Monday, February 24, 2014

Relief or Grief

"Sometimes I wish for falling
Wish for the release
Wish for falling through the air
To give me some relief
Because falling's not the problem
When I'm falling I'm in peace
It's only when I hit the ground
It causes all the grief."
-Florence and the Machine

Sometimes I think becoming an adult is one of the stupidest things I've ever done. What was ever the rush to grow up? To leave behind those days when someone else organized my schedule and paid my bills? It creeps up little by little, but still manages to shock you when you realize, "Shit, that's coming out of my bank account" or "Shit, I have to confront that person about how they're trying to screw me over."

It must start in high school, when you're parents no longer check your planner to see what assignments you have to get done. You're just expected to get the homework done and study for the test. But even then, if there's a problem with a teacher you're parent is there to make the phone call. College comes along and you have to deal with your grades and your professors, but your parents still deal with money, the car, doctors, food, and whatever else seems out of your league. Then you get your own place on the other side of the world, well, if you're me you do, and all kinds of things are in your hands. Things that the average 23 or 24 year old wouldn't be handling and things your parents wouldn't be handling either. So you learn and laugh and cry and scream and curse and celebrate and grow before coming back to that same old comfort that you once knew. Then you leave and come back. Maybe one more time, or maybe two or three, until its too embarassing to admit that you live with your parents.  And even though you're only down the street or around a few blocks, being out for good makes a helluva lot of difference than being out for a time.  It hits me a different way; where I realize I'm not saving money. I'm not accessing their internet, I'm not using their zip lock bags,                        I'm not drinking their coffee...I'm paying rent and utilities and facing off with people at the license burrow.  Don't get me wrong - there are plenty of other advantages and perks. Like not having to call to tell where I am past 10:00, or making a mess in the kitchen and cleaning it up later, or stacking my clothes and my books wherever I desire. I've experienced a taste of those things before; the trade off just seems much greater this time around. 

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

And More Snow

This winter's soundtrack. 

1. Be Your Husband - Jeff Buckley, live
2. Ego Free Sex Free - Autre Ve Neut
3. Demons - The National
4. I Don't Want Love - The Antlers
5. Man On Fire - Edward Sharpe
6. Wings - Birdy
7. Everlasting Light - The Black Keys
8. Canvas - Imogen Heap
9. Gale - The Lumineers
10. Cassieopia - Sara Bareilles

Monday, February 3, 2014


I'm not much of a work-out partner. I like to get in, drown everything out with my head phones and thoughts, and get out. But I'm often attracted to some spectacle of the human condition. The gym is certainly one of the best places to people watch. There is the guy is the pool lane next to me, googles and all, who never puts his head under water. He just thrashes about like a netted dolphin. Or sometimes reminds me of Zach Braff in Garden State. There is a woman who comes every day, between the same hours, and though she goes to a locker and puts a lock on it, she brings her entire gym bag into the pool room with her. She has her swimsuit underneath her clothes, which she puts back over even after she's all wet. The older man comes to the big windows and looks in before he decides if its worth it or not.

There are some girls that are just far too cute to be working up a sweat. She has lots of pink and everything matches. Her hair doesn't move and the make-up prevents their face from glistening under the lights. I saw one in Christmas knee-high socks, biker shorts, a stripped tank, and a head band. The guy with the flames tattooed up his legs who looks at himself in the mirror frequently. "Beef" is what I want to nickname the curly-haired guy with the milk jug of water and loud voice.

I miss the girl at the counter checking people in, who knew me by name. But I was recognized the other day, by a former YMCA-er, who flattered me with the comment, "You're gettin' skinny."  Yes, I was the girl who ran and ran. I can't run and run anymore, I tell her. It's still a testament.

So someone is watching me, too.

picture via amodernhepburn