My Denial Sets Earlier Now
According to some sunset charts I clipped out of a newspaper, since the summer solstice, the time of daylight begins to shorten by about 2-3 minutes daily. In the blissfully long, less-busy days of summer vacation, ignoring this slow shift was pretty easy. With the exception of a few days, where Masha totally did not get up after 3 pm, the bright time of the day generally seemed long enough for whatever incredibly important things I absolutely had to get done, from working to writing to wandering around the city to trying to get my hair out of my face by blowing on it. All equally vital and serious tasks, by the way. The sun and I were on decent terms. It always seemed to be up and at 'em by the time I finally decided to stumble sleepily to the espresso machine. It made the days warm enough, and apparently didn't have an issue with endless amounts of crop tops and shorts shorter than my temper. And, most evenings, it left me with a beautiful sunset at a time when I could actually pay attention to it and have an moment of what I wish were embarrassingly deep contemplation, but usually just a massive urge to paint something followed by a realization that I need to deal with all the canvases in my room.
The sun was a good buddy.
Now, a few months have passed, and my solar friend is not around quite as much. It certainly doesn't feel like it but, with the exception of two, all days in your life are 24 hours long. Sure sometimes your boss yells at you and you miss someone and you're cold and running late and the day seems to take about three and a half years. Other times, I'm pretty sure my day feels short enough to be a non-skippable Youtube ad. The 24-hour cycle hasn't changed, but the "days" are shorter now. Less hours of natural brightness, less hours of independence from harsh fluorescent bulbs. Theoretically, less hours to be up and about and more hours for napping, or atleast more hours spent wrapped up in blankets in the company of hot tea, or this hot guy I know named Netflix.
Atleast, that's what all the "Cozy Fall Mood" nonsense I see online every day now seems to say. And yet that somehow seems so dismal. Being so willing to say goodbye to long, endless, adventure-filled summer days and warmly welcoming, or perhaps surrendering to, relaxing, being indoors, coddling unfulfilled excitement in fleece blankets. Lazy evenings of netflix and scented candles. Pumpkin Spice Sadness.
The sun might disappear earlier now, but this Sleepless Girl gets more time to enjoy the company of the moon. There's something immensely satisfying about being active in the quiet hours of the night, when you seem to have the world to yourself. The sun might brighten my day, but the moonlight shines in ones darker hours. The city is only more beautiful after dark, and the streets, empty of streams of competitive, pissed-off, ever rushing people, seem more welcoming somehow. The best adventures and crazy stories can continue. That's not to say all this babbling isn't partially an attempt to convince myself that I can keep wearing short clothes, drinking cold coffee, and walking on sandy hidden beaches. But perhaps the early sunsets can cease to put a damper on an overly vivacious 5-going-on-18 year old. Screw Netflix and Fuzzy Socks, I'm running across the George Washington Bridge in the darkness
