Dionysian Dissonance

I pretend, for a while, that life is a carefree game. That drinks at the boathouse or neverending sake marathons at seedy downstairs joints are nothing out of the ordinary. A steady stream of old friends and strangers' smiles. I wake up in a daze, dress in the last clean items in my closet, begin all over again. Work piles up around me, last night's jewelry. My inbox is a slew of unanswered emails and propositions. My fridge is full of farmer's market produce bought in a flash of faith in my staying home to cook at some point. Dollar bills dance from my open pocketbook.

Finally, on rain-soaked Soho cobblestone, the endless debauchery trickles to a stop. The calm makes my head spin. Already, plans are being built for the coming weekend, but when I step inside my quiet, crowded apartment, my little space in this mad, turbulent city, I can feel myself start to unwind, pause. I will sleep, I will work, I will clean up the remnants of this tornado, I will write.

So it goes, the ebb and flow, the calm and the storm.

I would not have it, any other way.