Winter grasps for my heart when I skid along frozen sidewalks and see forlorn people who sit in domed archways. Yesterday was difficult in that way, and I was almost sure that winter was going to take my heart immediately. A sinking feeling pervaded my chest, and when I was home, it took all my will for me not to lay down and stare at the wall. However hard it is, applying this will power inevitably makes things better. I forced myself to get up all day long, when all I wanted to do was sit. I didn’t necessarily do too much that was productive, but long walks and a spontaneous volunteer shift at Pineapple, kept me busy while the blues passed over me, and crippling loneliness clouded my eyes. It was a bothersome, empty feeling day off, and I imagine that as this city grows colder, people will instinctively stick to themselves more and more. It will be up to me to apply my will, and keep busy, so today I did exactly that and feel great. I had to spend a little money but over all it wasn’t much, and the joy I exchanged for it was great.
I volunteered again at Pineapple, and worked there for a short shift, when that was over I went for a long round about walk that brought me to the library, my place of work to pick up my check, to several bars, to Pizza Luce and returned me home twice. I went to a lot of different places, a whirlwind version of solo barhopping, looking for a familiar face among the crowds. When no familiar faces showed up, I didn’t take it hard and meandered over to Blackwater, local piano bar. Blackwater is spendy, but I don’t mind paying for one glass of whiskey, especially when I nurse it for forty-five minuets while listening to live jazz. Watered down for sure (the music not the whiskey) but still well worth the extra dollar or two I spent on my drink, especially when it is the one drink of the night.
There are always these beautiful women at Blackwater, and I wonder where they go when they aren’t there. They are beautiful but somehow not attractive, they seem to travel in exclusive clicks, speak in high pitched tones, and order drinks that foam and bubble like chemistry sets. They would be horribly obnoxious if encountered at close range, but from a distance, they stop being people, and I can view them on a different level, like wild birds. They must migrate home to the hills in daddy’s BMW. The waitresses are even more beautiful, if somehow plastic looking, and equally unattractive, I call one over and ask her what nights have live music and from when to when they play. Maybe I can lure someone out with me, to sit and contemplatively swallow the atmosphere, of a place both tacky and elegant, coastal and midwestern, past and present.
When I step back out into the streets, and snow blows up in wild circular patterns, my endorphins follow suit. They may be solitary, but maybe they aren’t lonely at all.
