Riding my own melt

“There’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a… a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know… a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle… and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.” — Troy Dyer, “Reality Bites”

In the mornings, I take the exit that gives me a glorious glimpse of the Pentagon, the Washington Monument and the city of Rosslyn. On a clear day, just the sight makes even the most painful commute seem like an odyssey of beauty. Yesterday, I was in a frothy fit about ripping the kitchen apart (and everything is still on the floor because I have to wash everything before I put it back in the cabinets. Can we say obstacle course?) and was so hot that it seemed appropriate to have the sunroof open as I made the trek north.

And what I saw was even better — against the gradient sky of gray to blue, I was able to watch planes take off from Reagan National. I always watch them, but with the roof open, I appreciated the unobstructed view of their ascent. I love to watch planes — the are taking lucky people to see individuals and places that mean the world to them or, if we’re lucky, the planes are taking annoying tourons back to their respective homes and away from my city. 🙂

What was neat about said gradient sky yesterday was the fact that it was laced with streaks of pink. I mean, you could tell from the gray that snow was on the horizon (and my car has a coating right this very minute and I should be out there cleaning it before my slippery commute!). But those orangey-pink accents — they kill you and inspire you at the same time. You wonder why something so randomly beautiful and upbeat is lodged between the bland and foreboding. It’s ironic, really, how we want things to be “just so” in that regard — that, if it’s going to rain, then it might as well pour. We forget that the unexpected color in the sky is like a satin ribbon that is meant to suspend us while the flood of unpleasantness threatens to sweep us away. It’s like a lasso for our weary eyes, reminding us to find beauty in the unexpected.

I guess the winter sky reminds me of my own days (far too many of them, I might add) when the pain was choking me. And then, lately, I start to feel OK and realize that I’m not miserable anymore, and I appreciate that.

I’ve had some moments of late wherein I caught myself being happy. I mean, I found myself truly enjoying someone’s company, found myself saying something another person found witty or useful, and felt myself not wanting a particular interlude or experience to end as quickly as wonderful moments often do.

And, as so often happens, you cherish those moments and replay them in your head until you can’t even see the colors and details that your memory had seemingly photographed. Even mental pictuers, I guess, get tattered and soft from overuse. But the way you felt never realy goes away, I guess. You just tend to hope for new (pleasant!) memories that are as vivid as the previous ones to help you to smile again.

I guess that’s where dreams come from — to keep us thinking in hopeful terms. Those who appreciate happiness when it is afforded to them are apt to create their own when it doesn’t seem there is any more on the horizon. Or, as I’ve learned, happiness can appear after you started to doubt it even existed in the first place. We all have our “war wounds” — we all have something to overcome. And somehow, we do. Maybe we imagine a better time and place until it actually becomes a reality.

In any event, finding that silver lining is an acquired talent. When you have the ability to see it, follow it wherever it leads you. When it eludes you, envision your own. It will catch up with you eventually. 🙂

On iTunes: The Killers, “Mr. Brightside”

One Lonely Response to Riding my own melt

  1. apollonaire :

    I loves days like that.
    Unfortunately, Texas doesn’t get too many of them.

    Good song, too.