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Greetings From Sunny Chicago
Aug. 13th, 2003 12:41 amI arrived at O'Hare this evening, then went right to Wrigley Field for the Cubs game. The Cubs won, and I acted pleased because it seemed the polite thing to do.
After the game, I went to my hotel, the W Chicago City Center and fell in love with the place. It's beautiful and luxurious and someone else is paying for it, which I like. The room's a little small, and at heart it's really just a hotel room, but it's really beautiful in the cold, stark, super-hip—but yet still comfortable—way that I'm a sucker for.
As I got here, plugged in my laptop, and started catching up, I got hit by a complicated bunch of emotions that I'm still trying to untangle. It was a combination of my reaction to the hotel, which I found cool in several senses of the word, plus some thoughts about this entry, combined with the ongoing existential crisis.
I don't know how to make sense of it in words. It's something like putting pieces together: falling in love with a hotel because of its coldness; needing emotional distance from people; getting excited mostly over the immediate sensual pleasures of food, drink, and hot sex, or over the intellectual pleasure of solving some kind of puzzle; and feeling sometimes that I want to lose myself in work and in enjoyment of its rewards. And I wonder sometimes if the result isn't that I'll die broke, bitter, and alone, muttering to myself in a small studio in Inwood.
The things that I find myself wanting, that I long for, are the things people say are empty, meaningless, insubstantial. I've tried to want the other things, or to pretend to myself and others that I wanted them, but it doesn't work. Family, to me, means a twenty-five pound sandbag chained to my neck. I am realizing that my trouble with emotional depth is exactly why I don't make deep, lasting friendships.
But I also get lonely sometimes, too.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I don't know where I'm going to be going with this in the future. I just tonight needed to say it.
After the game, I went to my hotel, the W Chicago City Center and fell in love with the place. It's beautiful and luxurious and someone else is paying for it, which I like. The room's a little small, and at heart it's really just a hotel room, but it's really beautiful in the cold, stark, super-hip—but yet still comfortable—way that I'm a sucker for.
As I got here, plugged in my laptop, and started catching up, I got hit by a complicated bunch of emotions that I'm still trying to untangle. It was a combination of my reaction to the hotel, which I found cool in several senses of the word, plus some thoughts about this entry, combined with the ongoing existential crisis.
I don't know how to make sense of it in words. It's something like putting pieces together: falling in love with a hotel because of its coldness; needing emotional distance from people; getting excited mostly over the immediate sensual pleasures of food, drink, and hot sex, or over the intellectual pleasure of solving some kind of puzzle; and feeling sometimes that I want to lose myself in work and in enjoyment of its rewards. And I wonder sometimes if the result isn't that I'll die broke, bitter, and alone, muttering to myself in a small studio in Inwood.
The things that I find myself wanting, that I long for, are the things people say are empty, meaningless, insubstantial. I've tried to want the other things, or to pretend to myself and others that I wanted them, but it doesn't work. Family, to me, means a twenty-five pound sandbag chained to my neck. I am realizing that my trouble with emotional depth is exactly why I don't make deep, lasting friendships.
But I also get lonely sometimes, too.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I don't know where I'm going to be going with this in the future. I just tonight needed to say it.
