fluorescent lighting
30 July 1999

Jim.

I mentioned a few weeks ago that Jim is moving back to the States soon. Actually this weekend. Taipei, the city I jokingly use as shorthand for the furthest distance I can imagine, is the city he's called home for just about two years. Always twelve hours ahead in the future... floating amid perplexing time configurations... day to my night. But my romantic notions of having a friend on the other side of the earth will come to a screeching halt when he steps off that jet at JFK.

It's hard to imagine someone willingly returning to a life that I so desperately want to escape. In his last post he spoke of bank accounts and credit cards and cars... ingredients of the American Dream. I agree with his reasons for leaving Taipei now... but hope that he doesn't settle into the banality he's managed to escape thus far: 9 to 5, profit sharing, fluorescent lighting, servers that scan your incoming email, the company picnic, ID badges, swipe cards, and particle board walls that seal you inside a quiet nightmare.

The dreadful fate of the middle class: enough money to ward off natural chaos, not enough to generate an exciting simulation. Everyone I've talked to lately can hear the droning, white-noise hum of their lives right now, lulling them to sleep. I dream of lying down to sleep in a field of poppies and waking up closer to Oz. I dream of days that begin at 4:45pm and end just after breakfast. I want someone to shake this small and boring snowglobe to create a miracle of motion.

Jim says I'm good at my angst. But most of the time, I just feel numb... distracted and hollow, trying to raise some sense of panic. Even as I write this, it's hard for me to string together honest, meaningful thoughts. I look back on my laughter with friends just a few hours ago and wonder why the night took such a somber turn. It's the hopelessness of not feeling that has crept under my skin, making me pimply and uncomfortable.

And it makes me worry about my jet-set friend, wishing for him to escape a similar fate. To return, but to rebuff this humming... so deafeningly quiet.

What do you want to escape?