DIARY
A lot has happened this month, and I’m at odds figuring how to talk about it all.
I feel like this has been a year of reconnection to priorities.
I tend to be a generalist… I know a little about most things and a lot about very little. I want to learn about everything, write about everything, be everywhere.
I have realized later than most the paramount unfeasibility of the “everything” theory.
Theater or prose? They both are demanding. They both are difficult. Time to choose.
Time to stop “absorbing” Chicago and find the part of this planet that is the most compelling and beautiful.
Time to stop “absorbing” life as it passes and begin grasping and striving again for what I want so very much.
It sounds like a simple pep talk. The concept is simple, but not particularly peppy. Choices are difficult. Many dear things must be given up. Oh well. So it goes.
But it’s April.
One of my very favorite months of the year.
This month I’ve been reconnecting to priorities, but it’s happened a little different than usual.
I’ve seen two close friends, Hallie and Paul, for a week, when they came to stay with me in Chicago. We drank tea and coffee and wrote and worked and talked and talked.
But I haven’t heard much (or written much to) Sam or Elisabeth. They’re busy preparing for graduation, and I envy the excitement of this time for them.
I’ve visited my family twice, first for Easter Sunday, and second, to attend my sister’s recital in Cleveland. She played with ease and beauty. I met her friends and roomate. I had time to visit the Perkins-Harbinses, leave a note by the Crawfords, and even get harassed at the Atlas.
But I haven’t seen much of Jessica, and we’re at a point, I think, at which I need her thoughts, her words, and her contact to complete my own.
Urbàntasm.
Scavenger Hunt.
Chicago Project No. 2.
My time is being devoured.
I have ridden and driven thousands of miles, worked long weeks without much natural sunlight to speak of, and have been more sleep deprived than at any time I can remember in the last four years.
It’s been a sort of month that’s like waking up in the middle of the night, and worrying, intensely, about the health of your liver or lungs or heart for hours, before you relize you can’t do much about it anyway. And there’s more I want to say about this, but I think maybe I should wait and try to say it later.
Because I hate feeling that I’m trite, and right now, the best I can do is try to continue to feel some kind of special, mossy, dark isolation that leads to pondering long questions.
It sounds like the Cardigan’s cover of Ironman.
Maybe you should listen to that.
More later,
Connor