~OR~
What I Wanted Is Not What I Want
When Kevin left for Spain last fall, I went through a period of intense domestic yearning. I wrote about it a bit here, but I’ll tell you now that it was basically the first time in a long time when I’d longed for a settled life. A house, a yard, a family. Read the rest of this entry »
Sometimes anxiety seems an old friend to me. Someone who comes to stay for a while, usually whenever I go through big life changes. Break-ups. Graduations. Etc.
It is hard work. It is lots of planning, and fittings, and discussions of necklines and colors. It is more estrogen in the atmosphere than is probably safe to take in. But you manage, because this is your best friend’s wedding.
Last Friday Eric and I played a benefit. For…I’m still not sure. There was so much gong on–us, and a small jazz group, and some sort of Latin salsa-esque group. All in different corners of the same big warehouse. There was no start or end time for us playing. We just started when we arrived and played until a big band started, right in the middle of our song.
Then we got food, listened for a bit. Lindsey Friend was my date, adapting to my busy night so that we could have time to walk and talk. I ran into an old friend. It was uncomfortable. Later, I ran into an old band-mate–the first time that’s happened since I quit. Strange, strange Salt Lake City.
I’ve never had a nickname. When I was little, I was known as Sarah Bunny, but that was within my family. More of a pet name.
Lately a few people have started calling me by my last name, which is awesome. Makes me feel special to them. But it still doesn’t fill my lifelong desire to have a proper nickname. Something born of shared experience and friendship.
I went to brunch at Deedee’s house on Sunday. Deedee is not her real name, it’s Edith. And, I mean, how frickin’ cool is that?
I just want the same thing. That’s all.
“There’d Be Days Like This, My Mama Said”
-The Shirelles
Days where you are too anxious to eat, but Mom makes you tofu curry scramble and fresh salted garden tomatoes. So you eat, and you do feel better.
Days when you have to explain to your little sister what breaking up is, how if you are boyfriend and girlfriend with somebody, and you don’t want to be with just that person anymore, then you break up. And that means you don’t see each other as much anymore, and that means Rosie won’t be seeing her friend Kevin as much anymore. Do you understand?
She doesn’t, but she tries, and she holds my hand and kisses my cheek.
Days where you go to a Ladies’ Luncheon, laugh about the bad decisions you’re making, make light, feel better. More like yourself.
Days where you play music in a church, where beautiful girls sing pure and powerful, like sirens. And your friends tell you they love you, and when you lean your head on their shoulders, they lean back into you.
Sunday, August 19th, 2012
(café on 1st)
Sitting here, puzzle nearly finished, everything bagel with hummus, soy hot chocolate. A new journal, an old dress. This is me, I need to remind myself. This is me, without friends, without family or lovers. I exist. I have likes and dislikes. I have quiet, pleasing moments.
I go on.
Oh, hey there Friends. ‘Member when I said about being ready for summer to end?
Turns out somebody else said it super way much better. Here.
Ah, well. You can’t win ’em all, right?
…(grumble, grumple, scrunched up face)…wish my blog was a thought catalog…
Not sure WHAT I’m cataloging here. Pictures of salads? How many times I use the word “delicate” to describe a moment?
Anyways.
“And I see losing love
Is like a window in your heart
And everybody sees you’re blown apart
Everybody feels the wind blow”
-Paul Simon, “Graceland”
Suddenly all of Paul Simon’s lyrics are speaking directly to my life experience. There’s that one above (and I’m sorry to anyone who’s received contact wind-chill from my gaping chest hole), there’s “If you’ll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal” (“You Can Call Me Al”)…
And, of course, “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.”
“Get yourself free,” indeed.
Maybe I just think all the lyrics are about me because of the space I find myself in, or because I never matured past middle school.
Or maybe I’m prematurely middle-aging.
Mornings when I open at the coffee shop start early, 6:15am, though I often get there closer to 6:30. I have the opening duties distilled down to a single fluid sweep. Then I unlock the doors, serve the regulars. Wipe coffee grounds and pastry flakes from too many surfaces, weigh out the day’s beans.
And then I make myself a beverage and do the crossword puzzle. A little mid-morning break.
My dad’s a crossword savant, breezing through the Sunday Time’s puzzles (even the diagram-less!), while I’m proud to have finished a Tuesday in the Salt Lake Tribune.
Still, you’ve got to start somewhere. Keep yourself occupied.
little sarah Big World 