Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Bathtub Smoke
One of my favorite things to do is smoke in the bathtub. Grab a book, or put a movie on my computer, sit in the warm water and fill my lungs with smoke. There are equal parts entertainment for my attention and relaxation for my unconsciousness. However, the expedition never ends pleasantly. I always get too hot, the tub is not big enough to lay in comfortably, the volume on the movie is wrong, the page gets wet, or the cig ash makes the water too dirty. I always need to leave quickly, to move away from the bathroom. I must first deal with getting the cigs and book/computer away safely, without sustaining water damage. Then I need to grab a towel so that I don’t drip all over my apartment. When I eventually get out of that room, I am never sure how far away I should walk to completely fulfill my need to get away. I always end up somewhere in my living room, which is understandable because I live in a studio apartment, the only other rooms being the kitchen and the off-limits bathroom. I always think very hard about where I am going to stop, but all the thinking puts my body on autopilot, and eventually I just stop, getting through drying off my back before I realize my legs are no longer propelling me around the mass of things in my apartment.
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I know the feeling. You reach a moment of complete and utter comfort for that first page of the book, then as soon as you have to flip the page, you snap out of your zone of purity. Then it becomes impossible to get comfortable again (thus, the reason I quit bathing).
I too am stuck in a space, somewhere in between station, in an oversized apartment, by myself, with nothing to do with my time but physics homework, mcat prep, and old episodes of the office online. The very real, nearly bordering fantasy, experiences of this past year has not left with me with excitement, and contentment (for being stateside again), rather, despair clogs most of my days. Sure, there are glimpses of light, but they soon vanish. And though I try to return to that light (and life), it's just not the same. I listened to the wilco live recording from pabst theater in milwaukee, and that was the first time all day I noticed my heart beating. It seems like everyone else's lives are moving forward, while mine is stuck here in some horrible purgatory. Maybe it's just not our time yet.
Then, I stop to think, read, write some more, and the despair eases up. Maybe this time is necessary to functionalize these theories of life, love, etc. Instead of viewing the world as ball on the other side of the court, and I'm waiting back on defense, maybe this is the time to blitz, bring that full court press. A life tossed into introspection isn't much of a life after all. Today is a day share that communal gift of compassion, to see something new, to meet the polish neighbors next door, to invent something, to write a song, to learn how to skate board, to visit the mosque down the street, to volunteer, to cook a meal for a king (or the woman of your dreams, so you can woo her with your culinary charm, wittiness, and great taste in music). I hate to quote 90's great rock bands, but every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. Kipling said something similar. Today is a new day, John. Make it yours. You are loved so much by so many people. Give it back to the world today.
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