the circus has fallen down on it's knees

I'm in bed in New Hampshire, on my back typing, Eli is sleeping in the next room, and Ted and Cheryl down the hall. It was a strange drive up here, shorter than I'd expected, but I wasn't jazzed about spending all that time in the car alone with my music which usually would thrill me. I drove the two and a half hours up here to a CD that consisted of Barenaked Ladies, Tonic, and some sporadic country, and didn't even feel like singing much. The fact that I was nibbling trailmix most of the way had something to do with this, I'm sure. I mean, of course I DID sing, but it was more because I remind myself that I wanted to exercise the muscles, and less because I couldn't stop myself. I'm feeling quiet lately.

I drove imagining I was driving across the country, not stopping in Hanover but continuing on West. I was going 70 most of the way, which was apparently relatively slow on that highway, and cars were moving around me, getting places, going home. I want to know what it's like to be in somebody else's traffic jam, to be caught up in their morning commute knowing you're driving straight on through it into some other time zone. Previously when I've thought of this it seemed freeing, encouraging. Tonight the idea felt simply lonely (I hate this theme). People, a community in traffic, and me floating through.

I had this conversation a few days ago about remembering specific events, not even events really, but moments that may have felt insignificant but by acknowledging their insignificance they stuck with us. I remember sitting on the school bus on the way to Marlborough in the 8th grade, Counting Crows 'Long December' on my CD player, and leaning my forehead against the window pane so it's vibrations tickled my ears. I can remember deciding to remember that moment. I have a whole scrapbook of those moments. What I'm usually unable to decide in those moments is how I'll feel looking back on them. I didn't know on the plane to London round I that I'd remember that moment with feelings of encouragement and hope, as though encouraging my younger self. Or after Mom's wedding to Michael we had to take Lucy to the hospital for an ear infection, and I remember sitting in the limousine en route to the ER, sitting across from Michael who had his shirt unbuttoned most of the way and Lucy on his lap, and thinking to myself that I felt suddenly uncomfortable, that I wasn't as gun-ho about having him around as I had been before the ceremony. And looking back at that, I feel a little proud for having identified my anxiety and hesitation. I bring this idea up because as I lay here in bed in Ted's guest room, I'm feeling inexplicably disconnected and at sea. Those are all just elaborate synonyms for 'lonely'. I swear I should have that word tattooed on my sternum or something. I feel like it's been the only word in my vocabulary for the past two years. What I'm able to recognize tonight is that this event of being in bed and blogging is one I'll remember. I'll remember the quilt, the Counting Crows "Raining in Baltimore" that's playing on iTunes, the feeling of my warm keyboard under my fingertips. I will look back on how I'm feeling right now and be grateful that I'm not right there anymore. That's not about Ted's guest room, and it's not about not being in my own bed or anything like that- I'm really glad to be here and I can't wait to see Eli tomorrow morning and have breakfast with them all (I love other people's breakfast cereals). No, this feeling is just about the loneliness. As always. I guess anticipating that I'll look back at this moment with relief that I'm no longer living with those feelings is indicative of a kind of hope. Maybe that's convoluted and confusing. I just mean that I believe that someday I won't feel like this. And will be grateful that I can remember being under a quilt one night, one year, when that's all I could feel.

Tomorrow morning I'll go into work with Ted and he and his boys will try to breathe some life into my old G4 so I can snag the remaining files off it. Wish them luck, and me warmer toes.