Talking about a thing until it is small and silly

I am in the Wellington downtown library, which is quickly becoming one of my sacred spaces, a regular three-story Lake Isle of Innisgree. And I lucked upon one of the cool study areas in the YA zone, that lets me set up an altar all subtle and private and have easy access to an outlet. And I’m drinking a sparkling water, which is just a party in a bottle. But I am also just stupidly sad.

I am never sure whether it’s good to share moments like this. I mean, it’s supremely diaryland, but it also may sound more serious than it is. I am sharing because the sadness is stupid. It rose outta nowhere, fully-formed from the fog, and now it’s making today v. hard.

I have big plans for the day, and I’m still going to accomplish them. I have a strong desire to be alone, to have just a bunch of personal space. I want so much space it’s absurd–it’s this desire to like disappear into a cloud, to drive down a straight road, with no radio and no stopping, for seven days straight. And I can’t tell if that desire is a signal from the nice part of my body saying “yes, good! Personal space is self-care!”, or if it’s a beckoning from the bad part urging me to crawl deeper in my hole. Now I got my space, and my aloneness, my metal desk in a library corner and Fog Lake on my headphones.

I know that this mood will lift, this visitor will leave. It won’t take much. I’ll wait for the bus tonight and see that my bus is a surprise doubledecker, and the joy of riding on the top-level all eye-to-eye with the second floor internet cafes on courtney place will make me so giddy that the cloud will disappear. But not yet. And I know that my life is real good. If you were to describe my life to an objective bystander, they’d listen intently because it’s so exciting and then they’d whisper, “he’s....he’s killing it!” and you’d nod your head in agreement. But not today.

Today, I tried to order a bottled water and tea and I bungled it so bad that I almost apologized to the cafe staff. What happened is that I thought there was a Schweppe’s sparkling water in the fridge and so I asked for it, and the barista said, “what?” and I said, “A Schweppe’s sparkling please?” and she said, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” And so I pointed to the freezer and said, ‘I think there’s a schweppe’s brand sparkling water. Could I have that?’ and she told me it was a lemonade, but I could have another brand and I said “of course, it doesn’t matter.” Then I placed my water on the counter and the other barista said, “Pleae don’t place your water here. I need the space to work.” And my face flushed and I tried to shrink to 3 feet tall and I had a too-long internal conversation about whether I needed to apologize for fucking up so bad, cos everyone could tell I’m just fucking up right and left. Luckily, I heard how absurd this all sounded, and knew it was too many thoughts (and now too many words) to devote to nothing.

In a few hours I will feel good, and I can appreciate the silver pang that comes with melancholy, the sharpness of sound and vision and feeling that makes me want to stare at the pool of water behind me and play through fog lake one more time because the echoey plunks of piano really get it, but I also just wanna get on with my daaaay!