Lethargy

I first encountered the word "lethargic" when I was in sixth grade. In Accelerated Lit class, we were reading "The Phantom Tollbooth," and the word was used to describe the inhabitants of the Doldrums. I remember being intrigued by this new word, such an apt and onomatopoeic description of a sluggish soul. I was particularly affected by the word because it gave a name to much of what I had been feeling in sixth grade. Our Accelerated Lit classroom was particularly warm because our teacher, Mrs. Poppen, would not bow to our requests to turn the temperature down. She was a bit of a curmudgeon, which was another word I learned that year. For whatever reason, our classroom remained stifling, and the combination of oppressive warmth and as yet un-challenging literature made me rather lethargic that year. My head would nod, my eyes would get heavy, my mind would wander into the land of unicorns and waterfalls, and then Mrs. Poppen would shout my name and I was back in Thousand Oaks.

I am now in LA. It is a Saturday afternoon, and after a heavy rain yesterday, the swollen, gray clouds drag the unsuspecting blue down with them. I say this not in judgment of the clouds; on the contrary, I am quite fond of them. They seem pretty cool, for clouds. But they are heavy with importance. They have something on their minds. The rest of the sky has no idea what is going on, but the clouds...they know. I think they are conspiring to distract me. Today, more than ever, I feel lethargic. There is no Mrs. Poppen to verbally smack me, and the clouds are taking over. They are moving in like an army, sending in a few scattered wisps as scouts, then advancing as an impenetrable unit.

The sun is in cahoots with them. He is staying far away, hiding behind some bluff while he lets the clouds do their work. He retreats deeper and deeper to avoid condemnation. The wind is helping too! Why do they encourage the clouds so? What offense have I committed that would merit this assault? Moon, stars, why do you not show yourselves? You have ever been my friends and allies. You comfort and protect me when the pressure is on, a solid assurance that you will be there when my work is done. Why are you hiding? The clouds are persistent. They want my attention this very moment, and I must give it to them.

The sun dares show his face, his treachery revealed! The jig is up. No hope of nighttime now. He sends his feelers through my window and creeping onto my desk...a gentle beckoning. I close my eyes, turn my face, lay my head down on the desk. Lethargy is luscious.

Seizing Starbucks

This past weekend, I went to Starbucks with my roommates. Our expressed purpose? To do homework. Normally, I shy away from these obvious attempts to fritter away time in a culturally elitist environment, but this time I accepted. I take that back, I went one other time with my roommates to a Starbucks in Manhattan Beach, and we ended up seeing Kerri Walsh and Misty May-Treanor play beach volleyball in a major, once-a-year tournament. More on that later.

I accepted the invitation to "do homework" at Starbucks because I had, in fact, already done all the homework I felt like doing that weekend. If my roommates actually worked, I could lord my freedom over them (internally, so as not to distract them); if we ended up completely distracted by fellow coffee addicts frequenting the largest franchise in the world, gossiping about our lustless lives over lattes, my bases were still covered.

A ghoulish grin spread slowly across my face when we squeezed our bags through the crowded door: the place was completely packed. The line seemed fitting for Disneyland, not Starbucks, and every square inch of table or couch had already been claimed by other people "working." It was madness! It was Sparta! I half-wanted a giant well to form out of the ground so I could kick in some unsuspecting seat-usurper. But then I remembered that I had expected this, had even wanted it so that I could prove some minute point to myself about the futility of trying to work in a coffee shop. We nevertheless got in line, and I began to be impressed that my roommates actually did want to work. We ordered our drinks, Allison leapt like a gazelle at a set of cushions that opened up, and I perched on a leathery corner to read.

Time crept by. My muscles began to scrunch. A family on the opposite couch decided they'd had enough of the craziness, and left. Katie and Al synchronized their leaps this time, and the couch I had been sharing with Katie suddenly became mine. I settled into a new position, and was instantly more comfortable than I have been in years. I mean it--I felt like I was floating on Aslan's breath, the way I was stretched out on that leather couch with my laptop on my legs and the sun in patches around me. I noticed the dark wood of the tables and chairs, and observed the people coming and going. I played "Hay No Problema" by Pink Martini in my headphones, and I finally began to see a completely different world in front of me.

That guy with the green t-shirt and box cap was a revolutionary, not a grad student. The emo that just walked in had been locked in a dungeon, and, for the first time in years, he was feeling the sun on his pale skin. I put away my assignment, and opened a new page in Microsoft Word. I began to freewrite, transmitting everything I saw and felt into a highly stylized journal entry. I remember concluding from the way a woman rubbed her feet that I want to work in a French bakery at some point in my life. The way Katie slumped her shoulders was poetic. Maria's hair as it fell over her shoulder was a rope for a prince.

Nothing was new here; I had seen it all before. Katie has slumped her shoulders in my presence countless times, and Maria's hair first thing in the morning--well, no, it does resemble a rope. But even so, my roommates became mythical! Allison was curled into her chair like a cat napping between mousehunts, and a surge of affection for all of them coursed through me. At that moment, I think I began to truly see my world around me. Everything that made up the present moment, that made up my life, was imbued with significance. But I had not been able to see it. It was not until I played an enchanting soundtrack and took a step back that I could gain an eagle eye perspective. For too long, I had relied on the words of others to ascribe meaning to my life. I never liked to tell my own stories, always prefering to hear how another would explain things. Fantasy novels were my bibles, and I could not understand how life in the real world could ever be as exciting as Middle Earth. But last Saturday, I began to see it. The utter practicality with which I had been viewing life began to crumble, and the art remained.

I started to feel connected to everyone and everything around me. Even the woman with the impossibly big boobs was a comrade-in-arms. I let myself see the greatest homogenizing franchise in the world the way I watch my favorite movie, "I Capture the Castle"--with wide, determinedly innocent eyes. I watch that movie like I've never seen it before, surprised and excited by everything because deep down I know it has wonderful truths to offer me, and I want to let myself experience the thrill of discovery over and over again. From now on, this is the way I will choose to see life. I will bring my myths into the real world, make the fantasies exist for me...capture the castle. But I will not really capture it at all--I will merely allow it to exist where it always was.