i underestimate you because you love me
Out the window of my parent’s house a hummingbird and a bumblebee are fighting over the spout of the hummingbird feeder. Earlier my dad thought the bee was a baby hummingbird. He claims to hate hummingbirds, and my mom wonders aloud how anyone but the very evil could hate these adorable creatures, and he says they are like the Mazda Miata, too perfect with nothing to love. He might have a point about the Miata, but animals can’t be too cute, or too ugly for that matter, which is what makes Persian cats so intriguing.
The sun is going down on a hot day, and it seems to be summer here in Washington unlike San Francisco, where the fog is always rolling in or threatening to. The douglas firs are lit up half golden, and the mountains are purple in the distance, and I’m getting that road trip feeling like I never want the car to stop moving. You’re headed for those mountains, and you imagine things might become obvious when you get there, and you forget that all the reality is right here already.
Traveling is a dream. My dad says it’s dangerous to anticipate a trip too much for this reason. The difference between imagining a trip and traveling is like the difference between a picture of yourself and what you see when you look in the mirror. In the imagination you are necessarily blocking the inevitable possibility that you will still be yourself when you land in Thailand. In my imagination I am necessarily blocking the inevitable possibility that time exists in Belize. I’m going back next week for the first time since I lived there as a child. You may know what I mean, although it’s possible that our imaginations are not the same.