I woke up this morning to the sweet smell of coffee and the sound of the cat vomiting. Not the nicest way to start the day, but not the worst either: when you spend the first five minutes of your day scrubbing the carpet you know your day is probably going to get better from there.
Walking to the car a spare twenty minutes later I found myself lamenting the late-rising sun and realizing that the day had barely begun but summer was already in its decline. This particular time of year in this particular city always makes me feel suspended between two extremes in a kind of limbo.
On the morning train I sat in silence in the quiet car while a private dance party blared in my head. I made myself a long to do list for the day but managed to accomplish nothing on it. Instead I stared out the window at the low rooftops whizzing past on either side of me. This would feel like flying but I’m only thirty yards off the ground. At the Western Avenue station I can see down a road too short to have a name of its own. Part of me wonders where that road goes. Part of me already knows the answer.
Downtown in the Loop I walked to work. I have an office with a window, but I can’t see the sky and I can’t see the ground, and I sit with my back to it. When I do look out I find myself looking into the windows of the building across the way and I can see office workers sitting with their backs to me. There is no sense of time here. I try to write something meaningful, but every time I start to get some momentum up I am ambushed by a ringing phone.
The day is heartbreakingly beautiful and every minute that I miss feels like a sin. Even though the workday is over I find myself still at my desk with my back to the window struggling to find the words to break through this sensation of being trapped in suspended animation. Then I give up and go home.
About the author: Gwydhar Gebien (@Gwydhar) is a Chicago based independent filmmaker who would like nothing more than to stop living someone else’s dreams and start pursuing her own.