Everything is going great, really great. So great that all I want to do is hold you about the shoulders and lean in real close to impress upon you, dear reader, how great everything is going.
Last month I went for a walk in the woods with my ex (the ex) and it was wonderful. I have nothing but hope and wonderful feelings towards him, with no jealousy, no regret, nothing mixed in. Which I think is largely due to the fact that everything is going great, I'm in the perfect place for me, I'm more independent than I have ever been, and I think ever would have been, if things hadn't turned out the way they had.
So today I was bored of my music, because I've basically been listening to two albums on repeat, The Flaming Lips Sgt. Pepper's album, and the new Taylor Swift album, both of which are ah-mazing. Like, hold you about the shoulders and lean in real close to tell you how amazing they are. But this morning I decided to put my music on shuffle. I did this, and promptly skipped like 80 songs because I have a holy metric ton of Johnny Cash on my phone (who knew?) and finally it settled into a nice rhythm of nostalgia and pleasant surprises.
I was almost at work, and a new song came on, and I thought, What a great song, I really like how this is starting out. And it continued to play, and my brain continued to think, I really like this song! but then my heart, oh my heart, it started to grumble, and turn over. Ok maybe my heart is in cahoots with my stomach but anyway there was this weird bodily feeling because about 45 seconds in I realized what this song was. The Fleet Foxes. And my heart was just like, NOPE. And I switched songs.
Which maybe you can read that as, wow she really isn't over that dude, but I wouldn't, I really really wouldn't. It's just to say, how little control we have over our senses, how you can think that all the connections that once were there were gone, or changed into new connections, a new kind of love and fondness for a person that's now just turned into a memory, but there's still some. The last cord to strike a chord.
So everything is going really great. My lab is becoming my best friends and family, to the point where I was saying to them that I really only use two rooms in my house, my bedroom and my kitchen, so I was thinking about moving my bedroom to my living room and having my current bedroom be an office and then have the living room be the living room (it's kind of hard to explain but I can draw you a picture if you want) and someone's suggestion was, "why don't you move Lena's bed into your room and have the bedroom be the bedroom and Lena's room can be the office." And don't for a second think that I hadn't thought about that. Bunk beds were even a hilarious option, but I said, as much as I love that idea, I would like to maintain some semblance of the possibility that I may one day have a partner, and I think sharing a bedroom with my daughter is a surefire way of that not happening.
Everything is going so great, but--I haven't been in love again, and it's weird, because I'm not lonely, I'm happy, and I know this isn't the end all be all, but sometimes it does feel that way, and I'm just a little sad, because I love being in love (except maybe I don't) and I'm not. And there have been people, oh there have definitely been people, but I'm just not...I don't know. I haven't been there.
And I don't think it's the Fleet Foxes. I really don't think it's the Fleet Foxes. But if it's not the Fleet Foxes, then what is it?
Showing posts with label metaphors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label metaphors. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Saturday, May 31, 2014
the hill
L and I went to the mountains for memorial day weekend. We rented a house with friends, and on Saturday morning we (let's not even front here--I) packed up the car and we drove to Boone. We met at a park for lunch, then caravaned the rest of the way to our rental cabin. To get there, we drove up a big. ass. hill.
I love my car. It's amazing in the snow, it's been with me through everything. Longer than any boyfriend, longer than Lena. I love my car, I will defend my car to anyone. However, there are a few things that my car cannot do. It doesn't accelerate that great. It kind of shakes a little on the highway, if you go above 70. The stereo sucks. The air conditioning just stopped working. It..doesn't do hills that well.
The hill came up out of nowhere, and before I knew it, I was flooring the poor subaru, listening to the engine growl in protest, watching the speedometer slowly fall from 25 to 23 to 20...
L is in the back--happily pointing out trees and flowers-or asking me questions-or talking to herself, continuing our game of twenty questions started on the highway--I don't know, the only thing I could concentrate on was driving up this hill, wondering whether I was going to make it. My car is an automatic, but under the little notch of "D" for "Drive" are "3","2","1". Between wondering whether I was going to make it up this hill, the vague thought crossed my mind that maybe something about these numbers might be relevant, and that I should perhaps investigate what they do.
We finally make it up the hill, and for the rest of the weekend's activities, we pile into one car. I'm in the back sitting next to the 4 year old, and I never have to worry about driving up the hill again. Only one thing haunts me: driving down.
There's a really big change that happens when you become a parent. It hits a lot of people in different ways, it's probably contingent on where you are in life, how sensitive you are to the rotation of the earth, the changing of the winds. My change into parenthood was gradual, because I don't think I ever understood the weight, the gravity, of what it means to have a child. The best analogy that I've heard and that I love is that having a child is having a piece of your heart outside your body. As a twenty year old, I didn't know what my heart was. As a twenty-six year old, I know a little more of love and of loss, and my daughter, who is my heart, who walks on her own, thinks on her own. Lives and experiences things on her own.
So my change was this. I am fucking anxious now. It might be grad school stress induced, but driving on the highway stresses me out. Turbulence on planes freaks me out. Lena near roads, Lena on walls, Lena in trees, Lena careening down the hill on on her bike. Be careful with my heart! I want to shout. So selfish, I know. Forgive me. I'm only twenty-six.
I used to drive up to Asheville all the time. My best friend from high school and a handful of other friends moved up there during my senior year, and I went up to visit them plenty of times throughout the year. Speeding on I-40 on a Friday after school let out. Driving from Hot Springs back to Asheville at 2 in the morning, singing Tracy Chapmen's Fast Car, into the yellow lights of a neighbor's party. Climbing up cliffs, looking for shortcuts, getting baked, setting up a tent on a hill in the dark, waking up a pile of tangled bodies at the bottom. One of those boys is dead now, the obligatory statistic of a high school class of 400. But nothing scared me then. Nothing at all.
(In retrospect, a little fear, one moment of not feeling invincible, would have served me well. But then I wouldn't have been young.)
After many hikes, meals, wonderful conversations, watching our children play, it's time to go home. Which means, time to drive down the big ass hill.
We drove up and down the hill plenty of times over the course of the weekend, so I had a plan. I was going to use these other gears that my car has. Because you're not supposed to ride your brakes, you're supposed to let the engine do the work. So at the right turn into the downhill, I shift down from drive into 3, then 2.
Then I rode my brakes the entire way down that hill.
When I made it to level ground I let out a whoop of joy, one of my arms going out the open window (because my air conditioning doesn't work, remember?) I did it. I conquered this hill. And after that, I had the most perverse thought of all: I wanted to go back up and do it all again. And do it all again, better. Because I did it. I made it up and down that hill.
For some reason I thought there was some great extended metaphor here, but I think I lost it somewhere. Anyway, I was really proud of myself for making it up and down this big ass hill. I felt really grown up and independent woman about it. The end.
I love my car. It's amazing in the snow, it's been with me through everything. Longer than any boyfriend, longer than Lena. I love my car, I will defend my car to anyone. However, there are a few things that my car cannot do. It doesn't accelerate that great. It kind of shakes a little on the highway, if you go above 70. The stereo sucks. The air conditioning just stopped working. It..doesn't do hills that well.
The hill came up out of nowhere, and before I knew it, I was flooring the poor subaru, listening to the engine growl in protest, watching the speedometer slowly fall from 25 to 23 to 20...
L is in the back--happily pointing out trees and flowers-or asking me questions-or talking to herself, continuing our game of twenty questions started on the highway--I don't know, the only thing I could concentrate on was driving up this hill, wondering whether I was going to make it. My car is an automatic, but under the little notch of "D" for "Drive" are "3","2","1". Between wondering whether I was going to make it up this hill, the vague thought crossed my mind that maybe something about these numbers might be relevant, and that I should perhaps investigate what they do.
We finally make it up the hill, and for the rest of the weekend's activities, we pile into one car. I'm in the back sitting next to the 4 year old, and I never have to worry about driving up the hill again. Only one thing haunts me: driving down.
There's a really big change that happens when you become a parent. It hits a lot of people in different ways, it's probably contingent on where you are in life, how sensitive you are to the rotation of the earth, the changing of the winds. My change into parenthood was gradual, because I don't think I ever understood the weight, the gravity, of what it means to have a child. The best analogy that I've heard and that I love is that having a child is having a piece of your heart outside your body. As a twenty year old, I didn't know what my heart was. As a twenty-six year old, I know a little more of love and of loss, and my daughter, who is my heart, who walks on her own, thinks on her own. Lives and experiences things on her own.
So my change was this. I am fucking anxious now. It might be grad school stress induced, but driving on the highway stresses me out. Turbulence on planes freaks me out. Lena near roads, Lena on walls, Lena in trees, Lena careening down the hill on on her bike. Be careful with my heart! I want to shout. So selfish, I know. Forgive me. I'm only twenty-six.
I used to drive up to Asheville all the time. My best friend from high school and a handful of other friends moved up there during my senior year, and I went up to visit them plenty of times throughout the year. Speeding on I-40 on a Friday after school let out. Driving from Hot Springs back to Asheville at 2 in the morning, singing Tracy Chapmen's Fast Car, into the yellow lights of a neighbor's party. Climbing up cliffs, looking for shortcuts, getting baked, setting up a tent on a hill in the dark, waking up a pile of tangled bodies at the bottom. One of those boys is dead now, the obligatory statistic of a high school class of 400. But nothing scared me then. Nothing at all.
(In retrospect, a little fear, one moment of not feeling invincible, would have served me well. But then I wouldn't have been young.)
After many hikes, meals, wonderful conversations, watching our children play, it's time to go home. Which means, time to drive down the big ass hill.
We drove up and down the hill plenty of times over the course of the weekend, so I had a plan. I was going to use these other gears that my car has. Because you're not supposed to ride your brakes, you're supposed to let the engine do the work. So at the right turn into the downhill, I shift down from drive into 3, then 2.
Then I rode my brakes the entire way down that hill.
When I made it to level ground I let out a whoop of joy, one of my arms going out the open window (because my air conditioning doesn't work, remember?) I did it. I conquered this hill. And after that, I had the most perverse thought of all: I wanted to go back up and do it all again. And do it all again, better. Because I did it. I made it up and down that hill.
For some reason I thought there was some great extended metaphor here, but I think I lost it somewhere. Anyway, I was really proud of myself for making it up and down this big ass hill. I felt really grown up and independent woman about it. The end.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
rhetorical questions
is there anything more tiring than kids?
is there anything more exciting than outside?
is there anything greater than friends who have their shit together?
is there anything greater than friends?
is there anything more metaphorical than a mountain?
**
L and I had an amazing weekend in the mountains, with friends. Not new friends, but getting-to-know-better friends, and it was spectacular fun. This is going to be a fun summer.
is there anything more exciting than outside?
is there anything greater than friends who have their shit together?
is there anything greater than friends?
is there anything more metaphorical than a mountain?
**
L and I had an amazing weekend in the mountains, with friends. Not new friends, but getting-to-know-better friends, and it was spectacular fun. This is going to be a fun summer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)