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neither precious or unique.

October 26, 2008

Chloe: “I’m so tired of being serious.  You should be so tired of being serious.”   

Feelings are getting us down.  They make us tired, they hurt our throats, they close our eyes, and bring out full moons and Jose Gonzalez songs.  They make us forget what we were doing.  I am walking down Market with Chloe carrying supplies for a weekend art project.  We run into Chloe’s friend on her way home from what could only have been a wild night out.  The bruises on her arms seem meant to tell a story.  She shows them to us easily, laughing, she seems happy, and beautiful in a fragile tired way.  She is alive on Market Street, the sun is shining, there is a crisp breeze and, the beggars don’t come too close.  She leaves us to find food, and plans are made to meet up later that are both sincere and improbable.  We walk away, and I am struck by how scary it is for the viewer to catch someone off-guard.  How we want to look away from each other’s flaws, the dirt on our faces, unbrushed teeth, and last night’s mascara smeared across our eyelids.    

Later we are shopping for Halloween costumes on Haight, and I can only thank god for friends.  It feels good to laugh at the soft-porn advertisements in American Apparel.  To prance around the store with a yellow sweatband on your head.  To realize that you just bought a 30 year old pink bathing suit for $18.00 dollars that there is no way you are wearing on Halloween.  

To cry in your bed and have someone stroke your hair, and agree that it is the best feeling in the world and that boys are almost always bad at it, although you know one who gives great foot massages.   

As you explain things to your roommate’s sister who is a lawyer, who has never heard this story before, you watch her face run from sympathy to total unbelieving, and then she is laughing, and the ridiculousness of something that seemed so earth shattering is suddenly apparent, and soon you are all laughing hysterically about sleeping in vans and the hypocrisy of hipster elitism.  

You remember what you knew all along. It’s not so serious.  And soon the sun’s coming up again, alarm clocks are ringing, and this is after all the first day of the rest of your life.

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