A Morning Musing
May 1, 2008, 9:01 a.m.

I woke up a little early today for two reasons. The first one was because I’m really cold. The temperature dropped last night and we turned the heat off a while ago because of how high the electric bill is when it’s on. The second is because, in a way, the final dream I had before I woke up was a bad one. I openly wept in the dream.

Actually, it was a bit of a long, drawn-out dream. What happened at the before the bit here is unimportant. I had just left Richard Bland College and was heading to Richmond. Since I wasn’t totally asleep, I was listening to Death Cab for Cutie in my car and I was cold. So I decided to stop by the Petersburg Library to pop online and check the weather.

{Earlier in the dream, I did have a phone conversation with someone where I did mention the city and how I know it will eventually turn out better but I don’t want to be here during the transformation. In reality and in my dream, her husband is among people trying to revitalize the downtown area. Much like Detroit, Baltimore and Philly, the thinking of developers is to start with the downtown. True, the end result is a virtually crime free, beautiful downtown full of business and tourists but it’s dead at night and the problems in the rest of the city still remain. It makes me think of the high-class tourist hotels virtually sharing a wall with the favelas of Rio de Janeiro and the metaphor of that in &#8220Black Wave/Bad Vibrations&#8221 by Arcade Fire: &#8220Eating in the ghetto on a hundred-dollar plate.&#8221}

I drove through the city, looking at the complete poverty in some places, the abandoned buildings, the ones with half-assed renovations, burned-out buildings, effectively a real scene of the city. I kept wondering to myself why this happened; how a city could get to this point; how a city at such an important crossroads on the east coast could come to this point, especially in light of the the commercial mecca just on the other side of the Appomattox.

I reached the library. Inside, books sat on the shelves, collecting dust. The floor seemed grimy. It was loud because people were talking and playing music. There was a line for the computer room but no one was really following it. The people who were reading were looking at pop culture magazines. I was in an institute of voluntary learning and people were doing anything but.

I couldn’t wait in line anymore. I couldn’t stand to be there anymore. I had to get out.

&#8220I don’t know what to do,&#8221 I said. &#8220I can’t help them. I work at a newspaper but they can’t or won’t read. I want to help them but I don’t know how. Why are they like this? Why are they OK with being like this?&#8221

I wept. I wept for the poverty. I wept for the poor education. I wept for the virtually non-existent commercial tax base. I wept for the people who think that pushing out babies, drinking 40s, smoking crack and shooting people who &#8220disrespect&#8221 you is all life is about. I wept for the people surrounded by knowledge, knowledge that could take them anywhere, mentally or physically, and all they cared about was the next horrible rap song that topped the charts. I wept for trying to make a difference and knowing that, as soon as I can, I’m just going to give up and walk away for greener pastures. But they’ll still be there like this. For how long, I don’t know.

I hoped someone could do something for them.

I left the library and the city defeated. I head the end of &#8220Stable Song.&#8221

I woke up as it was ending on my computer:
Time for the final bout
Rows of deserted houses
All our stablemates highway bound

Suffered a swift defeat
I’ll endure countless repeats
The gift of memory’s an awful curse
With age it just gets much worse
But I won’t mind
I won’t mind
I won’t mind
I won’t mind …

I’m visiting Charlottesville Monday. It’s not for the Daily Progress, if you’re wondering. This has nothing directly to do with a newspaper.

Hopefully, it is finally time for a new change.