when did i become a postage stamp?
when did i become one inch tall and marked by home,
so no matter how far i go, everyone will always know these legs are far more used to wading through snow than waiting on subway platforms.
when did i leave my neatly organized page of 35 other stamps, all of us uniform in the conviction that One Day We Will Go Somewhere?
here’s the thing about leaving:
you find out exactly where your edges are,
but first you have to peel yourself away,
and it’s too much, sometimes, to figure out everything that you’re not.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Blue hair and Vespas
A few days ago, mom told me she was heading to Wal-Mart. "Need anything?" she asked. "Yeah, blue hair dye!" I told her, because I've been meaning to fix my hair for a while. Later, I came home and found a box of Manic Panic on my bed. Today, she helped me pull out all the faded streaks and clip them back. The hair dye smelled kind of like blueberries and harsh chemicals, and now our bathtub is tinted slightly blue.
"BABE WANT TO GO LOOK AT THE VESPA TONIGHT?" Valerie texted me earlier this evening, post re-dye-blue-streaks operation. She's been casually browsing Craigslist for scooters and motorcycles for years, but lately a lot of our friends have been getting their motorcycle licenses and exuberantly tweeting about it, so I think it's making the motorcycle-fever worse.
We went and talked to the woman from Craigslist, who was the mother of someone who went on a laser tag date with one of our roommates this winter and then sent some confusing texts. His mother seemed nice though. And the Vespa is great. It's adorable and yellow and sort of perfect in it's impracticality, and Valerie spent the drive home rattling off Vespa facts she'd learned from the Internet the night before.
"I should have just spent the summer in Fairbanks," I told Valerie after our millionth conversation about how average Anchorage is. "I think you'd just be heartbroken when you left though," she replied. "I'm heartbroken now!" I said, with characteristic dramatics. "It's inevitable, and I might as well have enjoyed the last part of my summer in Alaska." "Yeah, but transition times are necessary," she responded with sage wisdom. "You'd either have one in Haifa, or right now in Anchorage, so it might as well be right now."
It's true in a way. Hopefully this purgatory means I won't spend several weeks wallowing in Mediterranean August humidity. Regardless, we're going to Fairbanks this weekend, and I'm beyond excited.
"BABE WANT TO GO LOOK AT THE VESPA TONIGHT?" Valerie texted me earlier this evening, post re-dye-blue-streaks operation. She's been casually browsing Craigslist for scooters and motorcycles for years, but lately a lot of our friends have been getting their motorcycle licenses and exuberantly tweeting about it, so I think it's making the motorcycle-fever worse.
We went and talked to the woman from Craigslist, who was the mother of someone who went on a laser tag date with one of our roommates this winter and then sent some confusing texts. His mother seemed nice though. And the Vespa is great. It's adorable and yellow and sort of perfect in it's impracticality, and Valerie spent the drive home rattling off Vespa facts she'd learned from the Internet the night before.
"I should have just spent the summer in Fairbanks," I told Valerie after our millionth conversation about how average Anchorage is. "I think you'd just be heartbroken when you left though," she replied. "I'm heartbroken now!" I said, with characteristic dramatics. "It's inevitable, and I might as well have enjoyed the last part of my summer in Alaska." "Yeah, but transition times are necessary," she responded with sage wisdom. "You'd either have one in Haifa, or right now in Anchorage, so it might as well be right now."
It's true in a way. Hopefully this purgatory means I won't spend several weeks wallowing in Mediterranean August humidity. Regardless, we're going to Fairbanks this weekend, and I'm beyond excited.
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