Living in DC

There's something quite peculiar about this town. Is it because this is the birthplace of our incredible experiment called democracy? No, perhaps it is the dazzling marble sculptures of great men that line the Potomac River like tinsel on a Christmas tree? Maybe its the imposing robust columns made of limestone that stretch to heaven like sequoia trees and the majestic staircases that roll down the front of entrances like waterfalls. The buildings are exhibitions of inspiration, with intricacy so gifted that only God himself could have inspired it.

The awesomeness of the DC scenery is simply beautiful... cold, hard, white and beautiful...

But mostly cold.

I have much in common with the columns, and sculptures and staircases... Each day... I feel my insides become colder.... harder.... recalcitrant... my smiles, that once used to bubble forth from my heart and dance over my lips.... becomes stiffer.... my soul, once joyously dancing throughout life, has began to slink along ... becoming tired....

Where has my cheerfulness gone? Why do I feel so heavy...

Why has the song in my heart and stride in my step been replaced with a lump in my throat...

I feel as if I'm growing older each day that I live in DC...

Chicago was fun.... honestly, too much fun. I LIVED in the moment without cares or concerns. I Loved and received love in return. I PARTIED until the wee hours of the morning night after night. I had passionate SEX that embedded my lover's name in the crevices of my heart. I experienced heartbreak that stained strands of my hair like the best Mary Jane.  I was spoiled, and adored... I was a girl, enjoying the best of life...

Now, I sit in the back of an office in the supplies closet, just as lifeless as the copier that I sit next to. I dash out the door at 5:00 p.m. on the dot and run home to sleep and escape the boredom of being awake. The pretentious people and their elite parties bore me. The sohpmoric boys who hide unattractive faces behind big titles and government salaries bore me.

My ride on the train to work where I stand body to body, and cheek to cheek next to the overworked, underpaid peon next to me... We are all in a hurry to get to our 8, 9, 10,11, 12- hour slow death sentence... we frantically run at the sight of the next train, we must be on time....borrowed time... time we trade for money like prostitutes... Bumping into each other like sedated animals being herded onto the ramp ...we are just a bunch of sheep on our way to being slaughtered...

It's 65 degrees but I'm cold.

Much like the marble stairs, the statues and the columns, I've turned to stone.

I'm alive in DC, but this is far from my definition of LIVING.