after working in the nightlife industry for a few years, today is what is usually considered SUNday FUNday. however, it seemed to be lacking two very vital ingredients when i woke up:
SUN/FUN
it's been pouring for days straight, and the weather was not only depressing, but it sliced the beer garden crowd/my tips in half last night. i lay in bed and watched the rain out my window for what seemed like an eternity. eventually, i made some coffee, opened my computer and began reading about the damage hurricane ike caused this weekend. i immediately felt remorse for my selfishness. nothing like a side of guilt with my morning coffee.
i hoped for something randomly uplifting as i poked aimlessly around the internet and instead sunk even lower. i get the NY Times book updates delivered to my inbox, and today it informed me that David Foster Wallace was found dead at age 46 in his california home. cause of death - suicide.
DFW is a postmodern writer who is known for his satiric, brutally honest and darkly humorous fiction novels, short stories and personal essays. i've read several of his essays out of "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again," and, ironically, very recently added his 1996 novel, "Infinite Jest" to my long list of books i must read if i ever want to really make a go of this writing thing.
my curiosity raced...how could someone so intelligent and ahead of so much and so many feel that he had no more to share? were there really no more truths to tell when he had so many here to listen? it didn't make sense. not today...not any day. i spent the next couple hours reading more about him...his work...his fans...his life. i eventually found this pulled from one of his short stories:
i hoped for something randomly uplifting as i poked aimlessly around the internet and instead sunk even lower. i get the NY Times book updates delivered to my inbox, and today it informed me that David Foster Wallace was found dead at age 46 in his california home. cause of death - suicide.
DFW is a postmodern writer who is known for his satiric, brutally honest and darkly humorous fiction novels, short stories and personal essays. i've read several of his essays out of "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again," and, ironically, very recently added his 1996 novel, "Infinite Jest" to my long list of books i must read if i ever want to really make a go of this writing thing.
my curiosity raced...how could someone so intelligent and ahead of so much and so many feel that he had no more to share? were there really no more truths to tell when he had so many here to listen? it didn't make sense. not today...not any day. i spent the next couple hours reading more about him...his work...his fans...his life. i eventually found this pulled from one of his short stories:
‘’I've just never liked it,'’ one of his characters says of poetry. ‘’It beats around bushes. Even when I like it, it’s nothing more than a really oblique way of saying the obvious.'’ To which her friend replies, "But consider how very, very few of us have the equipment to deal with the obvious."
reading this left me feeling strangely helpless. especially since all i can imagine lately is finding a life where everyone deals with the obvious and not the falsehoods we spout on a daily basis convincing each other that if life looks fantastic to those on the outside looking in, then certainly it must be.
as i put away my computer, i decided since there was zero opportunity left for sun in the day, maybe fun wasn't entirely out of the question. a few days ago, i agreed to have dinner [spanish tapas] with the guy who took me to the dj afterhours on friday night. we met my first night out in chicago, after he commented that i should take off my hat. when i asked why, he said he was curious what my hair was like underneath. i made sure to go hat-less on this particular evening.
as the night drew on, i was happy to have obliged. the food was outstanding, as was the sangria, and the conversation was never strained or uncomfortable. he was complimentary and accommodating, smart and interesting. he asked more personal questions of me in one night then had been asked in my entire last relationship. go figure.
alas, the more he inquired, the more i realized why i moved here in the first place. for the time being, i like my anonymity. i have a lot of self-exploration to do...a lot of unanswered questions. i want to learn to deal with the obvious, but i'm not quite sure what that means yet. other than i cannot begin answering questions to someone else when i was still drawing blanks to myself.
as he dropped me back home, i accepted his kiss on the cheek and thanked him for the lovely evening. as i walked toward the door to my apartment, i made peace with the obvious. i was no more ready date again as i was ready to endure another rainy, dreary chicago day. i glanced at the sky as the door slammed shut, and thankfully, noticed there were no rain clouds in sight.
i will date again soon, and i suppose it will be fun. until then, i'll just be the girl, in the hat, with the curious hair.
No comments:
Post a Comment