Friday, October 7, 2011

Melancholia

After sitting through Lars Von Trier's nauseating Melancholia last night, trying to write a few pages for my memoir group this morning, peeking at a script I have to read this weekend, trying to schedule my tutoring student, debating whether to play soccer or attend a volunteer orientation for a tutoring writing place in Brooklyn on Sunday, living out of a backpack on and off this week, and learning that a major report I fill out every year for the school I work at is not my job and should never have been my job, I am feeling more than melancholy right now. I feel down right tired and a bit blue. Bored, maybe? The seasons are changing here, and I hate it. Maybe it is because I just came from 90 degrees Los Angeles, but I do not think Fall is charming anymore. I do not look forward to applecider, and crisp chilly air, and sweaters. Fuck fall foliage and all of its soar throats, red noses, gloved fingers and wool socks. I am still missing summer, missing a bit of freedom, or missing something. Again, with that internal transition. Something feels like its moving right now, but I don't know where and I can't pinpoint what exactly is changing for me. But there is something different. My feet are itching for an adventure, a move, a change, some sort of progression. Maybe I am tired from trying so hard all the time. Trying to get out of debt. Trying to write a book. Trying to make more money with the three jobs I have. Trying to figure out how I will build a future that includes a family. Not to mention, trying to enjoy myself in the best city in the world. Sometimes, I just want to give up. Default on my loans, disappear from all of my responsibility, strap on a backpack and go. Anywhere. The movie last night was shit, but the first part was somewhat enjoyable and I found myself oddly relating to Justine's (played by Kirsten Dunst's) pendulum of emotions. Is it just what comes with being  a woman? I can't remember a time when there wasn't "a spell" of sadness that could just come on like a bad cold. I try to tell myself not to take things so seriously, but everything has always been so serious. I would love to find lightness. Would love to court the carefree spirit I know lives within. But I can feel myself on the edge again.
Yesterday, while on the subway, this very rude teenage queen leaned against me and blurted out, "Move bitch." I could tell she did not expect I would confront her. I turned around slowly.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
She couldn't even look me in the eye. She was performing.
"I said move!"
I smiled slowly, and looked at her friend since she would not look at me. I looked back at her.
"Really?" I asked. I could feel myself start to shake with rage and I think the friend could sense it.
She quietly said with a wry smile, "Just move."
It sounded like a beg.
I turned back around and started laughing. I feel like I could have snapped and I was proud that I did not. I did not use one curse word, I did not humiliate this idiot, nor did I get drawn into a fight that would inevitably lead to me in jail and this girl in a coma. I contained it all.
I heard her friend say to her, "So embarassing. Why you gotta start fights with everyone on the train?"
Then after a pause, she said, "She got pretty eyes, though."
Were they really trying to suck up to me after calling me a bitch on a crowded train? As the ride went on, the girl proceeded to yell at an old man calling him "Fucking retarded" for asking her to give up her seat to him. Two seconds before that she tapped a guy who was sitting down and asked when he was getting off the "fucking train" so she could take his seat. At the end, I began to feel sorry for her. I realized this was a person who had a lot of hate and a lot of fear, and there is only one way you get to be like that. I imagined her life as short and small. When I got off the subway, I imagined I was on a hike somewhere far away from New York. In the movie last night, Justine's sister, Claire who is lovingly devoted to her mentally ill sister, whispers to her, "Sometimes I really hate you, Justine."
Sometimes I really hate you, New York.

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