On an ordinary day, I’m the friendliest person on the city streets. I smile at everyone and frequently say hello, even to people who scare me a little bit. (Perhaps especially to people who scare me.)
But some days I prefer isolation. Today is one of those days.
You never really know what’s going on inside someone. I feel like I’m shaking, though not visibly, from my hands to my intestines. After a quick lunch in the break room, I turned on my iPod and left for a walk through downtown. With Ryan Adams surrounding me aurally, I somehow feel it’s acceptable to stare at the ground instead of at the city moving around me.
I walked through the park, past the art museum and back to the library, where I feel safe in my anonymity. I don’t need any more books—Lord knows my to read list is long enough already, and I actually have a day-past-due book laying on my car’s passenger seat right now. But whether I’m sitting at this table with a yellow legal pad and pen or I’m hiding among the books, inhaling scents from their borrowed homes, here I can be ignored.
Sometimes, that’s exactly what I want.