Just now I was driving back to the office after lunch. I was living in my head, like I always do, listening to jazz on the radio and thinking about what other cars were doing so I didn't hit anything. A black pickup truck turned onto St. Michael's just before me, pulling into the left lane, while I pulled into the right. I saw cars stopped at a red light in front of me; rather than pulling up to them quickly, I kept the speed with which I'd turned so that I wouldn't have to come to a stop before the light changed. Then the black pickup switched lanes and pulled in front of me. I cursed him a little for blocking my acceleration room, ascribing a petty motive to the driver: maybe he did it because it felt like he was going faster, like passing someone on the highway. Just as I was registering his move, though, he disappeared, taking a right-hand exit to get onto St. Francis.
The cars started moving then, and I had successfully kept my speed, just driving now along the road back to work, no new thoughts. Then suddenly, it was as though the lens of my eyes expanded, and I saw the view around me. I looked at the horizon and saw that it was bordered by gorgeous blue mountains, forever in the distance. I leaned over so I could see more of the sky and saw that it was gigantic, an uninterrupted blue landscape all around me. I saw that the view around my car was long and low and had no buildings in it, almost like civilization hasn't quite taken hold here quite yet, even now after ten thousand years of city dwellers throwing up buildings and monuments and other manmade forms that chip away at the landscape. For just a few minutes, I felt once again the thrill of being in New Mexico, a land where it's possible to connect to life beyond modern confines and the day-to-day world of sleeping and eating, bills, national entertainment culture, presidential election year news, renting a cheaply designed house in a dull suburb of a dull city. For just a few minutes, I felt spiritual and imaginitive, the wonder of life, the possibilities of a free mind.
I've been trying to recapture that feeling for the last few years. I haven't had it much; New Mexico first gave it to me when I visited here during two spring vacations from Annapolis. Since then, more often than not, my mind has fallen into avoidance: I avoid remembering that I'm at work for the eight hours that I'm there, and then I avoid doing anything difficult (writing, studying an academic subject, reading German) until I go to sleep. This minor epiphany on St. Michael's, and a few other glimmers of light in the past months, have given me hope that my frozen mind might thaw soon.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
It was four degrees outside this morning, colder than the walk-in freezer I remember from working at Main Street Ice Cream in Annapolis in 2002. Nevertheless, there was no moisture on the streets to freeze, despite a reported possibility of snow overnight. I think I'm going to start praying to Bob Dylan to give me snow days. He failed to give me one today, although it was less important than it might be because the office is even more quiet than normal today.
Last night they hosted a Legislative Reception, which they do every year during the single, puny New Mexico legislative session. The length of the legislative session rotates every year between thirty and sixty days. The rest of the year, the legislature meets only if called to a special session by the Governor. I can't imagine how the state government hopes to keep up with changes or impact New Mexico with sessions the length of an aphid's lifespan, but anyway, that's how they do it here.
Everybody in the office was shouting about how much stress they were under organizing everything, reserving hotel rooms, ordering food, training members in lobbying, and coordinating meetings of various organization committees, since all the board members would be in town. We invite all the members of the legislature, as well as the governor and his cabinet, the lieutenant governor, all the public education commissioners, and New Mexico's congressional representatives. I think only legislators and commissioners showed up. Everybody stood chatting in what we call the training room, eating finger food and watching the all-female mariachi band who I first saw in Tomasita's. It was about the same as a St. John's party, except without the altered states, hook-ups, aggressive dance music, indoor smoking, shouting, decorations, and senior residents watching over everything. Oh, also, the lights were brighter.
People kept telling me that I was welcome to come to the reception, as all the staff was invited as well; "You should come tonight, and bring you wife!" No one took the further step of telling me why I should go, but after I picked up Anne from school (where she was working), we stopped in and ate some barbecue sandwiches, chicken kabobs, and cookies. Everybody stood in a semicircle and slowly stopped chatting for first song by the mariachi band, who were all dressed in the same blue dress, with little guitars or violins and shifting singing duties. Then Anne and I left, without even seeing Bill Richardson, as I'd been half hoping.
We went home, and were soon joined by Adam Wilson, who I guess decided to drop by to visit Steven. Scott made pancakes, and then Adam and Steven bought a case of Tecate and made cheese hot dogs covered in bacon. I've quit smoking again, so I didn't join Adam on the porch in the solidifying cold. Adam's been coming over often since Steven moved in, and staying long after Anne and I go to bed. Having Steven live with us is, in general, like living in a part-time college dorm. We never know when we're going to be woken in the early morning by what could be either fearful shrieking or an Allanis Morrissette video on youtube, and sometimes the table is covered with empty beer cans in the morning. I hope that when Steven starts his job at Whole Foods next week, we move back to a quieter existence.
I still feel like a hostage to the seeming necessity of holding a full-time job. Maybe if Bob Dylan proves capable of providing me with snow days every so often, I can set up a sort of religious calendar around him so that I feel less monotony. May 24 would become the new Christmas, but beyond that I don't know what else to put on the calendar.
Today in the office, at least, the monotony is tempered by the feeling of relief from last night. In fact, only five people are here today, and if I were more rigorous about keeping up with my work, I'd legitimately have nothing to do. As it is, there are a few phone calls to make, and a few databases to update. I should also probably clean my desk. I'd just rather be home.
Last night they hosted a Legislative Reception, which they do every year during the single, puny New Mexico legislative session. The length of the legislative session rotates every year between thirty and sixty days. The rest of the year, the legislature meets only if called to a special session by the Governor. I can't imagine how the state government hopes to keep up with changes or impact New Mexico with sessions the length of an aphid's lifespan, but anyway, that's how they do it here.
Everybody in the office was shouting about how much stress they were under organizing everything, reserving hotel rooms, ordering food, training members in lobbying, and coordinating meetings of various organization committees, since all the board members would be in town. We invite all the members of the legislature, as well as the governor and his cabinet, the lieutenant governor, all the public education commissioners, and New Mexico's congressional representatives. I think only legislators and commissioners showed up. Everybody stood chatting in what we call the training room, eating finger food and watching the all-female mariachi band who I first saw in Tomasita's. It was about the same as a St. John's party, except without the altered states, hook-ups, aggressive dance music, indoor smoking, shouting, decorations, and senior residents watching over everything. Oh, also, the lights were brighter.
People kept telling me that I was welcome to come to the reception, as all the staff was invited as well; "You should come tonight, and bring you wife!" No one took the further step of telling me why I should go, but after I picked up Anne from school (where she was working), we stopped in and ate some barbecue sandwiches, chicken kabobs, and cookies. Everybody stood in a semicircle and slowly stopped chatting for first song by the mariachi band, who were all dressed in the same blue dress, with little guitars or violins and shifting singing duties. Then Anne and I left, without even seeing Bill Richardson, as I'd been half hoping.
We went home, and were soon joined by Adam Wilson, who I guess decided to drop by to visit Steven. Scott made pancakes, and then Adam and Steven bought a case of Tecate and made cheese hot dogs covered in bacon. I've quit smoking again, so I didn't join Adam on the porch in the solidifying cold. Adam's been coming over often since Steven moved in, and staying long after Anne and I go to bed. Having Steven live with us is, in general, like living in a part-time college dorm. We never know when we're going to be woken in the early morning by what could be either fearful shrieking or an Allanis Morrissette video on youtube, and sometimes the table is covered with empty beer cans in the morning. I hope that when Steven starts his job at Whole Foods next week, we move back to a quieter existence.
I still feel like a hostage to the seeming necessity of holding a full-time job. Maybe if Bob Dylan proves capable of providing me with snow days every so often, I can set up a sort of religious calendar around him so that I feel less monotony. May 24 would become the new Christmas, but beyond that I don't know what else to put on the calendar.
Today in the office, at least, the monotony is tempered by the feeling of relief from last night. In fact, only five people are here today, and if I were more rigorous about keeping up with my work, I'd legitimately have nothing to do. As it is, there are a few phone calls to make, and a few databases to update. I should also probably clean my desk. I'd just rather be home.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
I don't know if I have nothing to say or I'm just lazy. I haven't been writing much of anything in the last months, not even emails. When I came back to work after the Christmas break, I felt demoralized with having to go in to work every day. Every day, even on weekends, I feel the same sense of waiting for the end of the day to come that I get when I'm at work. At work, I look forward to coming home; once I get home, I'm not looking forward to anything, but I'm still waiting for the end.
Today I've been reading online for hours, first blogs (reading each one on the list at Altercation in alphabetical order), then the New York Times. I haven't been reading newspapers much, although I read through them every day while on vacation. There were a couple of years when I read newspapers more than anything else, didn't feel right unless I had read the entire A section because what if I missed something? Now it doesn't seem like I'm missing something vital if I don't read a newspaper, but it still feels stimulating (witness this blog post).
While reading the internet, I also downloaded twenty albums by Miles Davis. I've planned to listen to all of his major albums since 2001, when John Polewach introduced me to a lot of his music as I learned somewhat to play jazz drums (I'd listened to him before that, but only a couple of albums). I played Cookin' last night after getting into bed, after not listening to jazz for about half a year. As with many other things, I wonder how long my interest will last, and whether or not I will ever find an abiding interest.
Today I've been reading online for hours, first blogs (reading each one on the list at Altercation in alphabetical order), then the New York Times. I haven't been reading newspapers much, although I read through them every day while on vacation. There were a couple of years when I read newspapers more than anything else, didn't feel right unless I had read the entire A section because what if I missed something? Now it doesn't seem like I'm missing something vital if I don't read a newspaper, but it still feels stimulating (witness this blog post).
While reading the internet, I also downloaded twenty albums by Miles Davis. I've planned to listen to all of his major albums since 2001, when John Polewach introduced me to a lot of his music as I learned somewhat to play jazz drums (I'd listened to him before that, but only a couple of albums). I played Cookin' last night after getting into bed, after not listening to jazz for about half a year. As with many other things, I wonder how long my interest will last, and whether or not I will ever find an abiding interest.