Everyone’s afraid of their own life If you could be anything you want I bet you’d be disappointed, am I right? am I right, am I right, am I right.
Toward the end of my time in Spain my junior year my roommate remarked, “Can you believe we’ve been here four months.” To which I replied, “Yes, and I’ve felt every minute of it.” It had been a long hard fall.
I realized the other day that I’m still telling people who ask that I’ve been in San Francisco for only two months, not because I’m trying to mislead them, but because I’ve ceased to be a counter of days. I was honestly shocked to realize I had been there for four.
I recently met someone who offered to take me places I have always wanted to go and for the first time in a long time I didn’t want to be so far out, but back home in San Francisco, sharing some innanity with my roommates, happy. It took moving to a city in California to make me sick about wearing nice clothes, being so vain, reading fashion magazines, and I was puzzled about why, and then it was so obvious. I needed something to push against. When I lived in Bellingham where they have their own kind of dirty liberal vanity, but where this new attitude would have been accepted and I could have maybe done something about it, I didn’t. I wore high heels in the snow, both literally and figuratively, and would never have bragged about boyfriends who lived in vans.
It is too much work and not enough fun to live your life pushing. I will try to be waving not drowning. Not be so afraid of my own life, that I become disinterested as soon as it starts to get good.
I hope this year I will not bide so much time, but will spend the afternoons like I’ve worked for them, because I have.
Oh and this year I’ll start flossing, I swear.