Shade of Blue

Dear Reader,

Feeling kind of down this weekend. Not sure entirely why. We watched a number of movies - "Milk" on Friday, "The Duchess" on Saturday," and "Watchmen" on Sunday. Not exactly light viewing, but it was a treat to get ravaged by so much story in so short a time. Gay rights, the politics of gender, nuclear holocaust... I'm due for a viewing of the "Wizard of Oz," I think. Something to cleanse the palate.

Actually, on Saturday we went to the American History museum and saw the remnants of the Star-Spangled Banner, old trains and cars, and the ruby slippers. I never conceived of just how big that flag is, or how beautiful trains look before they are doused in the smoke and ash of use. And, frankly, the ruby slippers weren't as shiny as I had hoped. Light degrades them, you see. If they were to sit under the same bright lights that made them sparkle in the movie, they would fade and fade, so their presentation in the museum is rather underwhelming: dimly lit, although with a twinkle on the lip of the left shoe that glows like an ember in a dying fire, the last remnants of the old magic. Not enough to get you home, only enough to remind you of it.

Home. I'm not sure where my heart feels it nowadays. Home is siting at the piano and playing. Home is in the twin bed at my mother's house, the passenger seat of my father's truck, the table at Eat 'n Park with Mat. Home is where my wife is. The warm bed where I sleep. Home is behind the wheel of my car, the sunroof open, sitting with my eyes closed in a parking space and listening to the world outside as the sun warms my face.

I've become dubious as of late of lending too much credence to emotion. You can feel "down" for any number of reasons: your sleep schedule is off, your sugar is low, you didn't exercise today, you have too much energy, etc... There's nothing celestial about that. I used to let myself get caught up in the roller coaster. Hell, I took pride in the fact that I felt things strongly enough to be able to call it a roller coaster. Everyone else seemed to be rather zombie-like. Morose. They weren't like me, weren't feeling things as deeply or as authentically. Now I realize that to really feel, to be proximate to Truth, is exhausting. And being a Real Person is exhausting enough, you know, without the emotional roller coaster. Waking up early, putting on your disguise and going to work, cooking and cleaning the apartment, exercising... The motions themselves are enough to tire you out, let alone contemplating the meaning or significance of them.

This is what I didn't know about being an adult that I know now. It's freaking tiring! It was easy for me to ignore that fact when I wasn't working, when I was living off my parents and spending my days playing. And it truly was playing, even when I felt like I was in the real world. I was just playing at the whole bit. Now I'm married, work full-time, plan out weekends months in advance, all while trying to feel authentic and purposeful. And I'm relatively successful at it, if I say so myself. I'm becoming more solid. But a solid what?