I just took over an hour to write this post, and when I went to save it, it mysteriously deleted. Silent scream with me, will you?
Anyway, here goes the second try.
2015 has thus far consisted of:
One move to a new apartment. I lapped a 10-foot U-Haul around DC by myself, jubilant and terrified. I also got a front tire stuck against my old landlady’s wrought-iron fence, waited for the Parking Enforcement to leave so I could park illegally, and recruited my former roommate to help me move. He and I carried boxes up five flights of stairs until my biceps were quivering, and he didn’t even blame me when I got us locked into the back courtyard with no key and one dead cell phone. He climbed the gate to get help. I bought him a sandwich from an H Street deli for a late dinner, and to make up for things. “This kind of thing happens to me all the time,” I assured him. We talked well, something we hadn’t done while living together.
It made me regret taking the dish rack, which my mom had bought while visiting last Spring. My new apartment already has a dish rack. But how do you return a dish rack after angrily wiping it down and taking it away? They’ve probably bought a new one.
…Of a new bedroom, which is a loft over my new apartment’s living room. What’s heavenly: having roommates who ask about my day, and built-in bookshelves. What’s not: having to shimmy into my work clothes while lying on my back because the front wall to the loft is only thigh-high, and living with the fear that I will one day not think of being careful and tumble over that low wall.
…Of cold walks to and from work, begun with an expletive muttered as I leave the warmth of shelter, and concluded with the cheek-slapping and foot-stamping I’ve adopted from grandfathers in pioneer-era literature. It’s not much comfort that I’ve seen colder.
…Of sitting up at night studying Magna Carta for a tour I’ll give in the morning. I’ve rarely loved anything as much as I love studying history and then trying to make it come alive for those who visit the Library. Yesterday I was talking with a senior librarian about how I’m not so interested in the legal aspects of Magna Carta because “I’m more of a social historian.” It didn’t feel like a lie, because she took it in stride and we walked the rest of the way down the tunnel as colleagues.
…Of an immense freedom. I can do anything I want in 2015. For this–possibly brief–window in my life, my options seem limitless. Yet another jubilant and terrifying feeling, but a feeling I’m glad to be acknowledging after hiding from it for most of 2014.
P.S. My exuberance, my observations, my opinions, my typos, and my generally cavalier attitude do not represent the views of the Library of Congress. Regardless, it’s a cool place. Come see us sometime.
If you made it through this post and are still stalling bedtime, here’s more:
That old familiar worry about the future, from two years ago
I witness a first snow (note to Younger Holly: “spiring” is not a word. At all.)
A good poem for a cold night.