The evening experience
It feels weird not writing my weekly novel diary. But it feels good, too — liberating. My personal regimentation often becomes oppressive and such was the case with my novel diary; I made myself write it whether or not I had anything substantial to report. It was week after week of forced drivel. It was fitting, too: “forced drivel” is actually an excellent description for my latest attempt at a novel.
But whatever.
One good consequence of the dry weather has been the ability to ride a bike and walk without worrying about rain. I have taken full advantage, leaving my car at my parents’ place (a much safer location than the cratered and garbage strewn parking lot at my apartment building) to bike and walk almost everywhere. Tonight I was at their place late and rode home around 9:30, the latest I have ridden a bike for a long time, probably since I was a kid.
I was not worried. The western horizon was still lit with afterglow and the street lamps cast their pale, orange luminescence on the pavement, so it was far from dark. Plus, I had a white light fitted to my handlebar and a red light attached to my luggage rack so I was visible to cars. It was very deep dusk, my favorite time of the day. The oppressive heat and humidity of the day had partly lifted and the air was thick, tepid, and cooling. Coasting down the hills of the east side, it was perfect. It was the first time I had allowed myself to experienced the evening and dusk in a long time.
I miss the experience of the evening and night — miss those aimless cruises with friends with the car windows down, long walks when the city and streets are still. Back in college I took many evening and night walks, and in Huntington Beach I often walked along the beach at night when it was cool and reminded me of those late walks in Iowa City. It is a calming, comfortable time when I feel at home. I was born in the evening so perhaps that has something to do with it. (Probably not. Like myself, most of us were born into the bright light and clinical order of a hospital delivery room — a place completely sealed from the natural ambience of each day.) However, for the past four or five years I have cooped myself up inside my room during the evening and early night and forced myself to write. It is a time I have dedicated for personal work. I need to write at some point because the rest of the day is filled (and there is no way I am getting up at five o’clock in the morning), so my evening experience has been sacrificed.
No more? Perhaps — at least for the time being. I need to write and at some point I will soon restart my novel. Until then, though, I will try to experience the evening as best as I can. When I move I will finally have a porch to sit on and relax, so perhaps I can meld my love of the evening with my natural habit.
But whatever.
One good consequence of the dry weather has been the ability to ride a bike and walk without worrying about rain. I have taken full advantage, leaving my car at my parents’ place (a much safer location than the cratered and garbage strewn parking lot at my apartment building) to bike and walk almost everywhere. Tonight I was at their place late and rode home around 9:30, the latest I have ridden a bike for a long time, probably since I was a kid.
I was not worried. The western horizon was still lit with afterglow and the street lamps cast their pale, orange luminescence on the pavement, so it was far from dark. Plus, I had a white light fitted to my handlebar and a red light attached to my luggage rack so I was visible to cars. It was very deep dusk, my favorite time of the day. The oppressive heat and humidity of the day had partly lifted and the air was thick, tepid, and cooling. Coasting down the hills of the east side, it was perfect. It was the first time I had allowed myself to experienced the evening and dusk in a long time.
I miss the experience of the evening and night — miss those aimless cruises with friends with the car windows down, long walks when the city and streets are still. Back in college I took many evening and night walks, and in Huntington Beach I often walked along the beach at night when it was cool and reminded me of those late walks in Iowa City. It is a calming, comfortable time when I feel at home. I was born in the evening so perhaps that has something to do with it. (Probably not. Like myself, most of us were born into the bright light and clinical order of a hospital delivery room — a place completely sealed from the natural ambience of each day.) However, for the past four or five years I have cooped myself up inside my room during the evening and early night and forced myself to write. It is a time I have dedicated for personal work. I need to write at some point because the rest of the day is filled (and there is no way I am getting up at five o’clock in the morning), so my evening experience has been sacrificed.
No more? Perhaps — at least for the time being. I need to write and at some point I will soon restart my novel. Until then, though, I will try to experience the evening as best as I can. When I move I will finally have a porch to sit on and relax, so perhaps I can meld my love of the evening with my natural habit.
