Friday Night Lights
I just installed a showerhead. I’ve been waiting anxiously for it to come in the mail, having picked it out months ago and waited until it was on sale enough that I could “afford” this “luxury.” I’m most excited about the fact that my skin won’t smell like chlorine after a shower anymore. And that was my Friday night.
It’s that part of the summer, that part of the year, that part of the week, I guess, when people are doing their “summer” things–traveling, barbecuing in the backyard, spending quality time that they don’t often get–that usually leaves me installing a showerhead and calling it an evening. I suppose it’s the price I pay for being non-busy, non-married, non-with-children, maybe non-inspired and hoping for something outside of myself to create a little interest or buzz or energy. I’m not sure why I still think this will work; looking outside of myself for anything has only ever ended in disaster. And so I lay here on my couch, trying to pump myself up to watch a movie and wondering how I get myself some of those things that make installing a showerhead a weekday chore to be reminsced about over a gin and tonic on the back porch with someone who’s interesting and interested. It doesn’t seem like that much to ask but yet remains deceptively elusive. Maybe someday there’ll be a trace of this scene.
But not today.
I want to make it okay that this is what this evening holds…but it’s not just about this evening. I often wonder if anyone ever remember how it feels to hear some iteration of “I’m too busy for you,” when they’re saying it to someone else. I’ve just never understood this idea. “But Katie,” they’ll say, “you just don’t understand because you have so much time and you don’t have responsibilities to worry about.”
“Well,” I think, “that’s just the shittiest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” It appears I have a lot of time because I make time for people who need to talk, people who want to get together, people who need a hand with something, people who need a place to stay. I bend and compromise; I practice understanding and compassion; I wipe my feet before entering; I bring a bottle of wine; I’m good for a laugh. But it just never seems enough. Because when push comes to shove, I just don’t understand enough what it means to have responsibilities–or relationships–to care for. It’s only the thing I do every day…silently and with no symbols or markers to signify my work or care. No. My work is silent and invisible and I should be happy for the time I do get…
…because after all…people are busy…and I have so much time.
I’m sick about it.