Underthecurrent


March 27, 2010, 9:29 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

streaming: beach house

We found the chair outside the back door. It’s sort of ugly and very heavy, ciggarette burn on one arm, maybe thirty or forty years old by now. I don’t know how I will get it out of the apartment alone. As it unthawed I was concerned it would smell bad and monitored accordingly. The thing is, it reclines. Sort of a first phase junior recline, footrest out, still more or less sitting, as implied by the all wood side lever. But with more time I have discovered a new level. It kicks back like a comfortable dentist’s chair, and in fact you can move comfortably horizontal by just stretching out. It is the finest furniture I have ever owned, including my pillow top queen size, and now the chair and I spend glorious hours together, you know, just hanging out. I’m going to rearrange my living room furniture around it today, allowing for maximum contact in activities. We only have five more months together.

Lately I’m craving vices, just for the distraction and chemicals. Even the natural lust related ones. I miss drunk ciggarettes and making out. I even miss being vaguely stoned and cleaning my house or eating some monster of a burger. I’m a lot more productive in my normal, non chemically enhanced life when I spend my weekends rearranging the synapses, I think.

The shift. One of the things I’ve noticed, when I’m away, is I don’t think about what I’ll do when I get back. There’s no list of foods to eat, comforts missed, or the frustrations that will end on return to wherever home is. When we worked at summer camp we fantasized about getting outside comforts. Better food, nicer showers, television or other media, privacy. I don’t really know where that list has gone and why it doesn’t matter anymore and why my standards of comfort can be so easily lowered and varied. At some point, I feel like I just let go of something, and it’s never come back.

I remember when I first really left, I would find things to replicate what I missed at home. I made cabbage rolls for my roommates and found jars of maple syrup for my own North American style pancake mix because no restaurant could get breakfast the way I wanted. I found a place that would give me coffee to go in a little paper cup and a shop that gave up slow wifi to my ibook with a little configuring. Resistance and carved out areas of familiarity.

Then, maybe, the unfamiliar became comfortable. I didn’t adopt things as done there, to cope, like some of my roommates, subbing in one culture for another entirely. Instead I just started to find things I liked wherever, almost out of context, and enjoying strangeness.

I am sort of worried that strangeness has become my familiarity and wonder what consequences this may have.

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