My candle burns at both ends
Forgive all neurotic ramblings today. I am out on my own for only the second time and I feel like a kid with ADD, who just ate poprocks AND Jolt soda. I can't quite keep my heart and mind still. I AM OUT IN NEW YORK!
Yesterday, Graham and I decided that we would try doing things seperately. We've done pretty good for a pair of people who have spent every single moment together for 6 days. When terms like "I don't have A DESPERATE NEED for chairs LIKE YOU" started flying, we knew it was time to take a breather.
At first I was elated. Then I realized I was going to have to leave the apartment. So far I had just been like a bobbing baloon teathered to Graham's belt through the subway rides. Now it was up to me. I took a deep breath and all my things and stepped off into the abyss.
Once out, I got all gittery. I suddenly felt like a stray animal--skittish and convinced everyone was staring at me. I decided to try something easy, so I went to Union Square, a mere 25 minute subway ride. I knew the Strand Bookstore was there and I was dying for a new book. Plus, when I am in a new town, I try to immediately locate a bookstore as a sort of refuge in case of emergencies. Emergencies being absolute boredome or aimlessness, freak out at being in a new strange place, or having a sense of alienation. If I can't find a new book, I can always visit my favorite books. Like old friends, they console me with their familiarity and the love I have for them. I know, I am a nerd.
After the victory of finding a new book--Rick Moody's first novel, The Garden State--I decided to go sit in the park. I'd been dying to sit under those trees. I LOVE the trees in New York. I love how tall they are and how they've been around for awhile. They are the only living things in New York which seem to lack the mad rush or desperation that public places produce. They are elegant and quiet.
I walked passed all the drunks and book readers that sat on the benches and made my way to the monument in the center of the park and sat down to read and write awhile. As I wrote in my journal, more people came and sat at the monument. Two young women discussed publishing. I watched a pigeon puff up and strut his stuff for a female that looked like she was busy saying, "Uh, I can't now--I think my mama's calling me!" before nervously getting the hell away from him. Finally, I was too hot, so I decided it was time to go do something else. I wasn't sure yet, but I wanted to look like I had things to do. So I got up and no sooner did I step down from the monument that my ankle gave out and I went completely FACE DOWN in front of ALL OF UNION SQUARE! The two girls paused and without really regarding me or lifting their voices, said, "You okay?" I dusted myself off and said, "Yeah." I really wanted to cry. Not out of pain, but out of pure high pitched anxiousness. I was a nervous wreck and then I did a face plant. I wanted to yell out: I AM TRYING! But I am a big girl, so I went and got a Mr. Softy ice cream and dried my tears.
Today, it took even more strength to go out, but here I am. This time, a little further out. I just bought a guide to New York that is based on artist's and writer's and architect's favorite places. I am going to find the house of the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. This is one of the reasons I wanted to move to New York. I want to feel a part of its artistic energy. I want to walk down the street where she wrote:
my candle burns at both ends;
it cannot last the night;
but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
it gives a lovely light!
Me too, Vincent, me too!
Yesterday, Graham and I decided that we would try doing things seperately. We've done pretty good for a pair of people who have spent every single moment together for 6 days. When terms like "I don't have A DESPERATE NEED for chairs LIKE YOU" started flying, we knew it was time to take a breather.
At first I was elated. Then I realized I was going to have to leave the apartment. So far I had just been like a bobbing baloon teathered to Graham's belt through the subway rides. Now it was up to me. I took a deep breath and all my things and stepped off into the abyss.
Once out, I got all gittery. I suddenly felt like a stray animal--skittish and convinced everyone was staring at me. I decided to try something easy, so I went to Union Square, a mere 25 minute subway ride. I knew the Strand Bookstore was there and I was dying for a new book. Plus, when I am in a new town, I try to immediately locate a bookstore as a sort of refuge in case of emergencies. Emergencies being absolute boredome or aimlessness, freak out at being in a new strange place, or having a sense of alienation. If I can't find a new book, I can always visit my favorite books. Like old friends, they console me with their familiarity and the love I have for them. I know, I am a nerd.
After the victory of finding a new book--Rick Moody's first novel, The Garden State--I decided to go sit in the park. I'd been dying to sit under those trees. I LOVE the trees in New York. I love how tall they are and how they've been around for awhile. They are the only living things in New York which seem to lack the mad rush or desperation that public places produce. They are elegant and quiet.
I walked passed all the drunks and book readers that sat on the benches and made my way to the monument in the center of the park and sat down to read and write awhile. As I wrote in my journal, more people came and sat at the monument. Two young women discussed publishing. I watched a pigeon puff up and strut his stuff for a female that looked like she was busy saying, "Uh, I can't now--I think my mama's calling me!" before nervously getting the hell away from him. Finally, I was too hot, so I decided it was time to go do something else. I wasn't sure yet, but I wanted to look like I had things to do. So I got up and no sooner did I step down from the monument that my ankle gave out and I went completely FACE DOWN in front of ALL OF UNION SQUARE! The two girls paused and without really regarding me or lifting their voices, said, "You okay?" I dusted myself off and said, "Yeah." I really wanted to cry. Not out of pain, but out of pure high pitched anxiousness. I was a nervous wreck and then I did a face plant. I wanted to yell out: I AM TRYING! But I am a big girl, so I went and got a Mr. Softy ice cream and dried my tears.
Today, it took even more strength to go out, but here I am. This time, a little further out. I just bought a guide to New York that is based on artist's and writer's and architect's favorite places. I am going to find the house of the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. This is one of the reasons I wanted to move to New York. I want to feel a part of its artistic energy. I want to walk down the street where she wrote:
my candle burns at both ends;
it cannot last the night;
but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
it gives a lovely light!
Me too, Vincent, me too!
posted by Summer Pierre at
3:59 AM
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