The Sun = A Narcotic

I realize that I haven’t written on this in forever. Yet again.

Whatever—that’s what I’ve decided to think about this blog. I had originally planned it as something I would take seriously—write drafts of posts, think about them a long time in advance, have a specific topic that I would address and come at it only after extended thought. F*#% that. I do that all day. Here, for now at least, I’m just gonna spew.

So consider yourself forewarned, dear readers . . .

Right at this moment I want to spew about how damn amazing the weather has been lately in Moscow. I realize that I've written about this before. I'm okay with that. Anyway, for those of you who don’t know, winter is one big cloud fest here in Russia’s capital. Pollution, so I’ve been told, holds the clouds in, and you end up with something like one decently sunny day every two weeks. And yet as of last Friday, I’ve looked up to see a milky gray-white exactly once, in the early morning one day.

It’s incredible! I told my boss I thought the apocalypse was approaching, and instead of the confirmation I expected, he just said, “This is what spring is like here. You haven’t been here a whole year’s cycle, so you don’t know—but it really is.” I was shocked. In a really good way.

It’s made me think about how much the weather affects my mood, which I know is old news—you know, Seasonal Affective Disorder and all that, which seems less to me like a disorder and more like basic logic about pretty much everyone’s personality—but still a rather remarkable phenomenon. The sheer number of things that affect how one feels and how much energy one has and what one wants to do on any given day—well, it’s mind-boggling to think about. And here I am thinking that the weather is IT. This week it has been, but I’m guessing if the sun sticks around long enough, I’ll soon pass on to thinking I have more energy one day because I ate more protein or got more sleep or went for a run or whatever.

Another thing about Moscow for those of you who may read this just for those little tid-bits: spring and summer mean people are OUT. It’s awesome. For instance—and I could be totally wrong about this, but I don’t think I am—I came home on the metro this evening at a somewhat typical time for me—9 p.m. (don’t worry, I don’t get to work until 11). Often, I have to stuff onto a car despite the fact that “rush” hour (which is kind of perpetual on certain metro lines here, including, often, my purple line heading east outside the circle line) has ended a couple hours before. Tonight—I almost got a seat. I think people were out, walking around, chilling in the city streets. I know I was the night before. And it’ll only get warmer and lighter and, I hope, less crowded in the metro from here . . . . . .

There are lots of interesting reasons for that, by the way. Such as the fact that most young people here still live at home, so spring and summer means the freedom to be on the street, with friends (and partners) and without parents. But also, in some way, it seems like the seasons are so extreme here in Moscow (and much of Russia) that you end up with this highly marked, mostly unconscious feast-and-famine mentality about life, such that in winter, everyone sits at home and mopes and sleeps a lot—and in summer, everyone lives it up like crazy. I guess that’s how it is in plenty of places, but here it seems to me more of a thing. Maybe it’s just because I’ve come from Claremont, where winter means 60 during the day instead of 80 and, sometimes, a few less sunny days—but I don’t think so, at least not completely.

What’s so cool to me is that it’s still literally feast and famine in some ways. Obviously, you can get anything you want food-wise year-round here these days, but in summer, the selection is absurdly better. The markets are packed with vendors and produce, and stuff is orgasmically cheap. And tasty. I can’t waaaaaiiiit . . . . .