“It is joy to be hidden, and disaster not to be found.”
I read that on someone’s twitter feed – I think their therapist said it to them. I’m starting this post a little after 11 on a Saturday night. Themes and subjects escape me. I have draft posts on student debt relief, what it’s like to live in a town dominated by students, and on two dreams I had the other night. I never got to a conclusion in any of them – so they sit. I began and ended my day with reading on the deck, several studies on the underbellies of clouds, and small attempts at writing. Coffee in the morning, wine in the evening. In the morning, I got lost in a poem by Stephen Dunn, “Missing.” It’s about a woman talking about a man who is fully half there. She hopes that love will help locate the missing half. All her friends adore him and would tell her how lucky she was, but she realizes that because he asks so little of her, she’s only using half of herself. When she remembers her other half, she gets angry and leaves him. I read Dunn because he explores these all too human complexities. I wanted to write a slightly different version of his poem, a response, and call it “Also Missing.”
The poetry and the sky and the empty check of a day in front of me put me in a mood. It was sunny and nice, and overwhelmed by options, I no longer wanted to leave the house. I thought about going to the farmers’ market and going for a run and getting groceries, etc. I didn’t want to do any of it. I sat for at least an hour like this: thinking about what I should do and not feeling motivated. I eventually ran and went to the pet store and had some lunch. Despite the students being back, I decided to walk downtown to the bookstore and coffee shop in search of a few new-to-me authors and a place to sit and read. When I got there, town was crowded. Every bar had a line of 50 – 100 students waiting to get in. They were all wearing t-shirts that read “back to school bar crawl.” I suppose had I known, I would have stayed home. I didn’t find any of the books I was looking for. I sat at a small bistro table outside of the coffee shop. I watched traffic – both foot and cars. Eventually a group of students emerged from a nearby apartment and one yelled, “bar craw day bitches… woooo.” I left shortly after that.
I don’t begrudge them their fun, but I do hate the added traffic, the reckless driving, and the fact that for the next nine months, I’ll live somewhat in hiding. Maybe that was the mood I had trouble shaking earlier – or at least part of it. The students being back add a small amount of dread to my normal activities, but they also signify autumn which is quickly followed by winter. The poem and its consideration of how we can’t show up for each other didn’t help… neither did the promise of a nice day with too many possibilities and only myself to blame for only being half up to the challenge.