I walked to Harvard Square tonight. I listened to I'm Wide Awake It's Morning on the way, from Old Soul Song to Land Locked Blues. It felt right. When I got to the Square, I sat down in Veggie Planet and ordered a Vegan Peanut Curry. When I tried to say that I wanted a table, my voice came out as a croak, and I had to repeat myself. The usual crew wasn't there tonight, as much as I was hoping they would be. I wanted Nice Smile Girl to offer me chili sauce without my asking, or Curtsey Girl to act kind though I've done nothing in particular to make me deserve it. Instead, a bunch of strangers were there listening to rap on the kitchen radio. I paid for my curry and went to Dado to sit in a more familiar feeling environment. It was 7:23 PM. I know because I checked the time on my cell phone before I walked in. Dark Haired Difficult To Converse With Because Our Accents Are So Disparate Girl was there. As I walked in, she came around from behind the counter and unceremoniously said they were closed. I looked surprised and said I thought they closed at 8:00 PM. She said something I didn't quite catch. The upshot was that they were indeed closed; and the utter lack of other patrons backed up the claim beyond my ability to refute it. I frowned, stared through my fogged up glasses, and went back out into the street. A few minutes found me ordering a large cappuccino and a blueberry scone in Peet's. The gentleman behind the counter had a lip ring and a nose ring, and the portions of his hair furthest from his head were bleach-blond.
As I paid he asked, "How was your day?" Maybe I was just caught off guard, but it made me feel like this stranger was a good friend, and I wished I could answer with my usual, positive, "Excellent, how're you doin'?" Instead I admitted that it was merely okay. And really, it was. I've had much worse days, but I've had much better ones too. This one was depressing, but not so much that I couldn't smile a bit when our Strangers' Conversation invariably turned to the weather, as they always do. I explained that I was glad I'd worn massive boots.
I think I regret renting this apartment. I will be moving in September. It's too expensive for the benefits it affords me. For a drunk, it might offer its proximity to a variety of bars and pubs. For someone who had friends in Boston, it might provide regular, easy access to the T. For me... it merely presents these things as possibilities, shrugging and losing interest as I continue to take little advantage of them.
I don't think I'm going to save any money this year. I can blame that on rent, but I can also just blame it on the reality of our culture. There's so many things to pay for. So many expenses. Lately I've thought a lot about consumerism, living in a spartan manner, and the financial restraints put on me (and everyone else) by the reality we live in. I pay for parking, food, housing, electricity, heat, internet, cable, the ability to stay fit, auto insurance, health insurance, dental insurance, vision insurance, renters insurance, cellular service, gas, T fare. I buy a vacuum cleaner, couch, pots and pans, dresser, desk, nightstand, carpet, dishes, scarves, hats, gloves, shoes, jeans, shirts, CDs, video games, movies, books, and things I can't even remember, yet there's always more things on the horizon that need purchasing. How can this be? How can a human continually accumulate objects? I'm one person, and I have 600 square feet devoted to the body sitting inside the one square foot it occupies at any given time. There is furniture in the next room, its value all wrapped up in the four or five instances in which another human being has entered this space and needed somewhere to sit. If five people other people have sat on that couch, that means that every time another human's ass has touched the cushions, that validates roughly $200 of spending. Everything is caught up in eventualities and possible necessities. Do I need a vacuum cleaner in my apartment twenty four hours a day? No. I need it for an hour every two weeks. I want to strip my life down to the things that I use regularly. To the things that, in this society, I actually need to function as the person I've become. Clothes. A bed. A computer. Music. But I can't, because my friends are important to me, and that imposes social constraints on what I can and cannot shed.
If only they were here, with me, in the city, so we could take advantage of the benefits of living here. As it stands, were it not for its proximity to my job, I might as well not even live in this place. I could live anywhere around Boston for all the benefit I derive from being here. And it'd be a lot cheaper too.
From now until September, I'm in limbo. Not moving forward, not moving back. If there's a reason why I took a long, rainy, snowy walk to Harvard Square tonight, that's it.
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