I don't think of myself as much of a Death Cab for Cutie fan. I put one album on my ipod, and slowly, song after song, I've deleted most of it to make way for new music I wanted more. There's this one song though, Brothers On A Hotel Bed, that has been tenacious. It's been like a metronome on my walks to work, my ipod loves to play it, and it's one of those songs that sort of lilts along like the light rain that I so often get on those walks.
Everything was changing Friday, when that song came on, and I knew it would stay with me as one of those memory triggers that brings back a time with heart-stopping suddenness. Seattle Center was being transformed into the scene of Folklife, with all the food vendors, hemp bracelets, big dumpsters labeled "Landfill bound trash only". It was drizzly and that seemed appropriate for my last walk to what is now my Old Job. So many of my walks were in the rain, feet wet all day, hair transformed into a mess of tweaks and odd half-curls. I loved those walks, I know you know that. I'm going to miss them, like a nice friend who moves away, like Regan, or Kristin, leaving you feeling just a little less yourself.
The new job is good, though. Much better than good, in fact. There are a lot of things I don't write about here, and work has mostly been one of them. I expect it will continue to be. Suffice it to say that the new job is one I have already begun to fall in love with, in that deeply promising way, the way of something you want to stick with, sink into, give yourself over to. The only compromise is the walks, and we'll get through that. The classics on CD for the drive, maybe? Something.
I realize that the melancholy is nakedly apparent in this post, but last week, it wasn't that way. I had a happy week, little celebrations, out for drinks, some good weather, everything wrapping up fairly neatly. The sadness about leaving so much behind, the co-workers I liked so much, and the little routines, like the new coffee shop, my little walk accessories, ipod, umbrellas, gloves, the happy orange scarf Pam brought me from Istanbul, that snuck up on me. It wasn't until last night, late, that it all came out.
It was funny, really, how this one happened. A friend and I were horsing around, and when he grabbed me, I got a blow on the head. Not a big one, just a little knock. But all at once, I was crying. Just weeping in his arms, head buried in his shoulder, make-up smearing little sobs. I guess I needed that. Hey, talk to me, he said, and when I wouldn't at first, Why do you try to be so tough all the time? I can be a pretty big whimp, really, but this time he was right, so we talked a little, about that, and other sad things, and I felt better and did not go into a coma.
Sigh.
The good news is, I'm off to NYC now, swanky hotel and crazy Icelandic exhibit at MoMA first, and then, the boys. I can't wait to meet them.
But that's a whole other kind of crying. One I'm sure you'll be hearing about soon.
Everything was changing Friday, when that song came on, and I knew it would stay with me as one of those memory triggers that brings back a time with heart-stopping suddenness. Seattle Center was being transformed into the scene of Folklife, with all the food vendors, hemp bracelets, big dumpsters labeled "Landfill bound trash only". It was drizzly and that seemed appropriate for my last walk to what is now my Old Job. So many of my walks were in the rain, feet wet all day, hair transformed into a mess of tweaks and odd half-curls. I loved those walks, I know you know that. I'm going to miss them, like a nice friend who moves away, like Regan, or Kristin, leaving you feeling just a little less yourself.
The new job is good, though. Much better than good, in fact. There are a lot of things I don't write about here, and work has mostly been one of them. I expect it will continue to be. Suffice it to say that the new job is one I have already begun to fall in love with, in that deeply promising way, the way of something you want to stick with, sink into, give yourself over to. The only compromise is the walks, and we'll get through that. The classics on CD for the drive, maybe? Something.
I realize that the melancholy is nakedly apparent in this post, but last week, it wasn't that way. I had a happy week, little celebrations, out for drinks, some good weather, everything wrapping up fairly neatly. The sadness about leaving so much behind, the co-workers I liked so much, and the little routines, like the new coffee shop, my little walk accessories, ipod, umbrellas, gloves, the happy orange scarf Pam brought me from Istanbul, that snuck up on me. It wasn't until last night, late, that it all came out.
It was funny, really, how this one happened. A friend and I were horsing around, and when he grabbed me, I got a blow on the head. Not a big one, just a little knock. But all at once, I was crying. Just weeping in his arms, head buried in his shoulder, make-up smearing little sobs. I guess I needed that. Hey, talk to me, he said, and when I wouldn't at first, Why do you try to be so tough all the time? I can be a pretty big whimp, really, but this time he was right, so we talked a little, about that, and other sad things, and I felt better and did not go into a coma.
Sigh.
The good news is, I'm off to NYC now, swanky hotel and crazy Icelandic exhibit at MoMA first, and then, the boys. I can't wait to meet them.
But that's a whole other kind of crying. One I'm sure you'll be hearing about soon.
2 comments:
You removed most of "Plans" from your Pod? Please tell me you at least left "What Sarah Said" on there along with "BoaHB". I'd have to say you should really have "I'll Follow You Into the Dark" on there as well. Those are (IMHO) the three critical cuts from that album. Anyway, glad to see you partake in a little Death Cab from time to time. We all can use some Death Cab in our lives.
So...?... we're dying out here. Tell us about meeting the boys.
Post a Comment