't in the middle of Hampton Heights next to everyone I know (because I can't afford that) would likely make me revert being alone all of the time, as it would make me put more effort into going out. As is, I can walk over to HUB-BUB or the Bookshop whenever I want. Plus, if I moved into a house I wouldn't be able to get a dog because I wouldn't be able to afford a dog and a house. So, if I can't have the dog with the house, is there still the motivation to move to a house. Not as much, I guess. I mean, sure, that's what I want, but do I need it? No.
So here I am always wanting wanting wanting when I have a pretty awesome apartment and a sweet, adorable cat and the freedom to leave for a weekend or a week and not worry too much. I should enjoy what I have and make the most of what I have, which is a lot. A lot of really good stuff. So I can allow myself now to spend a little on new bookcases and maybe a dresser because that's what I need here, and if I'm not spending a ton of money on moving, I can afford it. I can also think more seriously about fostering dogs and, still, adopting, though I have to make sure everything is ready and I am committed to a change in lifestyle.
You really didn't need to know all of this, but I've needed to write it out, and it only hit me today when I read that quote on a friend's Facebook page and then talked to Jedsen about my wants and practicalities that what I really want is to not want. I'm restless--not in my job--but in my living environment and situation, which I've always been. I want to constantly update and change the conditions under which I live, and I can still do that from here--only in smaller ways than moving.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
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