Comfort in Sadness
A lot of time in between. A lot going on. Several friends of mine going through a rough time at the moment, some health scares, some things just not going well. My mom's having surgery in a week or so and I'm pretty worried about it.
I conjured up a reason to go to Target, which somehow makes me feel better. In times of trouble, for some reason Target is a comfort; it's the same every day, it's orderly, never really old or stale, but not totally sterile either. This is a ridiculous set of sentences, I realize.
For some reason, post-Target, today I found myself wandering through the mall that Target's in. Not the Arsenal, but the one across the street - the one with the DMV in it, the depressing Old Country Buffet restaurant, and a preponderance of old people and various misfits. Today there were several people walking in circles with canes, just hobbling along. What in that mall was of interest to them? The early bird specials at the Buffet? Or just the opportunity to walk on a rainy evening without being mowed down by Abercrombied and Fitched Young People?
A young guy with a barn coat and a red headband sat on a bench in the mall's center court, swinging his work boots, scratching his greasy hair, and pondering something vaguely perplexing and amusing. I tried not to stare at him, but it was clear that he had something figured out that I didn't. I wanted to know what it was.
Last time I was at this mall, it was Christmastime and an Asian men's choir was singing a lovely, arching cantata. It was so beautiful and otherworldly -- partly because the context was so ugly and fluorescently lit.
Today this sadness was oddly comforting; I was in the midst of a lot of people who had also Been Through Some Things. They don't have this fucking life figured out either but they swing their boots and smirk about it. I think I can do that too.
I conjured up a reason to go to Target, which somehow makes me feel better. In times of trouble, for some reason Target is a comfort; it's the same every day, it's orderly, never really old or stale, but not totally sterile either. This is a ridiculous set of sentences, I realize.
For some reason, post-Target, today I found myself wandering through the mall that Target's in. Not the Arsenal, but the one across the street - the one with the DMV in it, the depressing Old Country Buffet restaurant, and a preponderance of old people and various misfits. Today there were several people walking in circles with canes, just hobbling along. What in that mall was of interest to them? The early bird specials at the Buffet? Or just the opportunity to walk on a rainy evening without being mowed down by Abercrombied and Fitched Young People?
A young guy with a barn coat and a red headband sat on a bench in the mall's center court, swinging his work boots, scratching his greasy hair, and pondering something vaguely perplexing and amusing. I tried not to stare at him, but it was clear that he had something figured out that I didn't. I wanted to know what it was.
Last time I was at this mall, it was Christmastime and an Asian men's choir was singing a lovely, arching cantata. It was so beautiful and otherworldly -- partly because the context was so ugly and fluorescently lit.
Today this sadness was oddly comforting; I was in the midst of a lot of people who had also Been Through Some Things. They don't have this fucking life figured out either but they swing their boots and smirk about it. I think I can do that too.
posted by expediency101 at 9:29 PM
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