we're only trying to get us some peace

On the way to Manila with my dad this morning we plugged the Pod into- I really don't know the proper word for it, we just call it the aux, so the aux it will remain- and I turned the volume down really low, and I can't remember the last time I listened to music like that, just pushing at the edge of the audible range, sheer familiarity filling in for the thrum and the rolling, most of the sensation from the idea that the music is there, and from knowing it like the back of your hand (figuratively, of course- that's a metaphor no med student ever uses without desperately scrambling for a passable substitute beforehand, and believe me, I did my best), as opposed to playing everything loud loud loud, because the rest of the world doesn't get drowned out no matter how hard you try, but sometimes you just want to try, okay. And I remember going home last Friday, struck by a sudden incomprehensible bout of- of emptiness, of loneliness, like a heroine in a Regency novel, of wondering if (feeling like) I was the only person alive in this whole crazy city, despite all the evidence to the contrary, or- which is worse- if I was the only person who wasn't, and playing the Beatles, louder than a train pulling into a station (not actually a metaphor), thinking that they spoke to people, it's not just me. They spoke to people, still do, that's exactly why they're the Beatles, so it's not just me, it's not just me.

---

The flip side of that whole thing are the days I just want to take a break from the rest of humanity, that remind me why I used to wake up at quarter to five and stake out a place at the large white square table in our living room, with the half-light and the notebook and the Pod and all the fic I could get, or not, all the parts of the world relevant to me asleep, and it's like I'm not waiting for the day to get derailed, as it inevitably will. Or why I take the train by myself, sometimes with no end destination in mind, and sometimes I take a minute glance out only to have this city and its people and the lights that light its roads make my breath catch in my throat, and I'm not talking about pollution. And I know I'm kind of living in a state of reverse-Weltschmerz, where the reality is better than anything I can dream up- tell me we'll never get used to it.

we're only trying to get us some peace

On the way to Manila with my dad this morning we plugged the Pod into- I really don't know the proper word for it, we just call it the aux, so the aux it will remain- and I turned the volume down really low, and I can't remember the last time I listened to music like that, just pushing at the edge of the audible range, sheer familiarity filling in for the thrum and the rolling, most of the sensation from the idea that the music is there, and from knowing it like the back of your hand (figuratively, of course- that's a metaphor no med student ever uses without desperately scrambling for a passable substitute beforehand, and believe me, I did my best), as opposed to playing everything loud loud loud, because the rest of the world doesn't get drowned out no matter how hard you try, but sometimes you just want to try, okay. And I remember going home last Friday, struck by a sudden incomprehensible bout of- of emptiness, of loneliness, like a heroine in a Regency novel, of wondering if (feeling like) I was the only person alive in this whole crazy city, despite all the evidence to the contrary, or- which is worse- if I was the only person who wasn't, and playing the Beatles, louder than a train pulling into a station (not actually a metaphor), thinking that they spoke to people, it's not just me. They spoke to people, still do, that's exactly why they're the Beatles, so it's not just me, it's not just me.

---

The flip side of that whole thing are the days I just want to take a break from the rest of humanity, that remind me why I used to wake up at quarter to five and stake out a place at the large white square table in our living room, with the half-light and the notebook and the Pod and all the fic I could get, or not, all the parts of the world relevant to me asleep, and it's like I'm not waiting for the day to get derailed, as it inevitably will. Or why I take the train by myself, sometimes with no end destination in mind, and sometimes I take a minute glance out only to have this city and its people and the lights that light its roads make my breath catch in my throat, and I'm not talking about pollution. And I know I'm kind of living in a state of reverse-Weltschmerz, where the reality is better than anything I can dream up- tell me we'll never get used to it.