Sitting in a Starbucks in Sacramento, once again paying for internet access. I got to town at 5, which is kind of unfortunate, because my flight doesn't leave until 11. And I have no where to go. My one friend in town has other plans for about another 45 minutes, so I'm desperately trying to hang on until then. All I want to do is lay down and go to sleep, but that's not happening tonight, because I'll be on a red-eye, headed towards New England. That is, if the giant snowstorm doesn't shut down my connection at O'Hare.
Don't you just love the holidays?
Much melancholy for me lately. I dreamed that some people I know made me some art as a thank you for this work I'm doing in the schools, and when I saw it, I sobbed for hours. I never cry. Then a friend invited me over for a "lettuce party". (Sometimes I wish I could be inside my own head.)
I guess I'm sad because it's really hitting me that this phase of my life is over, and I can't ever get it back, no matter what. It's so weird that one minute I'm completely looking forward to my future, and the next I ache so much for the past. Sometimes being an adult sucks.
Happy Thanksgiving!
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2 comments:
it's ok to be nostaligic. But don't let it suck you in. One door has to close for another to open, and who wants to fight nature? You will just end up getting 15 face lifts and turn into the old man in the club. Bad news, that.
I have my folks here. Within 20 min my mother is hating on my jeans, and telling me they offend her. Made me turn my face back and forth so she could inspect my skin condition, and then threatend to leave early because..again...my clothes offend her. I couldn't bring my self to walk in front of her down the hall. All she does all day long is inspect me.
They aren't interested in seeing my plays. Maybe the one they haven't seen yet, but they haven't really shown any intrest.
Why was I looking forward to this again?
I often find myself in limbo between wistful nostalgia and impatient hope. It's a strange place to be, but it feels right to be there despite the discomfort of not quite being here or there. To the extent that thresholds signal movement, not inertia, I love the liminal.
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