Stoop Stories

I went to see Stoop Stories tonight. It was excellent. It was engaging, original, surprising.

As we left the theatre, Marisa said the experience reminded her of college, when such shows were always available and accessible. I agreed.

I wondered what stories lie in the projects a block from my house. For a minute, I wondered when I became the person to whom those projects were basically a nuisance. Then I dismissed that thought and acknowledged that there was no going back; the projects are, after all, a nuisance. But I did think about the play, the characters, their stories.

It didn't take long, even after such an intense, engaging play that makes you listen for every word, to return my attention to the mundane. Of the little things that excite me, that make my day, there's nothing like getting to the metro just in time for your train, especially outside of rush hour, especially on a Friday night after a long day after a long week. My metrosense is well honed; I recognize, by sound, without thinking about it, the stage of a metro train: whether it's pulling into the station, how many seconds before the doors open and then close, if it's too late. I got to McPherson Square and saw on the display board that the next Franconia train would be in eleven minutes, so when I heard one pulling in, I intuitively knew that it was a Franconia train downstairs, and I knew I could make it. Other people use their instincts to start their own business or enhance their social interactions with other people; I use mine to catch trains whenever I can.

Walking from Logan Circle to McPherson Square brought back memories. I walked by the parts of town through which I cycled when I lived in Shaw and commuted to Georgetown. I walked parallel to the walk from class to Farragut West, which reminded me both of class and the walk, and walking with Heather after class. It's crazy that that was years ago and it's crazy that I'm going to her wedding in two weeks (and a day). So much of that class has seeped out of my mind; in theory, I would really like to pick it up again, practice, salvage what's left. Can I handle it? Is there an opening in the cluttered real estate of my head? Besides, there are chairs to be reupholstered, compost to turn over, Netflixed episodes of How I Met Your Mother to watch (have I mentioned that that show is awesome?) But I digress. I guess my point is that there was a time when I used to care, i.e. about things other than upholstery, and I want to care again but I'm tired and caring takes energy. Surrounding yourself with the things that remind you why you care and making room for those things in your life take energy.