Showing posts with label loneliness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loneliness. Show all posts
05 December 2009
Blue Grass
Man, I just heard this really great bluegrass song this weekend. It's "Wagon Wheel" by Old Crow Medicine Show (youtube). It makes me feel lonely, but in the best way possible. I suppose the mixture of a traveler's isolation and longing for home is nothing new (The Odyssey), but I guess that kind of thing gets me every time (this song is choc full of it).
23 October 2009
Sleep
He could not sleep. He was trying to lie still in his bed. But his foot was at the wrong angle, so he adjusted it. The foot adjustment had wrinkled the sheets and now he felt like the sheets were twisted about his knee so he squirmed with his whole torso to even things out. There. That was better. Now all he had to do was be still enough and then it would be light outside again and he would feel better and everything would be better again. It's as simple as that. All I have to do is close my eyes and stay still. Before I know it, it'll be tomorrow. He had heard somewhere, probably some big scientific study, that thinking about falling asleep while trying to fall asleep is a surefire way to not fall asleep. Damn.
Self-conscious of his mistake, he tried to visualize the desert. He saw the endless plain of cracked, dried ground extend to a hazy smear of a horizon in the distance. The pure pale blue of the sky above, pierced by the blinding eye of God.
He sweated in the flannel sheets. He felt the humid cloth against his back. He twisted again and the sheets sucked in a breath of cool, fresh air. He was on his side now. He wished he had something to hold onto. No, he wished he had someone to hold onto. It wasn't something he wanted to admit. But the comfort of it was undeniable. The ebb and flow of someone else's breathing as comforting and hypnotic as watching the tide come in.
When he was a child, when he was safely tucked into his bed, there was always the lingering sense of anxiety in the darkness until sleep would finally come. Some nights sleep came quickly. Other nights, he would listen for passing cars, and then watch the distant beams of light struggle through the blinds, into his room, and across the ceiling. He wondered what people would say about him if his funeral were tomorrow. He would think about the ridiculousness of monsters living under his bed, only to shudder in fear. Eventually, he would wrap himself into a tight cocoon, wedging himself against the wall. He would be safe there.
But now he was big and he didn't have to wrap himself in a cocoon of sheets and wedge himself against the wall anymore. He didn't have to listen to passing cars, and he didn't think about what they'd say of him if his funeral were tomorrow. But even though he was comfortable and safe, alone in his bed, he still felt the lingering sense of anxiety until sleep finally came.
Self-conscious of his mistake, he tried to visualize the desert. He saw the endless plain of cracked, dried ground extend to a hazy smear of a horizon in the distance. The pure pale blue of the sky above, pierced by the blinding eye of God.
He sweated in the flannel sheets. He felt the humid cloth against his back. He twisted again and the sheets sucked in a breath of cool, fresh air. He was on his side now. He wished he had something to hold onto. No, he wished he had someone to hold onto. It wasn't something he wanted to admit. But the comfort of it was undeniable. The ebb and flow of someone else's breathing as comforting and hypnotic as watching the tide come in.
When he was a child, when he was safely tucked into his bed, there was always the lingering sense of anxiety in the darkness until sleep would finally come. Some nights sleep came quickly. Other nights, he would listen for passing cars, and then watch the distant beams of light struggle through the blinds, into his room, and across the ceiling. He wondered what people would say about him if his funeral were tomorrow. He would think about the ridiculousness of monsters living under his bed, only to shudder in fear. Eventually, he would wrap himself into a tight cocoon, wedging himself against the wall. He would be safe there.
But now he was big and he didn't have to wrap himself in a cocoon of sheets and wedge himself against the wall anymore. He didn't have to listen to passing cars, and he didn't think about what they'd say of him if his funeral were tomorrow. But even though he was comfortable and safe, alone in his bed, he still felt the lingering sense of anxiety until sleep finally came.
03 June 2009
Photos: May 2009
Picture One: I was riding MUNI and BART to Berkeley last week. I thought it was a good chance to take a blurry picture. I've always wanted to take a blurry picture of a train in a tunnel. I guess I can check that off the list.
Picture Two: Lonesome is the life of a cup of noodles. Maybe someday I will write about the adventures of that particular chicken-flavored cup of noodles.
Picture Three: I live near a reservoir surrounded by "NO TRESPASSING" signs. It's gated and (usually) locked. One day I noticed the gate was open. Then I saw the beehives. What else could a boy do?
Picture Two: Lonesome is the life of a cup of noodles. Maybe someday I will write about the adventures of that particular chicken-flavored cup of noodles.
Picture Three: I live near a reservoir surrounded by "NO TRESPASSING" signs. It's gated and (usually) locked. One day I noticed the gate was open. Then I saw the beehives. What else could a boy do?
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