I fell asleep to the sound of silence; the smoke detector quiet after twenty minutes of playing around with it. We slept in our clothes, in a borrowed bed, in a house that was not remotely ours, and we slept apart. My foot touched his leg before the sleep set in, and he kicked my legs away and grabbed my waist and told me I was icy and he wasn’t sure he could spend the next few hours next to me. I laughed slightly, but not before I realized what I really want. Him.
We went to Jerry Springer this afternoon. We sat in the second row, and I shook Jerry Springer’s hand. I’ll have to describe it later; it was insane and exhausting. Smutty, a lovely afternoon break from everything.
Afterward, we took a cab from the studio and went out for soup at Chicago’s best soup bar. I had Mexican tortilla soup. And I loved it.
And now, with a headache, I am feeling worse for the wear and desperately in need of sleep.

We have made plans to attend a live taping of the Jerry Springer Show, famous for showcasing the strange on television for millions of viewers. I read a whole article about how daytime television pretends to shelter, but only ends up exploiting the “guests.” As of Monday, February 19th at 5:15 pm, I will have been a part of the talk show phenomenon that has left millions of people with lower IQs and expectations.
I’ll post pictures soon of the snow. Only a few inches fell, but the lake was beautiful. Still, though, it has not risen above freezing in weeks, and I feel as though when spring comes, my body will need to thaw for days before I reach normal temperature. I’ve been keeping my room at an unnaturally warm temperature, upwards of 75, and I love it.
I took a study break on Tuesday night and went over to sleep on the couch again with the cat. There’s something wonderful about the city of Chicago in the morning, something I have never really appreciated since I do everything in my power to avoid seeing light before noon. Walking back to the train, we pass a busy street. From the relative quiet of the neighborhood, with it’s crunching snow and silent houses, to Argyle, with chickens hanging from hooks and the thick smell of Vietnamese food in the air is quite the contradiction, and while waiting for the train, there are times when strains of Mexican music floats up to the tracks. I wish I had words to describe the differences between the definition of “urban” as I know it in Denver and the one that I am experiencing here. The train sways back and forth and comes routinely. The people do too. Cars stop, go, stop, go and honk.
I know nothing about the streets here, so watching the cars is an odd experience for me. On the rare occasion that I am in a car, I find myself in awe of the movement that it has. Funny, because that’s one of the things I definitely take for granted at home. Here, however, it is all walking or public transportation, which in itself is an adventure.
I should be reading about the Hindu religion for my next class.

With the Super Bowl rapidly approaching, the excitement around Chicago is climbing. That is not true of the temperature, which keeps falling. The high tomorrow is supposed to be 2 degrees, which does not bode well for my walk home. I am currently situated somewhere north of downtown and south of school, off the Argyle stop on the train. After that, it is a ten minute walk to the house that houses the couch I have been calling home for the past couple of nights. I have slept on it no less than three times since meeting its owners a few weeks ago. Emily spends a lot of time here, since two of the three inhabitants are from St. Louis.
I am cold. Today, adventure by car to Chinatown, further south than I had been previously. And then to another apartment, in an unfriendly neighborhood, although it was filled with welcoming individuals.
I am also tired and unsure as to the sudden onset of exhaustion.
Perhaps sleep will come tonight, perhaps I shall have to wait until tomorrow. Ha, no, the big game. Go Bears!

As darkness crept toward morning, he asked me what my favorite band was. I smiled, and told him Smashing Pumpkins, and the sound echoed around the quiet room.
I woke up with the impression of my necklace on my arm and the sunlight pounding through the curtains. I turned around, finding the clock on the windowsill, and realized that I hadn’t been asleep for nearly long enough.
She came to visit me from Indiana. We had lunch, watched movies, and took a nap before running all over the city once again. She left the next morning, I took her down to the Blue line and to the bus station. Once she was safely gone, I crawled home again.
The wind has been bitter here lately. It’s been snowing off and on for a few days now, and it’s getting more and more uncomfortable to leave the building. The grocery store calls, though.
I am still tired.

Steve raised an interesting question today.
Perhaps I will stay at Loyola for a short summer session, lasting until the end of June, and move in with him for the two months that I will be attending extra classes. That way, he’ll have someone to live with for the first part of the summer, and so will I.
I am thinking about doing that, even though it means not spending the entire summer in Denver. I’ll get a jump start of classes, because I’ll have extra credit hours, and I’ll be able to live with him (because I won’t be able to next year).
It has been a good week. I’m getting settled into my classes; still buying books and such, but for the most part, keeping busy. I spent the weekend with my friend Emily and her friends, at an apartment not far from campus. We watched movies and ate, but it was comfortable. It snowed.

Oasis
in the middle of the hustle
I breathe in,
letting air into my lungs.
And hold it,
while I look around.
There are moving people
swarming back and forth,
to the places
they need to go.
Sky gray and cloudy,
I slide my hand into my pocket
and finding comfort and warmth there,
I leave it
as I walk away.
Going anywhere.
As darkness falls,
I find myself
traversing home
alone.
Surrounded by silence
and neon lights
in the city
where quiet is a rare find.
The train slides by me,
and suddenly I am home.
Again.

“The City”

You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart-like something dead- lies buried.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”

You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore.
This city will always pursure you.
You’ll walk the same streets, grow old
in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses.
You’ll always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere:
there’s no ship for you, there’s no road.
Now that you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you’ve destroyed it everywhere in the world.

-C.P. Cavafy, translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard

Solitude, at last.
It seems that there is much to be done, yet at the moment I cannot bring myself to do any of it. I hope tomorrow brings some other sort of hope and drive to accomplish.