Last Days of Summer
I slept really well last night. I placed myself in bed at about 2:40 AM after pacing about in a spontaneous frenzy when a friend drew up questions on life and living. I won't get to into it but she spoke about feeling unsatisfied. I can relate. I was surprised I was able to drift into sleep the way I did, usually when such thoughts climb into my brain its nothing less of a war to ignore them and find a quiet corner to escape into unconsciousness. Nevertheless, at about 3:32 AM I awoke as if in the blink of an eye, amazed I had slipped away. Interestingly enough, my phone was off, it was the first time in weeks, perhaps months, that I had shut down my phone before going to bed.
The morning was dark--my room, a cool, distant gray and the temptation to pull the sheets over my head, and return to the cuddle of sleep was only dismissed by the currents of energy that begged for movement. I was too awake to be tired but the day was perfect for a tired body. I could feel a breeze through the blinds, I should've made breakfast because I certainly had the time for it but instead a rested on the living room sofa, by the window. I made sure to not forget Miller's Mating Mind, I had some catching up to do. I could hear a 2 or 5 train in the far off distance reminding me to walk to Third Ave. so as to not be mocked by the 5 trains, who have returned to their express rush hour service and therefore no longer stop at my station in the morning or afternoon.
This change of train service, though expected, further reminds me that the summer is indeed closing. Somehow, the end of August made me sad. I'm not sure why. I suppose it might be due to September being a pretty good indication of the end of summer but my summer wasn't that amazing. Don't get me wrong, my summer wasn't lame or as awful as it could've been but in no way was it a grand old party, a memorable milestone that landmarks a prime era of life. It was alright and mostly hot and difficult, I want Fall to walk into the year, its something I look forward to in fact, which is why I'm not sure why the end of August made me somewhat melancholy. I've had better summers, but all the same I'll miss this one. I feel the year drawing into a serious air; a darker, heavier tone and an absolute demand of me from it.
If anything, what this summer supplied for me were a series of carefree days, days in which I wasn't responsible for anything creatively, I just walked and listened, observed and responded very minimally, perhaps a nod or a soft smile--definitely no albums, no paintings, no drawing journals or volume of instrumentals. I did write, I've re-opened that door; with words I am re-learning what language is to me and how to use it for the new things I've been storing inside myself.