Yeah, there’s a news flash. 🙂 Can you be a little more specific, Erica? OK… I freaking hate “spring forward.” I’m the only one I know who feels that way. Why? Because, personally, I don’t see what’s so great about having daylight linger on and on until 8:00 P.M. It’s nighttime, for God’s sake. It should be dark.
I am a creature of the night; I have always preferred the darkness. I have a blackout shade on my bedroom window. When I’m at John’s, I always close his bedroom blinds. Get that glaring hot fireball out of my face… bring me the dark. Perhaps I was a vampire in another existence. Not that I believe in that nonsense (vampirism or other lives).
When darkness falls, quiet settles in (well, it should, anyway). Kids cease their outdoor squalling and go indoors. The din of traffic dies down. It gets cooler and people want to be inside to get warm. But when it stays light until after 8:00, the nighttime peace is postponed.
I suppose this is all part and parcel of my personality, my natural inclination to withdraw and go within. I don’t like being too aware of the world around me; it encroaches upon my fragile peace. The news has been tragic lately; all the reports of the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear meltdown threats in Japan. The adjectives describing it have been dire: catastrophic, cataclysmic, apocalyptic. John and I are polar opposites when it comes to bad news — he immerses himself in it, as so many others seem to do. He has CNN or some other news channel on every minute that we’re home, watching endless footage of destruction and misery and growing death counts. My mother used to be the same way. She’d watch bad news, crying and railing on about how bad things were, literally making herself sick.
Me? I can’t stand to watch it. I want to turn it off and put music on, or a movie, or something, anything but the news. When we had the L.A. riots here years ago and we were all trapped in our homes with an after-dark curfew, most people I knew were glued to their TV sets, watching the riots play out. I turned them off and played records (I didn’t have a CD player yet; it was 1992). And I channeled my nerves into action and cleaned out my closets.
I ask John how he can stand watching that stuff for hours. He says we should stay informed. OK, I’ll go along with that up to a point. I’ll turn on the news at 11:00 and watch it for a half-hour. But after that, I’m done. And what good does it do? Is my watching every last sordid detail going to help anyone in Japan?
And here’s more of my weirdness — everyone feels sorry for those who were killed. I don’t… I feel sorry for the ones who remain, who have to deal with their lives being torn asunder, their homes gone, their futures in ruins.
So… forgive me, but I’m going to remain in the dark. I clung to John a great deal this weekend, made sure to tell him I loved him often. Now I’m going to sit here in my quiet, intact apartment, feel VERY grateful indeed for it, and listen to music. I will think about the fun I’ll have tomorrow night, focus on things to look forward to and appreciate, and do my best to think of little else. Denial? Maybe. For me, it’s self-preservation.