The mind works in mysterious ways

Posted on | February 2, 2007 4 Comments | e-mail | print

The other night, under the spell of Pregnancy Insomnia, I strove to find some sort of zen-type mechanism that would help me clear my head of project ideas and To-Dos and chill the motherfuck out. I decided to find my happy place.

This is what came to mind: lying on a fluffy blanket in the narrow backyard of the house I occupied when I lived in Sandusky, Ohio. It’s the middle of a hot July day. The air is hot but not humid. I can hear a lawn mower from a block or two over; even better, I don’t hear the damn weaselly little yippy dogs belonging to the neighbors. Everyone else is at work, inside watching soaps, or hanging out at Cedar Point. There’s the scent of Tide detergent in the air, from my wash hanging on the line. And no bugs.

I tried to figure out why the hell this was my happy place. It’s not like Sandusky’s a particularly happy town. It isn’t. It’s a faltering municipality that’s been let down by both the tourism and the auto-parts industries. And it’s not like I particularly enjoyed the schedule I had for the ten months I worked there at the local rag: 4 p.m. to 2 a.m., with Mondays and Tuesdays off. (Let’s face it, an introvert on the night shift is not exactly the life of the party — were she even available to attend said party.)

But the summer was good. I lived within walking distance of the county library, the waterfront, and a locksmith shop (useless but true). I had a cell phone and a washing machine (no dryer — hence the line out back), a television and a microwave. Iain, my fiance, was 400 miles away, but he liked to take long drives every couple weeks, so things could have been worse. My roommate, Brandi, was incredibly tolerant of my nicotine addiction and late hours, and the woman downstairs was as discreet with her male visitors as could be expected, considering her bed was obviously situated directly below my living quarters.

Some people might loathe being alone like I was. Brandi worked days, so I could go a week at a time only seeing her at the office. The other young people at work were nearly all reporters — day shift — so there weren’t many folks to hang out with. But I loved all that solitude. In hindsight, even the relative poverty was nice. Can you believe that my share of the rent was $180? For a two bedroom apartment, the upper half of a house. In 2002 dollars. And I probably spent $25 a week on groceries (Mountain Dew, crackers, macaroni and cheese). And I still was somehow living paycheck to paycheck. But I weighed about a buck five and I was tan, tan, tan.

(Not as tan as when I interned a summer at the Richmond Times Dispatch; then I was at the apartment complex’s pool every single morning from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., reading Chuck Palahniuk and listening to my knockoff Sony Discman. I loved being on the night shift then; thanks to my roommates Chrissy and Noreen, it was like I had TWO weekends instead of zero weekends. Party alla time, intern-stylee.)

So I was tan, from backyard sessions and from long walks down empty sidewalks to the dying downtown district. Once there I’d shuck my T-shirt, revealing an incredibly boring bikini top to go with my cutoff jeans, and sit on the edge of the water fountain in the deserted Schade-Mylander Plaza, reading or listening to music. Nobody ever came by; everyone did all their shopping at the Wal-Mart out on Route 250. Even if someone did come by their only entertainment, apart from a bookworm in a bathing suit, would have been to read the handbills advertising a long-ago Earth Wind And Fire concert that was to have played at the local theater, which may or may not have been defunct at the time. The theater, I mean, not Earth Wind and Fire. Such is the way of the small town these days.

So. Not that I miss those other, olden days, exactly, but rather the simple pleasures. Hot air and green grass, eyes closed against the sun, having a wealth of hours and nothing particular to do. No wonder that comes to mind when I’m trying to relax.

Enough out of me; how about you? Paint me a picture, either of Sandusky, if you’ve been, or your favorite way to fall asleep when you can’t stop thinking of shit you’ve gotta do. In the event that I start to remember the burning-tire smell of that town I’ll need a fallback.

Category: blather, pregnancy

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Comments

4 Responses to “The mind works in mysterious ways”

Elizabeth
February 5th, 2007 @ 8:44 pm

I’ve never tried a “happy place” so I could fall asleep.. must get one now. All the stuff might stop cycling through my head eventually, but then I’m up again due to some noise or being too hot or someone’s snoring again.

What came to mind just now was the steps outside the union at the UW. It’s summer-time, late-July, early-evening. The steps face north, so the sun is going down a little on the left, shimmering on Lake Mendota, a few sail boats in the distance. Beer in hand, my friend and I take in the sights of people and are on the look-out for cute guys (never mind that I was engaged then!). The air is calm, the beer is cold and life is slow and uncomplicated. I’m able to leave behind the toils of O-Chem for a while and just hang out. I would go back if I could.
After all that, I went back to my room, with it’s brown linoleum floors and metal frame bed. I had my staples of bagles, cream cheese and diet coke. And of course, Kosher dill pickles. I’d re-read Dostoyevsky and pretend to study, planning trips downstairs to watch Daria on the TV.
It was pretty happy, despite being by myself. I’m with you there.
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LetterB
February 6th, 2007 @ 12:25 am

Wow Elizabeth, your happy place is my happy place too. Also a UW grad. The Union. Sigh.

But the image I usually conjur up is on Lake Michigan around the Michigan-Indiana border. We spent many summers at different places around there either with my grandmother or with friends. The specific time I remember was when I was about 16 and after a long day of sun and swimming just walking the beach in my suit and a long underwear shirt that I loved. I had such a lovely feeling of well-being at that moment, maybe the first time I was conscious of that kind of feeling, so it’s a place I often revisit when I am sad or anxious and need to relax.
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Jen
February 7th, 2007 @ 10:06 am

Wow, the days in Sandusky. I remember meeting for lunch on Mondays at TGIFridays, with ceasar salads, baked potato’s and oreo psychosis. Hanging out on the weekends, becoming your “J-lo”, watching Shrek, going out with the guys that you worked with to that one bar (the name escapes me). Having time in between my home visits to go to the water front park to read whatever chick-lit book I was into that summer.

Now, my ‘happy place’ oddly enough is a golf course in Myrtle Beach. It’s a cool enough morning that I still need my windbreaker, but can shed it when the sun actually starts coming out. The course is on the ocean, so on the back nine I can hear the waves crashing against the shore a faint smell of saltwater in the air. The grass on the fairway, is so soft, I just want to lay down on it and let it tickle my arms and neck. The sun is shining so bright, but it is still chilly and there is still dew on the grass in the shade of the tree where the sun hasn’t quite made it through the leaves…..ok if I don’t get out of my happy place, I’ll never get any work done:)
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Ada
February 8th, 2007 @ 3:05 am

My happy place has been the same thing since I was 9 years old.

I’ve just gotten off the chair lift and I can hear my skies as they turn to face the mountain. I have just gone through the clouds to reveal the top of the world. The snow on the mountain meets the clouds in the sky and it looks like I can ski forever and the world is limitless.

much like this photo:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/markybon/97860947/
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