The Nostalgic

I'm obsessed with my new apartment.  I'm extremely pleased with the way it has turned out, and I look forward to spending the next couple years here.  Even my parents were satisfied with this flat, and they normally have opposing views towards my taste.  I'm getting a piano delivered on Saturday, and since Friday is pay-day (thank God), I'm going to buy another bookcase as well as a dresser.  Sadly, I cannot live out of these tubs and suitcases for any longer or else I'll fall apart during the semester, and I will not allow myself to do that.  Pictures to come once I get my Canon back.

My old best friend Jon recently sent me a picture he took of me a year and a half ago while we were prancing around downtown Norfolk on a lazy afternoon once we got out of class.  It's funny how a photograph can have so much meaning to it based on the content.  Thinking about Jon, what the picture entails and how that day went made my heart feel warmer and pump faster.  I remember almost every detail of that Wednesday afternoon.  I remember sitting in the passenger seat, with our good friend Justin in the back, as Jon drove out of the school parking lot and headed off to downtown through I-264, a rough and winding 40 minute drive.  We were at last and once again a trio jumping fences and dodging police officers, causing mischief in back alleys in broad daylight.  We had no possessions worth taking, except of course Jon's precious Canon and some cash.  The simplicity of remembering such details all of a sudden made me feel very lonely and very whole at the same time.  Perhaps it was the nostalgia of actually having that one best friend in high school that you could always rely on to save you, get you, and complete you, and then finally realizing that the both of you have gone your separate ways now and are no longer the pair you once were.

I clicked the link to the picture, sending me to Jon's Flickr page where I saw the image and a comment above it that read "I should be a better friend".

The Alibi

This morning I called my supervisor and told her I had food poisoning.  I'm taking the day off and heading to Richmond with the Sara(h)'s.

The Darjeeling Limited

Today was the perfect Sunday of the summer; sitting with my temporary roommates in the living room, watching Wes Anderson's the Darjeeling Limited, with the dialogue playing against the sounds of a storm conjuring up outside.  The rain plays constant beats against the surface while thunder rolls across the sky.  Still in my nightgown, I put on my gray cardigan and black boots and step outside to smoke a cigarette on the porch.  Sarah joins me and we talk about how we are both looking forward to going back to school soon.  It's only a matter of weeks now until we go back to see the same people who left Harrisonburg while we stayed behind.  I'm not exactly sure if I'm ready to see all these people again; I'm never ready to get jumbled up into the obligatory social scene.  I guess it just happens and you get caught in it by chance.

I move into Madison Terrace on Friday.  

The Bad Phone Call

I woke up in a good mood today, got dressed for work, and headed off on my bike feeling like sunshine.  I had a nice quiet lunch break, drinking coffee and sketching some designs while enjoying the sounds coming from the streets of Harrisonburg Renaissance.  I came back to my cubicle, put on my headset, and then the phone call happened.  The man I had to deal with today is probably the worst thing to ever exist when it comes to customers.  He was insulting, uncouth, uncooperative, and insanely egocentric, flipping out over something as silly as UPS 2-day shipping.  He then lost it completely when I asked him to calm down, and he stated that "he's the victim and should be reprimanded" and blah blah blah.  I'm embarrassed that I actually got nervous enough to cry as soon as he got off the phone.  I can't imagine how much his life must really suck if he's going to get all bent out of shape over something as secondary as this.  But I guess his kind must inevitably exist amongst our society, it's just a pity for those of us who actually have to deal with them.

On a more relevant note, I'm glad it is seemingly cooling down in terms of the weather lately.  I keep thinking that Fall will occur once August is over, but I'm completely wrong; Fall usually doesn't swing by until October or even November.  I just want to be able to kick my feet in the autumn leaves and bundle up in tights and corduroys again.  Walking down a street colored in earth tones and orange is one of the loveliest sensations I've felt thus far.  Ironically, Fall is the period to which I've associated more memories of the past than any other, and I always seem to grow a bit more nostalgic during those few months.  I've unintentionally designated all of my greatest romances, trials, victories, and failures to a single season; it is where I am at both my happiest and saddest moments in life.  

... But the air is just so crisp and filled with the wind that carries itself across the seasons.

The Source

As I was on the phone with Collin earlier this evening, I realized that perhaps the source of all my listlessness is my own homeless disposition. This couch that my friends have thankfully allowed me  to stay on for the weeks before I am able to move into my new apartment is just ghastly disorienting, and as I've said, I've been more sluggish than usual lately. Had I a home, I'm sure things would be different. Not being able to wake up in your own bed, your own room, and walk into your own kitchen and make your own coffee, or even open up your own closet is enough to make anyone feel out of his element. I've oddly grown accustomed to living out of suitcases. 

Musically, however, I've been writing a lot more lately...

Film Noir

Alright, so maybe I've been getting out of hand on this film noir stuff, but this is why I repress my interests in movies -- because I can obsess over them so easily that I hardly get anything done.  I've rekindled my fascination for the film noir (black cinema, or "detective" movies), an interest I've neglected since my high school days (because it was generally thought of as uncool) and now I think I want to become a serious femme fatale.  I just can't get enough of the figure-flattering dresses, the hair, and the damn lipstick!  Perhaps reading this blog will make everything I live for make sense.  I just love that era of post-depression and disillusionment colored with the 1940's feel of letting loose of all the repression that has built up inside as bitter angst and tension.  I'm crazy about it.

I think it's also to do with my exaggerated-obsession with that sense of style.  The whole aged and antiquated look is absolutely beautiful.  Everything is so lush and romantic.  I can't help but be a cheeseball over this stuff.

Speaking of which (romance and film), I cannot wait to see the Edge of Love featuring Matthew Rhys, Sienna Miller, Keira Knightley, and *drumroll* Cillian Murphy -- he is absolutely brilliant to say the least.  Albeit it looks like Atonement, I believe it looks like a masterpiece in its own right.  Additionally, I like how it is semi-autobiographical.  And look, it even features my favorite cable knit cardigans, tights, and floral prints! 

Lethargy

This whole 8-hour work day thing has really started to take its toll on me.  I find that the more I work the more my life just gets completely uninteresting.  I wake up every morning, read or practice for a bit, go to work at 11, come home by 8:30, and by fault of my lack of immunity towards exhaustion, I stay in for the rest of the night to get the rest that I've been lacking lately.  Is this what "getting older" is like?  

I don't want my life to be uninteresting.  I want it to be filled with adventure, spontaneity, troubles and scandals.  These things give me something to think about.  What good is merely existing?  

I will say that I have noticed how easily tired I've grown recently.  Maybe it's the heat, but an 8-hour work day (5 days a week!) coupled with the endless amount of errands I have to do can knock the wind out of me.  My lethargy is embarrassing to myself as I find myself living more and more like my own work-obsessive parents -- constantly tired and milking that last minute of sleep for what it's worth.  Odd how I can look back and remember exactly how much livelier being a teenager and in high school was since it was not at all too long ago.  I almost wish I had that same near-childish naïveté that kept me wired during those x-teen years.

I really hope it's the heat.  It's one of the only explanations that couldn't have me yearning for Fall even more.  But even following that is always a cold, lovely Winter with just as much lethargy as the Summer, only bundled up in knits and blankets and infinite cups of coffee.