notes from the overnight... somewhere between burts bees hand salve and red bull energy drink
The snowstorm is feeling like hibernation and also explosion. My shift partner says that release of serotonin will make you more sedate and dream ready. I did not run any marathons today. I did not leave my bed today. Too anxious to sleep off the overnight, too tired to not watch 7 sequential episodes of 30 Rock. Too tired to contemplate theories of community resiliency, not too tired to get anxious about not contemplating theories of community resiliency or
Love.
Life.
Dinner.
Hibernation.
Explosion.
I did leave once, for sushi and a coffee, which I brought home and then ate. In bed. I was practicing keeping cover and suffocating in a deep snow cove. But at least I was not thinking about dinner anymore.
Maybe if you went out earlier today, it would have seemed as if the city and all your friends and the kitchen sink had all been buried underground. But then later tonight all the regular neighbours were out and around, celebrating and pounding on the surface again. And so much for the kitchen sink.
The snowstorm is making me feel like a visitor in my own city. Sometimes when I am a visitor in another city, I sit in coffee shops and make word diagrams on the blank backs of other notes of intention. Maybe, I think, this is something lots of people do in not their cities. Even deciding to walk a different route from work to home one day will send synapses firing in and out of your brain. Imagine the dance party of molecular madness that might erupt in your head should you find yourself in a coffee shop in a city you don’t even know. Metaphorically.
So when I got on the streetcar today, the driver said the ride was free, and there was a white knitted cap covering the fare box, just in case. This made people on the streetcar pretty happy, for the most part. This made people on the streetcar remember that they would not be judged for feeling all right, for the most part. At Dovercourt, the driver picked up a commuting troupe of drummers who came on and up stairs tapping out heartbeats over stretched skins. Once it was flutters and soon it was rhythm and soon after I imagined what it might be like to live in spheres of energy as frame of reference, rather than the solidness of tree bark. Or avocados. Or flaark bookshelves from IKEA. Then I just felt like I was stoned.
I’ve never worked an overnight over a daylight savings switch. I am all airs because my 10 hour shift will pass as 9 hours. I am all heavy boots because if I were working tomorrow morning, I would come late. I would come late even if I knew that time had changed. I would sleep and act surprised when I got in. I would chuckle and say oh yeah, because there is only one time in a whole wide year that you can do this and have it work out for you and that is tomorrow morning. Even by afternoon your ignorance is dubious. So tomorrow morning I suspect my shift reliever will be on some similar page. She will likely not turn on her cell phone tomorrow morning. She will likely forget to check her messages. It is all likely.
Love.
Life.
Dinner.
Hibernation.
Explosion.
I did leave once, for sushi and a coffee, which I brought home and then ate. In bed. I was practicing keeping cover and suffocating in a deep snow cove. But at least I was not thinking about dinner anymore.
Maybe if you went out earlier today, it would have seemed as if the city and all your friends and the kitchen sink had all been buried underground. But then later tonight all the regular neighbours were out and around, celebrating and pounding on the surface again. And so much for the kitchen sink.
The snowstorm is making me feel like a visitor in my own city. Sometimes when I am a visitor in another city, I sit in coffee shops and make word diagrams on the blank backs of other notes of intention. Maybe, I think, this is something lots of people do in not their cities. Even deciding to walk a different route from work to home one day will send synapses firing in and out of your brain. Imagine the dance party of molecular madness that might erupt in your head should you find yourself in a coffee shop in a city you don’t even know. Metaphorically.
So when I got on the streetcar today, the driver said the ride was free, and there was a white knitted cap covering the fare box, just in case. This made people on the streetcar pretty happy, for the most part. This made people on the streetcar remember that they would not be judged for feeling all right, for the most part. At Dovercourt, the driver picked up a commuting troupe of drummers who came on and up stairs tapping out heartbeats over stretched skins. Once it was flutters and soon it was rhythm and soon after I imagined what it might be like to live in spheres of energy as frame of reference, rather than the solidness of tree bark. Or avocados. Or flaark bookshelves from IKEA. Then I just felt like I was stoned.
I’ve never worked an overnight over a daylight savings switch. I am all airs because my 10 hour shift will pass as 9 hours. I am all heavy boots because if I were working tomorrow morning, I would come late. I would come late even if I knew that time had changed. I would sleep and act surprised when I got in. I would chuckle and say oh yeah, because there is only one time in a whole wide year that you can do this and have it work out for you and that is tomorrow morning. Even by afternoon your ignorance is dubious. So tomorrow morning I suspect my shift reliever will be on some similar page. She will likely not turn on her cell phone tomorrow morning. She will likely forget to check her messages. It is all likely.