Life in DC, wks. 5 and 6: 65 Days of Solitude
Just earlier tonight, I was standing in line at the local supermarket by my house where I’m staying in residential D.C., NE side, buying a few groceries for the next few days. I’m sure you can easily picture the scene—it’s 9 PM on a Monday, so obviously no one wants to be grocery shopping right now. It’s been a hot, probably long first day, and everyone just wants to get home to their respective place of relaxation, whether that’s picking up a good book or sitting down in front of the tube. So here I am, waiting to be checked out, when I look up at the man in front of me. He’s probably not much older than myself, and if he is, he carries himself in such a way that he hides it well. He’s got short brown hair, a little goatee, sandals, and a tan, organic-looking shirt (probably hemp?). He’s buying yogurt and diapers for what looks like one child. I can only imagine what a long day he’s probably had if he’s finding himself HERE at 9 at night…..but he’s grinning. Even when he’s not talking with the cashier, he’s got a little smile on the corner of his lips as his eyes wander off into empty space, as if nothing in the world could bring his mood down right now. Why is that? Did he just get promoted? Did his baby daughter just take her first steps? Is he madly in love with his wife? Whatever the case, that little portrait—found in an aisle in-between vapid soap digest weeklys and gossip-ridden rags devoted to keeping up with the Kardashians—gave me a bit of hope for humanity. And it got me thinking about a lot of other things that have floated through my mind lately, including making a lengthy blog post like this one.
Before I start rambling again, one more quick thought from while I was grocery shopping. I’m incredibly stingy about buying gas, as anyone who’s known me for long enough will surely corroborate—but I’m far less Scroogesque about buying groceries. Something about being able to pick up your purchases and hold them in your hand, eat them and savor them…it’s just infinitely preferable to me than literally burning my money away. I didn’t grow up struggling to get by, so I don’t understand why something this necessary for daily living in the city irks me so much. I guess it’s just the principle of the thing.
The next item that I’ve wanted to get off my chest and put into a more permanent existence is something I’ve been wrestling with over the past year or so, mostly while laying on my bed at night waiting to fall asleep. When I was little, I often got wrapped up in the power of my own imagination, as I’m sure all other kids that age did as well. I liked to think that I had a highly visual and creative mind even from a young age, which I imagine is due to growing up in a very rural environment and having my intake of videogames, mindless cartoons (there are plenty that weren’t, but those aren’t included here) and stupid plastic toys consciously limited by my parents. I read whatever I could get my little hands on since the age of 2. As a result, I spent a lot of time wandering around outside observing the sights and sounds of New Hampshire forests or enveloped in a good book, and my TV servings were that of Wishbone and Whose Line is it Anyway (in later years, obviously). Then, I went through the fearsome gauntlet that is late middle school and high school. I became interested in spending my time in other matters—over at friend’s houses, playing Xbox and thinking about girls and all that other shit that seems unnecessary but is inescapably intertwined with being a teenager in this day and age. I completely stopped reading for a few years, except for what was required for school. It wasn’t really by choice, either—when you’re obsessed with meeting your “cool” quota, as all teenagers naturally are, things like reading and one’s imagination get pushed to the backburner.
Now, back to those moments spent in bed, halfway between awake and dreaming. I don’t know if this is just my cynical side unleashing itself, or perhaps nothing has actually changed since those younger years, but I often get this sinking feeling that my imagination—my creative side which has often been my most prominent personality feature—has noticeably diminished in its clarity. It’s incredibly hard to put into words, let alone measure or make a comparison to the days of yore. Like I said, maybe it’s just me being cynical, or somehow related to me smoking the reefer before hopping under the covers. Whatever the case, it’s troubling. It feels like decay, growing older as moss and dead leaves settle on the inside of my brain. Alternatively, this could be thought of as a pro instead of a con, a reason to get back into heavy reading, nature walks, and the many other forms of exploration and knowledge-seeking that are easy to pick up and start. I think I’ve already made good on that goal and will continue to—I’ve recently finished The Stranger and 100 Years of Solitude (appropriate, considering how lacking my social life is in a city where I have no friends my own age), and I’ll be studying abroad in Ireland in less than a month, where I believe I’ll once again regain that insatiable thirst for knowledge. ANYWAYS…..enough of that drudgery.
As for what I’ve actually be doing in DC lately—that is what this post is titled after, anyways—the answer is: swinging violently between nothing and too much at once. Two days last week I spent in the office on Sporcle and Reddit, desperate for something productive to do, and the other days I was constantly out and about, either off-site with the youth groups taking photos and supervising or back in the office getting constantly called back and forth to do various tasks for my superiors. It ends up being more exhausting than being busy every day of the week, since when I go into work I have little idea what to expect, which often leaves me kinda pissed when I leave work at 4:30. Sure, my direct supervisor and the youth group I’m assigned to work with most of the time are a lot of fun and great to work with, but a few other upper-tier employees here can be a little pushy while simultaneously not explaining what they want from me (which is often unrelated to my job), which can be insanely frustrating. At least that’s only some of the days—others are great—but it leaves me often yearning for adventuring around Ireland and to be out of this city.
In other news, I recently saw Cut Copy and Delicate Steve, as well as another show with Real Estate and Dent May. Both of them were fantastic shows! Both main acts exceeded by expectations for their live sound (Real Estate more so. Soooooo good!), and both openers brilliantly showcased their material which I was then unfamiliar with. Check them out and buy a few of their songs, as I’m sure I will be in the coming months. Until then, adieu. I shall see you soon, as I plan on making more posts here these next few weeks, possibly about my recent obsession with Tim Hecker, my trip to NYC to 4Knots fest, and the pinnacle of television that is the return of Breaking Bad.
