something happens when you're in between phases, when you take a plunge into the land of limbo. days and weeks suddenly, silently pass without distinction, and routine engraves itself in, even if it's a routine of nothingness. passions sit untouched in the corners of the room-- canvases blank, books unread, music unplayed, words unwritten-- and with nothing really to hallmark the time, the days stretch painfully onward. and yet it still manages to turn into 9:00 PM and all that you have is a guilty list of foods you told yourself you weren't going to eat but gave in to anyway (read: guacamole chips), followed closely by a list of things you supposedly wanted to do but somehow couldn't quite get around to doing.
most mornings i manage to throw on some gym shoes and check into a step class with my mom. amid rows of jumping jacks and step-kick-lunges and middle-aged women in too-tight biking shorts, i can't help but give myself a glaring (if somewhat pantingly wide-mouthed) stare in the 360 degrees of mirrors: stomach slightly chubby (i credit this entirely to Winter), face tired with deep-set circles beneath the eyes, long, ratty brown hair.
me?
i moved back to salt lake nearly a month ago. i entered my room, poured in the entirety of my belongings, and got to work.cleaning = mindless = soothing. you can sort and make piles and throw out and accumulate and all the while keep all of your mental efforts focused at the periphery, a nice therapy for a few years of forced academic work. a sort of continuing agenda materializes quite without need for input: after you're done with this box, you move on to the next one. and after that, the next. slowly, but satisfyingly, my art supplies find their way into labeled tubs and my makeup gathers into a single heap and my clothes group into
neat piles by color and type. and after putting wings of the dove on repeat, my room begins to emerge. i can't keep myself from working until every last compulsory detail has been met to my subjective satisfaction-- and only then do i sit on my bed, now arrayed with an odd assortment of white and yellow patterned cushions, and let myself bask in the semi-delirious satisfaction of conclusion.i decided to divide my time in salt lake into a series of phases, beginning with the sorting of my material belongings. while rummaging through immense piles of old clothes i'd somehow managed to hold in historical preserve from the seventh grade onward, i recognized several key pieces that had occupied a core of my desires and efforts. the merino wool pale blue cardigan with ribbon trim from the GAP, for example, that i'd worn about with a sweaty sort of pride for months after the first heat waves of spring. or the wrinkled swimming medals and orchestral music all drenched with the formaldehyde of sentimentality, grasping desperately at my now high-in-demand closet space.
most of it went.
meanwhile, i still cling rather furiously to the value of keeping written words. they seem like the closest thing to capturing thoughts, to bottling memories, to stopping time that any enterprising time traveler might ever come across. open a note from a friend in the eighth grade, and the ferocity of that moment (consisting of a crush on the boy in the grade above that you'd nicknamed 'the carpet' and resolved to somehow trap and marry) sort of smacks at you with a sudden vivacity that is only quelled by the perspective time has forced you to gain. you remember your level of understanding and gasp at what was to come that you, the protagonist, was still unaware of, and smile glumly at the secret foreshadowing of your life.
weeks later, i can barely remember what self-described phase i’m actually in, or if i’m in any sort of anything at all. rather, today might have been pulled at random from the hat called the month of may, and i sit in wait for the change of location that will signal a stop to this land of lethargy and somewhat selfish introspection. perhaps then i’ll be able to look into the encircling of mirrors in the van winkle aerobics room, and as i reach for yet another cross-legged sit-up, will finally be able to answer to the question of who i am and where i'm going, and more importantly, what i can do with these things. but until then, perhaps it's time for a guacamole chip.
