Signs

Today was a day that started out with a bunch of signs all telling me that I should have stayed in bed. It all began with a seemingly never ending nightmare about the world ending. Everyone had to evacuate in airplanes and I got separated from everyone but my little brother who forgot his ID and was not going to be let on the plane. It was one of those dreams that you can wake up from and go back to sleep and still be stuck in. It was terrible. I left the apartment late and went to my metro station. At the bottom of the escalator, I came across a baby bird with its wing caught in the bottom step. It was cheeping desperately and could not get out. I panicked and tried to get the Metro employees to help me rescue the bird to no avail. Finally, and I still feel guilty about this, I walked away and got on the train.

Then, when I got off the train, I called my mom while walking the 15 minutes to work. She answered the phone sobbing and told me she couldn't talk. THEN, I got to work, reached into my bag to get my badge so I could open the door and my key cut my finger, which started gushing blood all over everything, including my iPod.

It was at this point that I realized I should have gone home. I should have just turned around and returned to bed. I did not. Instead, I suffered through the rest of Tuesday and while it was not a great day, luckily it didn't get any worse.

Swamp

I live in a swamp. I knew what I was getting into when I moved here, but how could I really know? I take two to three showers a day. I am not proud of this fact. I do not like to waste water and dry out my skin and hair, but the swampy air clings to me and I feel disgusting.

Yesterday, Neil and I walked to Union Station in the middle of the afternoon. It's probably ten blocks from our apartment, maybe fewer, but I thought I was going to die. The heat was relentless. In addition to nearly melting into the pavement, we had the privilege of seeing at least one drug deal, one rat, several half-naked people and smelling all the smells of the city that somehow go dormant in the freeze of winter.

In spite of the smoldering, clinging, cloying heat, on most days, I am very glad to live here. But yesterday, as I dragged myself through the air toward air conditioning, I couldn't help fixating on the foothills of the Rockies.

Bad

Things are bad. Israel is at war with Lebanon. North Korea is making nuclear weapons. Hamas and Hezbolah are joining forces. The war in Iraq continues. Crime in D.C. is on the rise -- including the murder of an old friend of Neil's. Oh, and we're emitting too much carbon and causing global warming which is killing animals, creating worse storm patterns and moving us toward total destruction.

I realize I am being pesimistic, but sometimes there does not seem to be much hope in the world.

On the other hand, things in my little life go on as usual. Dinner out with a friend. Watched You, Me and Dupree (hilarious). I just can't help feeling a little bit guilty about letting things be normal.

A Fever

"My life- as an artist, at least - can be charted as precisely as a fever: the highs and lows, the very definite cycles. I started writing when I was eight - out of the blue, uninspired by any example. I'd never known anyone who wrote; indeed, I knew few people who read. But the fact was, the only four things that interested me were: reading books, going to the movies, tap dancing and drawing pictures. Then one day I started writing, not knowing that I had chained myself for life to a noble but merciless master. When God hands you a gift, he also hands you a whip; and the whip is intended solely for self-flagellation."
- Truman Capote
(From the preface of MUSIC FOR CHAMELEONS)