Have I mentioned how much I like this new apartment? It's a wonderful place to live. The location is excellent, too - campus is literally a three minute walk from my front door. Work is about the same distance. It's wonderful. Simply wonderful.
The only problem is that I feel really melancholy when I'm in my room, and I don't have the slightest idea why.
Before I get too far here, I want to remind all of my gentle readers that I'm really not as sad as you might think from reading my blog over the past week or so. Those not acquainted with me would probably think that I'm just a complete emotional wreck. Those who know me in real life know better. I'm still far from being chipper and smiley-happy, but I'm doing alright. (The eye twitch, shooting pains in my hips, and aching back might provide evidence to the contrary, however.) Seriously, though, I'm doing fine, and I appreciate all of the concern and comfort I've received from you. You're wonderful.
That said, my room does instill a sense of melancholy in me. I think this has to do with the positioning of my window. My window faces west, which allows for plenty of light to enter the room - especially when the sun is setting; it looks beautiful - which you'd think would provide a cheerful feeling. The problem, however, is that due to some factor beyond my control, almost no natural light come directly into my window. Maybe it's the tree slightly to the south of the window. Maybe I live in some sort of refractive vortex that prevents natural light from coming into my room. Whatever it is, though, the room always feels very dimly lit. There's light, of course, but it's dim enough that it reminds me of walking on an Oregon beach at about 6:30 in the morning. The sun is just coming up, yes, but it's from the east - away from the sea. The whole landscape has a cold, grey feel to it. The cold is literal - there's nothing warm about a beach that far north, and especially on the Pacific coast - but also figurative. Something about the grey gets inside you. You just feel chilly until the sun is properly up.
Now that I think about it, this makes an awful lot of sense. Of course I'm feeling melancholy if my room reminds me of the Oregon coast. I spent one year in Oregon before I came to school here, and I spent it miserably. While I made the best of it (I am an optimist, after all), it still wasn't pleasant. I was glad to have made it out of there when the time rolled around for me to come to school. Most of my Oregon memories involve me walking to school in the drizzly, misty rain, staring up into the cold, grey sky and listening to the Radiohead album that convinced me that I had something to keep me going, after all. (The song I most frequently listened to from that album? Why, "Optimistic," of course.) That year in Oregon felt - and still feels, to me - morose and downtrodden.
Wow, maybe I should just spend my time in the library instead. I'd just turn on a light, but I hate turning on the lights this early in the day. It's barely after 3:00 right now. Who turns on the lights at 3:00?