Sitting in my Panera, June 24, 2007

Lunch today was a cinnamon crunch bagel with hazelnut cream cheese spread. It wasn’t particularly healthy, but I had eggs and milk for breakfast today, so I was simply making up for lost time.

The days here seem eerily long. It is because, no doubt, I’m not waking up at 1:00 in the afternoon I think. Still, it seems odd to me that those few hours in the morning can lengthen a span of time by so much more than that. Already today, I’ve started work on a short story, managed my E-mail, done my shopping, and I have yet to even eat dinner.

After stopping by Meijer, the local Walmart knockoff to look for appartment stuff, I want to Goodwill and stocked up on some fun little single-afternoon sci-fi reads (one of which is a novelization of Titan AE, which makes me exited) for two bucks. I’ll likely spend the rest of the afternoon snacking on those, and then work a little more on Grace is Where I Live. Dinner will be cereal.

I might decide to go swimming in the evening, or on a walk again. I perused the grounds of my apartment, and found them much nicer than I thought they were at first. There are birds everywhere, and many different kinds of trees. I’m going to see if I can’t find some sort of book so I can actually learn what they are–knowledge I have no excuse to not have now. My fellow tenants seem nice, although I can’t be sure because not many speak English very well. They seem pleasant though. There are tennis courts populated by Koreans, who are much better than I am in any case. The pool skips from Spanish to Scandinavian hourly. It’s fun to hear so many languages, even if it does make me uncomfortable to speak to people. I think that if I weren’t to get out of my apartment, I could go without hearing a word of English all day. I think that might be good for me, every once in a while.

The silence of my apartment startles me, sometimes. There’s no words there unless I’m putting them on the page. I normally have a habit of speaking to myself, but I haven’t had done that so much since moving in. Once I close my door, the only thing I hear is the scribbling of the pen, or perhaps the hitting of keys on my computer. The whirring of a fan and the gentle rise and fall of NPR over my clock-radio don’t count. They fade into the white noise of my mind after a time. It’s only when a particularly interesting piece of music comes on that I tune in again, and listen. I haven’t played anything but choral music on my ipod since I’ve gotten here.

It’s refreshing to be able to hear myself write. It brings a certain concreteness to the process, as if I’m actually doing something important. Well, that’s the feeling I get, even though it is (like most feelings) untrustworthy. For the most part, I want to believe my writing is just a fair bit of silliness that worms its way on to the page, which is exactly as it should be. I sometimes think I get too serious in my musings, which really isn’t how I want them to come out. I’d like to avoid playing the part of the angsting modern writer.

The comic preposterousness of this world deserves just as much attention as its gravity.


1 Comment

  1. chughes said,

    June 24, 2007 at 9:36 pm

    i love buying books at the Goodwill. Good books for cheap is my paradise.

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