(no subject)
i was looking forward to living in colorado. i pictured frequent visits to the family cabin and the cultivation of an outdoor ethic i'd forgotten about in the frozen north. still, i hadn't counted on feeling so isolated. during the first six months, after it became clear that moving back east to live with my friends was not an option, i languished in a deep depression. counseling sessions had limited effect. i sought out a group of queer college students and latched on, but none offered instant friendship. most days i hid in my basement room, the deep blue curtains blocking out any stray rays of sun. i scattered sayings by mother teresa and gandhi and maya angelou about my room, trying to coach myself into a more positive worldview. i surfed the web for hours at a time, tinkering with my website, subscribing to mailing lists, searching for photos of ani difranco and clips of south park and sifl & olly. i played so much minesweeper i gave myself tendonitis - i played for two and three hours at a time - my hand would actually go numb, then tingly. i couldn't sleep. i slept all the time. i saw the sun rise. i woke up at eleven in the morning, one, two in the afternoon. i stared at the screen until i forgot to eat. i took flirty pictures on my webcam for nobody in particular. i sobbed for stretches of twenty or thirty minutes. i cataloged the minutest, most painful details of my childhood, writing myself into existence, convincing myself that i had something to be angry about. and i did. and i'm still angry. but at the time i just wanted to get past feeling overwhelmed.
i eventually started to emerge. i got a job working at a record store-cum-head shop and clung to it in desperation. my friends at work became my best friends, the people who understood me, who drank and smoked with me. i hung out at work on my days off. i nursed unrequited crushes and went on non-dates with guys about which i was totally clueless and went on dates with girls who bored me. i yammered about my college life to anyone who would listen. i was, in short, obnoxious. still, there were glimmers of something greater. i could feel them when i strolled around downtown colorado springs during my lunch break, browsing the shops, occasionally glancing up at pikes peak looming, oracular, majestic, over the town.
my favorite memories from that first year involve the times when a cousin would take pity on me and get me out of my room, get me out of my head. he had a 1986 yamaha virago, purple, and the chrome gleamed. he would lend me his helmet and we would ride high into the mountains, up red rock canyon, and cruise the straights and glide through the twists. i could see everything. i could smell the creek along the road as we passed spruce and pine and aspen. to this day my favorite smell is the hidden metallic tang of cold water in a mountain pass.
or we would hike. waldo canyon is a popular spot for hikers in the area but on some winter days we could walk nearly the length of the trail, over seven miles, without seeing anybody. we made noise to scare off bears and mountain lions. we packed hot chocolate in a thermos and secreted extra baggies of trail mix in our pockets. we layered for warmth. we hiked up the first mile, up to the rim of the canyon, through desert scrub, a mix of red clay and green and beige yucca. as we began our descent over the lip, conifers started dotting the trail, then lining it on both sides. on the grassy canyon floor we often saw evidence of deer alongside the meadow flowers. once, emerging from the pine forest that lay on the other side of the clearing, we saw a bear had been through recently - too recently for comfort. the snow drifted thick and white and froze the surface of the little creek, but we could break through with sticks or our heels. we were always out before dark. darkness in the woods could mean a million things, few of them good for the unprepared traveler. a coyote once ran off with a neighborhood cat just in front of the house. though near the city, this was not just in front of the house.
that was my first year.
i eventually started to emerge. i got a job working at a record store-cum-head shop and clung to it in desperation. my friends at work became my best friends, the people who understood me, who drank and smoked with me. i hung out at work on my days off. i nursed unrequited crushes and went on non-dates with guys about which i was totally clueless and went on dates with girls who bored me. i yammered about my college life to anyone who would listen. i was, in short, obnoxious. still, there were glimmers of something greater. i could feel them when i strolled around downtown colorado springs during my lunch break, browsing the shops, occasionally glancing up at pikes peak looming, oracular, majestic, over the town.
my favorite memories from that first year involve the times when a cousin would take pity on me and get me out of my room, get me out of my head. he had a 1986 yamaha virago, purple, and the chrome gleamed. he would lend me his helmet and we would ride high into the mountains, up red rock canyon, and cruise the straights and glide through the twists. i could see everything. i could smell the creek along the road as we passed spruce and pine and aspen. to this day my favorite smell is the hidden metallic tang of cold water in a mountain pass.
or we would hike. waldo canyon is a popular spot for hikers in the area but on some winter days we could walk nearly the length of the trail, over seven miles, without seeing anybody. we made noise to scare off bears and mountain lions. we packed hot chocolate in a thermos and secreted extra baggies of trail mix in our pockets. we layered for warmth. we hiked up the first mile, up to the rim of the canyon, through desert scrub, a mix of red clay and green and beige yucca. as we began our descent over the lip, conifers started dotting the trail, then lining it on both sides. on the grassy canyon floor we often saw evidence of deer alongside the meadow flowers. once, emerging from the pine forest that lay on the other side of the clearing, we saw a bear had been through recently - too recently for comfort. the snow drifted thick and white and froze the surface of the little creek, but we could break through with sticks or our heels. we were always out before dark. darkness in the woods could mean a million things, few of them good for the unprepared traveler. a coyote once ran off with a neighborhood cat just in front of the house. though near the city, this was not just in front of the house.
that was my first year.