luminous and happy

(video credit youtube user AgentThirtyFour)

I watched the solar eclipse with Nick last week. The internet misinformed us, and we thought we wouldn't be able to see the eclipse from home. A road trip to New Mexico or Arizona was out, given that we're broke, and Nick couldn't get Monday off of work. So we watched the eclipse online. After a while, though, we figured we'd give it a shot, and went outside to see what we could see. I'd bought a pair of flimsy solar viewing glasses a couple months ago, and we decided to give 'em a spin.

As we stepped onto the sidewalk, there was a break in the cloud cover, and we were able to see the last ten minutes of the eclipse. It was really strange, but very fun, looking at the little orange sun, grinning like the moon. A good quarter of its face was hidden in shadow. We watched the shadow sliding away and the sun slipping behind the horizon.

It was fun. I know I already said that, but it was. Fun in a summer vacation, staying up past our bedtimes kind of way - except this isn't summer vacation and I don't really have bedtimes anymore. It was nostalgic. It felt like when I was a kid and would lie in bed with the late summer sun coming in through the white curtains, falling asleep listening to the older kids playing down the street, to the irregular pong! pang! pong! of their basketball smacking the pavement. Comfortable, and familiar. Not the eclipse itself, I guess. But tumbling outside into late afternoon sunlight, getting giddy and awestruck. It was like being a kid.

Just a few days ago, Nick and I attended a friend's young brother's graduation party. It was another gloriously nostalgic day. Gorgeous weather. I sat outside and ate grapes and relaxed with friends and made plans to go backyard camping this summer. I also got involved in a lively debate about the relative believability of Voldemort's reign of terror in the wizarding world. (I love having intensely nerdy friends.)

It's weird. The stress and constant pressure of needing and failing to find a job (or rather, a job that measures its payment by the year, not by the hour) has me feeling pretty desperate and worried most of the time. But then at other times, I'm struck by these inexplicable kid-moods. Like, I'm overcome by these wild creative desires that are not at all productive or realistic. I think it's just subconscious escapism - just my mind trying to distract me from anxiety. Or maybe it's trying to motivate me? Like it's saying, "Look at all the rad stuff you could do once you're not worrying about how you're going to afford to buy groceries!"

For example (given the time and opportunity), I want to be in a big ridiculous joyful sloppy scornful loving cynical gigantic bizarro band that's like the Decemberists & the Head and the Heart & Florence + the Machine & Glittermouse & Mucca Pazza & OK Go rolled into one, all heartfelt and nerdy. With like twelve people on stage, playing weird instruments and being noisy and luminous and happy. Our shows would only be performed in the summer, at night, outdoors, with the crickets and frogs, and each performance would be accompanied by fireworks. And we'd hand out sparklers to the audience.

Realistic? Practical? Reasonable?

No. And, in all honesty, it's probably something I'll never actually do. But it's a nice daydream, and it reminds me of all the small ridiculous creative things I want to be doing. Filming youtube movies. Making music with friends. Trying out new recipes. Learning to swing dance.

It's a good reminder to myself to keep sending out applications, to keep editing and tweaking my resume, to keep churning out cover letters. Because, one day soon, I'm gonna land a decent job and I'll have time to be just as ridiculous and creative as I damned well please.

It's gonna happen soon. And when it does - look out.