Tonight the streets ricochet with pops and gunshots. It is the 5th of November, Bonfire Night. Young people wander up and down the street, cheerfully taking advantage of the unusually dry evening. Shooting stars keep rising over the roofs. Bangers, fireworks, fizzles, sparklers, Roman candles, bombs, Catherine wheels, bees and Bengal flares, thunderflashes, salvos of stars, salutes of crosettes…They pull out all the stops for pyromania tonight. It’s been going on, actually, for 5 days. And each night it starts at 5:30 or so PM because it’s already dark enough.
The dark is what I came to write about, actually. It’s challenging.
The thing is, I actually have enough time right now to stop working in the evenings. I stop work. I make dinner. We watch TV. And then I get bored. We used to eat at 7pm, although on a theatre shift we’d snack at 5 and then eat something else at midnight when the day was over. Now I’m coming home from an office and making dinner as the sun sets, and we eat by 6. There’s another 4 hours left before I’m thinking of going to bed, but I don’t have to work. I don’t have anyone to hang out with. And it’s dark. Significantly darker than home, too, as the ambient city glow is more of an ember than a twilight. The streetlamps are fewer, and have not yet switched to LEDs. There are no office buildings being cleaned at night, with endless floors of fluorescent humming and custodial silhouettes. I love that there are no spot lit advertisements, to be read by no one. But it’s dark.
I feel like sleeping already. I feel dim and wasted. I’m disinterested. I’m bored.
Signs and symptoms. Warning bells. How long may I hibernate before the sirens ring out, depression?