Seattle weather is the fucking pits. The skies are gray and the cloud-dampened daylight lasts about seven hours. Compared with the Bay Area, where you can lay out in the park in January, coming home feels like a major step back. It’s really hard for me to find the initiative to work on a project, or walk my dog, or, like, get out of bed when there’s no sun to warm my face. I don’t want to do shit when I’m home. I wish that I wanted to, but I don’t.
Honestly, it’s convenient to blame the weather. My psychology is weird when I’m here on a holiday break. The kid I used to be tromped around the city, spending entire days downtown, and never cooped herself up. I used to be mystified by my friends’ hibernation habits. Who would ever want to stay in and do nothing all day? Turns out: I do.
In my head, I’d always choose being out and about over being comfy. My first words were “go places.” Proof! Anyway, hibernating, or whatever you want to call it, has been the pattern during my last few extended stays at home. Whether it was the rain or the lack of routine or the simplicity of being at my mom’s house, there’s something that happens in my head that turns the switch from “Let’s go out all the time!” into “Just text them and tell them you’re too tired…” It’s like I magically got lame one day, like something inside of me gently coaxed, “Yes, Dylan, waste your life away in your beautiful hometown. That sounds nice.” Whatever that something is, it’s lame! It’s given me a couple of summer and winter breaks where my habits are comparable to a bear’s.
I’m writing this on my last night here. I’m about 30 minutes away from going to my friend’s show at a venue down the street and I’m planning on partying all night to say goodbye to my city. At least I’m doing something today, although it makes me feel even more as if I wasted all these weeks here. ♦