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Maybe One Day She'll Be Her Own
Jun. 27th, 2004 12:28 amI woke the first time to the sound of a handsaw. Not loud but persistent. Eight o'clock on a weekend morning. Even on a weekday it would be before my alarm went off. I shut the window and went back to sleep, missing the really noisy things.
The second time I awoke to the sound of my niece having a tantrum. Two in the afternoon. Past time to get up. By the time I'm up, clean, and dressed, everyone is gone. I've missed my chance to see my niece and nephew for this week. Even if they do return, without a nap Amelia is likely to have another tantrum. And if they don't, there are too many distractions here anyway.
To the library for a couple hours, where nothing matters but words on a page. When I leave, the sky is overcast and stormy, lightning streaking nearby. At the bar, I find out there's a tornado warning. One more bizarre thing added to this week's tally.
The library was for concentration, the bar is for peace. It's not the drinking that's important. It's being out. It's seeing a friend or two. It's the way time doesn't matter for a while. It's being present in the moment. And after I leave, no one smells smoke on me and asks where I've been.
When I get home, my thoughts run riot. A vague dissatisfaction, born of insufficiently sated wants, lurks in the background. But it is because I did go out and spend a couple hours in a comfortable, well-ventilated place that I do not rage tonight. The urge to scream and throw things stays quiet. Instead, I laugh.
The second time I awoke to the sound of my niece having a tantrum. Two in the afternoon. Past time to get up. By the time I'm up, clean, and dressed, everyone is gone. I've missed my chance to see my niece and nephew for this week. Even if they do return, without a nap Amelia is likely to have another tantrum. And if they don't, there are too many distractions here anyway.
To the library for a couple hours, where nothing matters but words on a page. When I leave, the sky is overcast and stormy, lightning streaking nearby. At the bar, I find out there's a tornado warning. One more bizarre thing added to this week's tally.
The library was for concentration, the bar is for peace. It's not the drinking that's important. It's being out. It's seeing a friend or two. It's the way time doesn't matter for a while. It's being present in the moment. And after I leave, no one smells smoke on me and asks where I've been.
When I get home, my thoughts run riot. A vague dissatisfaction, born of insufficiently sated wants, lurks in the background. But it is because I did go out and spend a couple hours in a comfortable, well-ventilated place that I do not rage tonight. The urge to scream and throw things stays quiet. Instead, I laugh.
