Show Me The Way To Get Back To The Garden

There is an inaudible yet incredible heaviness to a Sunday that can either help you rebalance your life, motivations, and concepts of your emotional space, or a Sunday can press you down, trapping you under its weight in a way that leaves a feeling of subtle terror within the guise of reflection and relaxation. Usually I take a Sunday in either two ways-- I pack it full of things to do, whether they be school-related or not. I like to go to the movies, play piano, read for fun, read for class, write a paper, and have a lot of green tea. I like to put on slippers, comfortable jeans, and a warm cotton shirt and either go to one of the coffee shops close to campus or stay at home and lounge between my room and the living room. I like to cook on Sundays too, because it always reminds me of settling the dust before a hectic week.

The Week.
The structure we've instated to help channel our energies.
The ways in which we see ourselves in a metaphysical fabric.

It starts and ends with a Sunday. Regardless of how we feel about it, it does. Plain and simple.

I used to joke around with my friends a lot last winter about the role Sundays played in my life. I truly believed that there was this overarching power to the day, and I was annoyed that I vacillated so often between whether or not I was at fault for fetishizing the day, the event, the concept. Even so, I would talk to Andrew throughout the week, which would completely brighten so much of what was going on, and then I would reach Sunday and I couldn't escape this tremendous weight. I felt tired after waking up. I wouldn't have the desire to go to Eastern Market, or walk around DC looking for new things to try, or even really watch a movie. I would just be. I am not good at just BEING. Perhaps it's a fault. Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, faults really are things that are just transition phases, and to say that I've gotten rid of it would be either a lie or crude denial. Regardless, Sundays in late January and early February were methodically insufferable. I came home from seeing Andrew in New Paltz, NY on a Sunday. Our relationship ended that Sunday. I was locked in a Greyhound bus for five hours with no way to escape the road. I could not block out the ambiguous devastation, the palpable apathy, the callous din of things living. Breathing. Continuing. I've come to terms with myself in the context of Andrew and my relationship, and I know a lot more now about myself and how I work because of it. I don't look at that as a positive. It just is.

I think maybe it's not so much a Sunday, for a Sunday can really just be sunday. (However, even the removal of capitalization doesn't take away the inextricable link). It's a label. It's a linguistic construction. An imposed structure. We've shaped an amorphous being and supposedly invoked a pattern. Rule of Sevens. Calendars. Cycles. Circles. Circling around, but continuously heading backwards and forwards. Looking to what is and what was. So, maybe it's just the immensity of transition, rather than the day itself. Sunday is our transition-- from letting ourselves be out of commission for a few days into college life, work, or errands.

Ian McEwan wrote a novel in 2003 called "Saturday." Over the course of 250+ pages he illustrated a Saturday in which everything gets turned upside down for the main character, Henry Perowne. Yet he still understood the subtle hints of what a Saturday brings. Sleeping in. Un-hurried showers. Cooking. Family dinners. Sex. The News. Books. Saturdays. I've tried to put my finger on what a Sunday is to me, but right now I'd rather McEwan just tell me. Because then I wouldn't exactly have to let myself be as much a part of the conception; rather, I, through continued life experience, could verify or reject his findings, which in turn would allow myself, and I suppose by extension others, to understand my relationship to a Sunday. But really, it's not understanding, because it's his understanding. I have to come to terms with it, but maybe coming to terms is really also another side of complacency.

---

I find that I often attempt to label experiences in such constructive language-- in the canon of our agreed upon categories of self-improvement and health-- that I actually don't let myself embrace their true nature. This weekend lent so many different emotions that I couldn't really call any of them mine, exactly, but simply reactions to inciting moments. I had the opportunity to try and lead my a cappella group in guiding our next move through auditions. I was there for friends who needed my help because they didn't have the ability to take care of themselves. I bonded with my closest friends at W&M. I continued to build. I was hospitable. I was inhospitable. I met someone that so quickly altered my transition into what I am becoming, which is a less self-conscious and reclusive person. They did not throw me back into that mode, but rather showed me what I've tried to hide about things at W&M. Because the truth is-- when I was in DC, I had the chance to date and see people and grow into something I always felt helped maximize my concept of my potential, but when I'm in Williamsburg I don't seem to get along with the guys here. It is a combination of a ton of factors, but I have yet to date anyone at W&M after five semesters. My first conviction was that I was not worthy of dating people in college-- that I needed to change a lot about myself before I could. That became angry bitterness, which is why helped push me to do the DC program. I had a big wake up call there-- I realized that I am able to give in a relationship and receive-- I can be OK with feeling good about myself. Instead of thinking of it as luck, and therefore engendering differing levels of shame, I actually felt desirable, like I'd done something right. And then I returned to Williamsburg for the summer, and things were quieter and contemplative. And that was fine. And then Africa, and I radically altered my concept about my place in the world. Then W&M, Fall 2007. Back to the grind-- but, I must admit, I had a much brighter outlook and a more optimistic take on everything. With that semester came Tori Tour, which was probably one of the most important and best moments of my life. I had an amazing fall, and a spectacular winter break, and I have to say, I feel like I'm so much more in control of myself than I've ever been. I feel good about myself, and my strengths, and my ability to contribute.

It's been a wild ride these past few weeks. I'm trying to keep my head above water. I'm doing alright, actually.

---

I do realize that Sundays always come with a feeling of resilience and calm acceptance. It's not a conquering. It's not a defeat. It's just knowing that I'm actually going to be fine, and that I'm going to wake up and keep on going. The weight doesn't vanish-- it's still there-- but it's the recognition of the weight being always present, just in different forms. And it's the beauty in the shifting between those forms that tell me I still need to explore and be. I just need to be. There is comfort in that. That's what is important for right now.

Day 3

That's where I am on the post-wisdom tooth removal calendar. Day 1 was fairly inconsequential, and then I felt totally fine and wonderful on Day 2. Today, however, has been fairly miserable. I woke at 4 AM with excruciating pain, so I managed to stumble downstairs to load up on Percocet, and then I chose to ice my jaw and Facebook for about 20 minutes so I could try and feel better. Thankfully I started to rally so I went back to bed. At 6.30 I woke again, and this time pissed off because it was the SECOND time waking up that night. Usually I never wake up during the night-- I'm a hard sleeper and I can sleep through just about anything. Anyway, I took some Advil (since it was too soon to re-up the real drugs), and drifted back to interrupted slumber.

I got to sleep in until 11.30, which was fantastic. I was in pain, but I really really wanted to go see "I'm Not There," and since I can't drive after taking Percocet, I muscled through with Advil, salt water and ice packs. I made it to the movie in good condition. I even showered before going out! (Quite proud of myself for that one, simply because it meant changing out of Pajamas) I loved loved loved the movie. It was very conceptual, trippy, abstract, and intriguing. Six stories all weave around the central theme of Bob Dylan-- they may be permutations of his character, figments of his constructed images, or slivers of his past, as projected into the present and future. It was quite a trip, and I feel I need to see it again to truly digest it. It has a brilliant soundtrack, and I have to say that it cements Cate Blanchett's goddess status. She IS Bob Dylan in the film. Pure brilliance. I'm still in awe.

I was planning on cooking dinner tonihgt, but I just couldn't bring myself to it, since I was still really hurting when I got home. It's ok-- I think tomorrow I will make homemade meatballs, key lime pie, and some sort of hors d'oeuvres thing. I want to get back into the food world, since I literally have only eaten jello, applesauce, pudding, and eggs over the past 3 days. Oh, and Diet Coke. Speaking of which-- I need to buy more tomorrow.... hm.

Anyway. Project Runway was fabulous, as usual, and a great way to end a fairly dismal day. I think I'll go to bed now and try to see if I wake up feeling better tomorrow.

Oh-- last thing-- Planet Earth is one of the GREATEST THINGS EVER.

Good things:
-- Cooking
-- Barefoot Contessa
-- Planet Earth
-- Project Runway
-- Bob Dylan
-- Cate Blanchett
-- Indie Movie Theaters

The Night Swallows Itself, You Can See It In The Stars

I'm going to take another stab at blogging. I was pretty devoted to my Xanga for a good 2 years, but then it just fell by the wayside. But, I think with a change of scenery I might actually get back into it. So, we'll see. Test run #1 starts now.

I had my last wisdom tooth pulled this afternoon, so I'm still a little loopy from that whole procedure, but overall I feel pretty fine. I'm sure tomorrow will be slightly more uncomfortable, as it seems that is the case with surgeries I've, for better more than worse, had to undergo, but that's OK. I have tons of Planet Earth to watch and summer internship applications to fill out.

Quick updates on my life, since I should head to bed soon---

-- Ended the semester on a high note. I wrote 2 really killer papers, I think. I haven't felt more proud of a paper since high school, really (other than my term paper for W&M in DC last semester, but that was a 42 page opus). I finally feel like I'm back in the SAS writing habit. It feels very good right now, so I hope I can keep the momentum up.

-- I was elected Musical Director of the Cleftomaniacs, one of three co-ed a cappella singing groups on campus. I've been a member of the group since freshman year, but this is a huge honor and responsibility. I am beside myself with excitement. I can't wait to head back and get to work with Sam (the new Asst Director) and Beth (the new President). I have an email in to try and secure the supporting slot for Dar Williams' show in Williamsburg on Feb. 7, which would be absolutely incredible. Beyond words incredible, actually.

-- Still in recovery from Tori tour this fall. More on that later.

-- I had one of the best weeks ever last week. I spent 4 days in Washington, DC with Dan, Chad, Sam, Eddie, and Will. Getting to see my SAS friends + Dan was wonderful-- we celebrated New Year's Eve in style and most certainly rang in the New Year with fabulousness. Also, I got back in touch with my board-game self, so hopefully I can take that back to school with me for spring semester. After DC I took one night at home when I got to see all my Montgomery School friends (elementary school) and do some major catching up. All good things with them-- they're such an inspiring group of individuals. Lastly, I spent the weekend with my aunt Carolyn and cousin Eli in NYC. Dan, Sam, and Will joined me as well, but Sam and Will left on Saturday. Over the course of the weekend, I was served at 2 different bars (yay for being underage but having connections!), had 2 of the best hamburgers I've ever had, had a bit of an unpleasant situation with a bouncer outside of the Natalie Merchant concert at the Hiro Ballroom, ate way too much food from my aunt's cafe, figured out the NYC subway system, did some great shopping, fell in love with the Richard Prince exhibition at the Guggenheim, walked through Central Park, and last but not least-- got pixelated with Dan at this fabulous gay piano bar in the Village called the Duplex, and ended up staying there for 4 hours drinking, singing, and having the time of my life. It's hard to express what a great time I had over this past week-- I've spent way more money than I should have, but I feel so incredibly recharged, revived, and inspired. I've fallen back in love with myself, and I owe it to the amazing people around me. I have realized that these are the people who are here for me-- who have been, and who will be. I've had a lot of tough relationships this year, and there are vestiges of them still floating around here, but I also have started to realize that I think I'm a pretty good and kind person deep down, and that I have pretty good priorities. I can be sarcastic, dry, and biting at times, but I think I'm getting really comfortable with myself. Good things.

Anyway, I should head to bed to rest up with this whole tooth situation. Huzzah for new blogs!!

-Peter