I’m So-oh-oh Tired
Because I am just going with it, living in the moment and going with friends to late-night bars, where we indulge in late-night bar food, juicy secrets, and the honest truth.
And because I work an early morning job now, all coffee and sunrise, so I am up and at ’em by 7 at the latest, sometimes as early as 5:30.
And when I’m not staying up late with friends, I’m staying up late baking, and doing laundry. That’s life, I guess–it can’t all be chicken wings and beer.
But I am also very calm, which is a new and strange thing for me. It’s partly due to exhaustion, and partly due to something else, unnamable. Some sense of grace that I’d so long hoped for, and I am feeling more grown up of late. I feel prepared for 26, whereas I dreaded 25, didn’t think I’d earned it. Wasn’t ready to grow up.
Not that I’m ready now. BUT, I am calm. And strong. The days pass by in little slivers and I appreciate most everything. Making a salad for work…
…how delicate and tart and fresh and pink an apple can be…
…and taking a moment to snap a photo, even in the middle of a whirlwind-busy day. Because it’s the right thing. Suddenly the right thing seems so obvious, if I only slow down enough to listen. Today it was: buying a little gift for my Dad, just because, and baking bread for the staff meeting.
It’s strange, because last week I was feeling so dis-jointed, so distant and isolated and irritable. (Probably also due to lack of sleep). But…I just let it go. I let it go, and I think things are going to be fine, and everything else is out of my hands, so I will probably just eat a salad and bake some bread and read in bed ’til I fall asleep about it. What else can I do?
Last week I felt like I just didn’t care anymore, about anything. I didn’t freak out about it, I just let it happen, submerging myself completely in the feeling. Like swimming through a lake, and now I’m on the other side. Not sure where this is, exactly, but it feels new, and real, and good, and calm, and utterly blameless.
A man just came to the desk where I’m working and donated the remainder of his clementines from a meeting in one of our public rooms. I have been craving citrus lately.
Artwork by a young patron. A gift. Okay, it was a barter.
Last night I was yelled at by a cab driver. He said my card was denied, that there was no money, and called me a liar, when I said I was certain that it was just a mistake. He refused to run it again, said that running a different card would waste even more of his time than I’d already wasted, yelled at me “What are you do?! Why you call a taxi if you have no money?!”
I stayed calm, repeating “What do you want me to do.” He screamed at me, threatened to call the police.
“Belligerent,” I believe, is the word.
Finally he ran another card, which of course worked. I slammed the door on my way out, and he rolled down his window to say “Attitude! You do not need to have an attitude.”
I staggered to the porch, fell into a plastic chair, and sobbed. What else could I do? How can people be so irrational, so needlessly cruel and harsh?
(Some days I am still little sarah, and it is a Big, Bad world).
But then…then there was my Stephanie P. friend, who rushed over, with hugs. Kind words and the promise of a brighter tomorrow. She had never seen me cry before, but I am not embarrased, and anyways, that’s what friends are for.
Today I made salad with bean sprouts, bloomed simply and magically in Sister Natalie’s kitchen. I like sprouts. I like eating a salad for lunch, and the way the sunlight comes in through my kitchen window. I love the little gifts and tokens of affection that my loved ones give to me, something green, and new. Like a bit of hope.
* * *
A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. --Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
So I can:
-have popcorn and dried fruit for dinner
-with a side of wine
-okay, many sides of wine
-spend a night by myself, and it will be okay
(it does not mean I’m undesirable)
-dance by myself
-and it is not pathetic
-it is just dancing
It is a release.
I Get Older, They Stay the Same Age
Dinner at Sister Natalie’s last night. Vegan deliciousness and Harry Potter V (Order of the Pheonix). This is the one where everyone cuts off their shaggy Goblet of Fire hair and gets ripped, where the boys become men. Pectorals and cheekbones, Friends. And that brings me to a phenomenon that needs discussing:
Sometimes I’m attracted to adolescent boys in movies, Friends. Don’t freak out. Let me explain: It’s just something I’ve never grown out of. Like, at one point I was a pre-teen and then a tween and then a teenager, and I had appropriate teen-y movie star crushes. Benny from The Sandlot. Joseph Mazzello from Simon Birch. The entire cast of Newsies. Then I got older, but I never fully shed those feelings. The years passed by, but the crushes remained the same.
And while some of you may be reaching for your phones to contact the authorities right now, I can assure you I am not alone. I know there are ladies out there who’ve got my back, 20-somethings who still freak out about how cute JTT is. It’s like the crush never goes away, even though we grow up and develop more age- and legally-appropriate attractions.
My Susan friend has had a mad crush on one Ronald Weasley since forever. Crushin’ HARD. And is that so wrong? I mean, if guys can talk about how hot Hermione is, why can’t ladies squeel over Ron and Harry? Or Cedric?
We can, and we do. We are the Lady Pedophile Film Society, and we meet monthly to watch movies from the 90s and remember our first crushes. Is that so wrong?
In other news: I have been drinking lots of wine lately. And last night I put some blueberries in it, what? I AM IMMUNE TO YOUR JUDGEMENTS. I WILL DRINK AND CRUSH AS I SEE FIT.
I don’t know what point I was trying to make with this. I feel tipsy right now, but I’m not! I’m at work! Blogging about drinking and pedophilia! That’s appropriate, right?
As is THIS.