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This morning I picked up my new glasses before therapy, and now I have that dull eyeache/headache that happens from the first day of new glasses. I don't like it. It is inevitable and I must (and will) suck it up and tomorrow it will probably be gone and forgotten. But for now, I am wishing I didn't not have a job that entails staring at a computer screen. Of course, why am I then spending time by making a blog entry? Well, its because I'm typing with my eyes closed, for the most part. Its rather soothing, though I feel a bit weird, like I'm channeling Ramtha or some other 19th generation lightbeing from the future. Well, maybe my journal entries are not really close to that deep or bizarre.
It is fall here, the days have been getting shorter since late June, but we don't notice until now and it can make you shudder at times, looking out into it. I have had my moments, prior to this, where at night fall I have brief flutterings of fear about being out in it, that I want to be home, close the shutters, shut the blinds, stay safe and warm. They pass. I go out into it anyway, and I like it. I like nighttime. I like working at night and sometimes if I remember and time it correctly, I can get up from my desk and walk over to the empty office (we are on the southwest corner of the building) and watch the sunser through the skyscrapers and I can look down Madison stretching on for miles. I can sit and look and look and look, maybe for hours. I love an urban landscape from high above, I still remember the top of the Empire State Building at age 14, I remember the top of the Eiffel Tower at age 16, I remember most ever landmark that is far above sea level I have ever seen, my most recent favorites including hiking in the Hollywood hills and also Twin Peaks, on my birthday. Not the bar, which you know I love too, but the actual peaks themselves and it was hella windy and the fog threatened to eat me up like a b-movie.
I have little interest in any sort of corporate aspirations, with the exception of a high up corner office. I have thought about apartments, lofts, offices. I wouldn't mind living in a place like that in the short term. Or maybe in the long term, part time. It is the other side of me, I have the big warm farmhouse on land in small town with lots of space and trees, I have the austere contemporary, glass wall minimalist space with a view. Perhaps this will be my writer's office in the city, perhaps my professorial. I doubt any university can afford leasing space so high up. Even the so-called prestigious ones are selling off their lakefront property tall buildings to condos.
It is one of those desires that is not strong enough to redesign other life plans to make happen. But it doesn't completely go away. I have lived in this city for 12 years now, and even today, when walking from the library downtown to my office, I was trying to find the building at LaSalle and Adams that is considered the world's first skyskraper. I was looking up and walking and I'm sure I seemed like a tourist, an out of towner, someone lost. Some sort of strange, non-financial district person, which is true. I am not of them. I just like to watch it all from above, the controlled chaos of urban landscapes, the blinking changing lights which from above are calm and slow, not harried as when driving or riding or walking. The brake lights and smooth changing of lanes, the weaving dots with legs of pedestrians, and the bright orange streams of light bending against the 50-story black glass building and refracting in ways that are in no way naturally occuring but compel my vision no less than a frosted mountain or an endless body of water.
It is fall here, the days have been getting shorter since late June, but we don't notice until now and it can make you shudder at times, looking out into it. I have had my moments, prior to this, where at night fall I have brief flutterings of fear about being out in it, that I want to be home, close the shutters, shut the blinds, stay safe and warm. They pass. I go out into it anyway, and I like it. I like nighttime. I like working at night and sometimes if I remember and time it correctly, I can get up from my desk and walk over to the empty office (we are on the southwest corner of the building) and watch the sunser through the skyscrapers and I can look down Madison stretching on for miles. I can sit and look and look and look, maybe for hours. I love an urban landscape from high above, I still remember the top of the Empire State Building at age 14, I remember the top of the Eiffel Tower at age 16, I remember most ever landmark that is far above sea level I have ever seen, my most recent favorites including hiking in the Hollywood hills and also Twin Peaks, on my birthday. Not the bar, which you know I love too, but the actual peaks themselves and it was hella windy and the fog threatened to eat me up like a b-movie.
I have little interest in any sort of corporate aspirations, with the exception of a high up corner office. I have thought about apartments, lofts, offices. I wouldn't mind living in a place like that in the short term. Or maybe in the long term, part time. It is the other side of me, I have the big warm farmhouse on land in small town with lots of space and trees, I have the austere contemporary, glass wall minimalist space with a view. Perhaps this will be my writer's office in the city, perhaps my professorial. I doubt any university can afford leasing space so high up. Even the so-called prestigious ones are selling off their lakefront property tall buildings to condos.
It is one of those desires that is not strong enough to redesign other life plans to make happen. But it doesn't completely go away. I have lived in this city for 12 years now, and even today, when walking from the library downtown to my office, I was trying to find the building at LaSalle and Adams that is considered the world's first skyskraper. I was looking up and walking and I'm sure I seemed like a tourist, an out of towner, someone lost. Some sort of strange, non-financial district person, which is true. I am not of them. I just like to watch it all from above, the controlled chaos of urban landscapes, the blinking changing lights which from above are calm and slow, not harried as when driving or riding or walking. The brake lights and smooth changing of lanes, the weaving dots with legs of pedestrians, and the bright orange streams of light bending against the 50-story black glass building and refracting in ways that are in no way naturally occuring but compel my vision no less than a frosted mountain or an endless body of water.
