The cruelest weekend

[roadrunnertwice]

The first "real" days of summer—Memorial Day weekend, a lot of the time—are always kind of uncomfortable for me. I dunno. It always feels like I "should" be out doing something archetypally summery, and the weight of that internal expectation makes it a kind of un-fun time.

Yes, it's neurotic and stupid. And it's only sillier given that I'm really not a very summery person in the first place. And that I don't handle heat very well. I'm a weak swimmer; I haven't played team sports for something like seven years; while I'm a fiend on my bike and a decent jogger, those are both activities that summer basically punishes you for. Oh yeah, and right now my two big projects are 1. find a job that'll send my income positive again without killing my soul and 2. write a book; summer actively hinders me on both of those. You know what I ought to be doing? I ought to be saying, "Ach! Summer! Fuggit!" Throwing up my hands, getting over it, moving on with my life.

And yet... something about this time of year. The things I want get all tangled up with the things I think I should want; a million slow tableaux simmer through my head, snippets of things I've only seen or felt briefly made indistinguishable from things made up completely or caught from someone else: dinner in a cramped duplex huddled against a sunset-lit hill, dusty roads pressed by truck tires, a million days on end with the same steadfast friends, outdoor city pools, skies of California, bare feet, hot pavement, stargazing, sleepwalking, grand plans, home.

It's like spring horniness, except not nearly so simple and pure. It's a desperate, grasping longing for something I've never been able to define, never touched for more than a moment, never known where to search for. It makes me feel alone and frustrated and weak and lost, like the world is receding out of my grasp at sixty miles an hour as I stumble along behind in the kicked up dirt, wailing wait! Don't leave me! Bring me with you!

The first blush of summer feels like it should be the best time of my life; would be, if I could only do it right. Everyone I know seems more alive than they've ever been, and I can't touch them, can't keep up with them. It's the time of year when I really do wonder just what in the hell is wrong with me.

Well, I'll get over it in a few days. In the meantime, this seems like as good a weekend as any to do Pepsi For The Dead, so I will see you all on the flipside of that.

Comments

[b-zedan.livejournal.com]

Gah, amen and ditto.

[omgwtfbftn.livejournal.com]

I feel it's essentially the same for everyone. While most people, especially those that are out of school, rejoice at the coming of summer, what we actually experience is always far from the ideal. Or rather, that the ideal of summer as it's culturally defined, with the bare feet and hot pavement, sunsets and swimming pools, is really just a small fraction of the experience of summer.

As an example, the barbeque is a common symbol of summer. Barbeques are nice enough, but how many times does the average American family have a barbeque? like with friends and family and potato salad? maybe two three times a year.

so, what, you're like three hamburgers, a croquet game and a case of food poisoning away from the American dream.
and you're a vegetarian. so doing pretty good.

I feel like it's a natural human tendency to idealize the things that we have for only a moment. Today in our tour map of the Forbidden City there was this really beautiful picture of one of the palaces in the snow and the author highly reccomended visiting the museum in the snow.
Now, if my winter here is in any way representative of Beijing winters, it doesn't snow in Beijing. It snowed twice here for a whopping total of perhaps one inch and they had the whole place cleaned up by 10 am. really. so why bother having a picture of the place in the snow? We're never going to be able to see it.

well, I guess because it's beautiful.
and when else are you gonna see the forbidden city in the snow, besides in this picture?
though if you did manage, you'd probably feel pretty awesome about it.

That said:
I feel the purpose of these sorts of ideals, whether culturally defined or personally defined is to help us recognize, and to appreciate these sorts of rare moments when they come along and also to encourage us to make them happen more often.

and of course, if the cultural norms don't suit you, well then ditch them, and pick your own. I honestly believe a lot of the angst you're feeling here is simply because you're listening too much to other people's ideas of what summer is and not living enough of your own.

Pick things that you like doing in the season and make those your definition of summer. sit on the front step with a cold beer in the evening, call a friend and plan a picnic in a park (picnics are like going out to eat for poor people AND the view is nicer), start a glass of sun tea brewing in the morning and drink it in the afternoon with frozen blueberries. And forget about all the things you need to do (except perhaps really important things like working and paying the rent). you are not going to read great works of fiction or learn anything unless you find it endlessly fascinating. Just give in and check out some trashy SF books from the library and read them in the park with some refreshing homemade snacks.

love ya. wish it wasn't so dirty here so I could go barefoot more!

[roadrunnertwice]

Naturally. (To all of that.) But no matter how well I know it, I can always expect to get poleaxed by the whole gnarly complex at least once at the start of summer.

Not for long, though! I'm feeling better already. And a picnic is a fabulous idea.

Also, this sparkling bit of verbiage will totally live forever:

so, what, you're like three hamburgers, a croquet game and a case of food poisoning away from the American dream.