February 10th, 2009 - 2:17 pm
» day in the life
I walk out of my building into no February I would’ve dreamed. It’s drizzling, wet, smelling of spring, all muck and smudges of old snow and muddled grass waiting to grow again. I pull in a chestful of warm air, thinking of last night, of grey clouds racing over a big moon, faint fog lying low in the fields, Halloween out of season. The sun comes earlier and earlier now; I noticed the change a few weeks ago on one of these clockwork mornings, one of these 7:43 departures. I’m happy, loving this month, this reprieve from an otherwise bitterly cold winter.
I’m first in the office, unlocking the door, flicking on lights. I go through my morning computer dance so the programs all open in the task bar in the right order; I wish again that I could rearrange them, drag them around like my Firefox tabs. I field some calls, read my favorite blogs, copy a few cds for my grandma. Mid-morning I sift my favorite butterscotch candy out of the big mixed bag in the back.
Last week I switched out one of the photos on my desk; the new one is Everett and me at our first show, mud past his knees, his ears up as he eyes the billboard just out of shot. I dream of summer. I think of his soft eye, his big nose, wonder if he’s sleeping in the hay pile.
The market slides ever downward. We’re in a bit of a quiet cycle here; everyone is a little grim. It’s been a long time since we’ve had celebratory beers at lunch. “There’s been nowhere to hide,” we keep saying to each other, over and over. “Everything’s gotten crushed.” Mostly I try not to think about it. It will go up or it won’t, every day.
We have lunch at the really good Indian place. They’ve redecorated since we were there last, and it’s nice: deep burgundy walls and tablecloths, big gold and wine canvases on the walls. We’re the first to arrive but when we leave there are a scattering of other people. I hope, not for the first time, that they can hang on.
We take the long way home, snaking west and finally around the lake. I check out every house we pass, loving best the little ones with stonework fronts, those nestled in trees, the well-kept cottages. I try to imagine the insides of the really big ones, those with port-cocheres, tennis courts, little walking bridges over meandering streams. What do people do with all that space? How do they keep from rattling around?
The minutes tick by. I file, I daydream, I read blogs, forums, facebooks. I think of the internet like plain popcorn; it keeps you busy and you can eat it almost indefinitely but after a while you realize it’s lost all luster. I watch the clock. Soon enough it will turn up 4:30, and I’ll be on my way to see my ponyface. I’ll groom and fuss and groom and ride, come home for dinner, tv, a book, my bed. Tomorrow to do it all over again.
Sarah said: February 12th, 2009 at 3:44 pm
I’ve been lusting after houses lately too. Is it the age, I wonder, the uncertainty of the late 20s that makes us hunger for the big, solid comfort of a home? My apartment is fine, don’t get me wrong. It’s just . . . not mine. I can’t switch out fixtures or hardware; I can’t garden in the backyard (and not just because there isn’t one). These days I long more than anything to just be settled somewhere.
Also? You should write more often. I mean, you write quite often already. But more, please. :)
rachel! said: February 12th, 2009 at 3:59 pm
I know! I’ve been really lax the last six months or so about writing at all. Part of my problem is when I have one unfinished post, if I write another that almost guarantees I’ll never finish the first one. I really did want to post the music recap for my own future reference, and there was absolutely no reason for me not to put it up — it was almost entirely finished! — but I just kept not doing it. Anyhow, now I’m all caught up, and free to blather about whatever.
This house-lust is terrible, isn’t it?! I go on the MLS website at least once a week, sometimes more often, to look for houses in my meager price range. I keep using the same mortgage calculators, wanting them to give me a different result. I know there are deals to be had out there with the economy so depressed, but I just can’t afford it. And who knows how much worse the economy will get before it gets better… There are the cutest houses everywhere, though! Don’t you wish you could paint? I so want to paint.
Sarah said: February 12th, 2009 at 4:46 pm
I know what you mean about the half-finished posts. I have little snippets in my inbox and scattered throughout my journal. It’s frustrating, but I don’t know how to stop the behavior other than to . . . well, stop. But it’s tough! And I write so infrequently now. I’d make a resolution to write more often, but I do that every year and never get anywhere.
The house-lust is awful! Almost as bad as book-lust, only there’s no real outlet for it. I can splurge on books, I can’t splurge on houses (yet how fun if I could!). And oh, paint. Yes, I’d love to paint. One day we’ll have houses! I doubt I could afford one now either, seeing as how I’m making almost $3.00 less per hour at my new job. At least I have a job, though. I remind myself of that fact at least once a day. And this one is less stressful, and there is more cake (no, really — they have parties all the time!). I’m about to sign another 7-month lease on my apartment, actually, which makes me both sad and happy. Happy because I can afford one, but sad because a) they don’t do month-to-month leasing anymore and b) it’s another 7 months here and c) I want to move a whole lot. The first 7 months passed very quickly, though. And it gives me time to plan and not rush into something.