what is it about this month that is so damn depressing? is it some innate response to the slow shift of seasons, the melancholic reminder that summer, like all good things, must come to an end? although i’m no longer in school, and nothing about my schedule is really changing, i’m still dragging myself wearily from day to day–minutes tick past, interminably, marking my arrival and departure from point a to point b. drive to work, drive home. eat, sleep, wake up. rinse, repeat.
yes, i’ve finally become a productive member of society, once more back in my natural habitat: the bookstore. i work full time peddling books and memberships to clueless customers, answering phones and placing orders. “do you know about our kid’s club?” plastic forks and metal folding chairs; thirty and fifteen minute downtime to gulp down a microwaved meal. composition book pressed open, pen flying–my break room scribbles. the rapid, air conditioned countdown; too fast, it goes, before i’m back out in the trenches, digging for greek plays, childrens’ bestsellers, obscure computer programming how to’s. pretending to be hip to this e-book jive. tick, tick, tick. until my work is done; numbers punched and time marked; the books i’ve dutifully reshelved waiting for me, lying hapless and hopelessly sprawled, tomorrow, for me to put away again. rinse, rinse…repeat.
buy this car to drive to work
drive to work to pay for this car
i remember cobblestones and dark, sweet red wine; smiling, chubby faces babbling to me in foreign tongues. gently curving white roofs overlooking glittering blue water; wizened, sun-kissed cheeks with gap-toothed grins. red, red dirt kicking up dust into my shoes, the endless quiet and narrow, sloping roads steady under our rickety bus, arid with screaming children; parched exhaustion. (we played childish games on scraps of paper to while away the time; keep our motion sickness at bay.) endless stretch of beach, mesmerizing black sand. unfamiliar. unknown. unexplored. under my feet.
google blinks back at me, patient and mocking. what? what are you looking for? these search engines are useless. sputtering and stalling. i need some sort of kick, a jump, a what-have-you to get me up and going. i’ve never done well with languishing.
tick, tick, tick.