Doing Like She Does
Remember it's a Feast
I'm camped out in G and K's apartment in Brighton, having a staring contest with the watering can. It sits on the table, a lump of silver plastic molded into the shape of an elephant. Between the cartography and the feminine hygiene products, it feels a bit like living with Bromberg again. But parking is it's own circle of hell. It took me an hour to find a space last night, then another twenty minutes to walk to Swarthmore in the rain. Spending an evening with them made me realize that I haven't seen many of my friends, at all, in years. I just make new ones. I guess that's what happens as your world widens, you lose people, time, desire, and fill that space with other people. Oh, Sartre.
There is a pattern to the chaos. Right now, I'm living quietly. Drifting, as it were, turning in slow circles like a leaf upon the water, trying to decide where I want to exert my will and what direction I want it to take me. I'm getting closer, but as ever, I am drawn back to Northampton even as it tries to push me away. I got into grad school last year, in a couple different subjects, but I didn't go, and that's as it should be. And I'm still not sure what next step I want to take. I want to be done with school by the time I'm thirty, definitely. I don't think I want to get my PhD, and I haven't the patience to go through medical school, nor the desire to be responsible for others' lives, although I am very interested in surgery. Nutrition, Public Health, Nursing, Social Work, Immigration Reform, Prison Reform, Law, Public Policy, Teaching, Advocacy, Writing, Art, Design, Marketing, Social Theory and Networking. I want to combine them all and be paid enough to live comfortably and still have time to go climbing and diving and running and do yoga regularly. And I don't want to be reliant on a car as gas prices soar towards $5 and no one complains. If the increase were due to some amazing tax that were funding something useful, I'd be all about it, but it isn't.
While seeking out the elusive overnight Boston parking space, I was wishing that someone would create an app for finding parking spaces. Combine some geo-tagging, streaming satellite feed that has mapped out all the non-permit parking only spaces and fire hydrants to direct you to the closest available space before you're fuming or your engine overheats.
Track hack. The wind around the reservoir killed me during our run this morning. So did the Brazil nuts I mowed down prior to hitting the pavement. I stumbled to a walk, nauseated, head pounding, chest heaving. It was good. But I want to be interval training. Distance doesn't particularly interest me. Nor do the pursuits of most of my age group. I like getting up and sending a teenager off to school. There's a rhythm to it that attracts me, the simple daily chores of living. I'm not sure why I'm happy, if my hormones finally evened themselves out or if I've finally got my diet right or if the endorphins from running and the regular realignment of yoga help boost the happy. Whatever it is, I'm glad for it. And I am so incredibly excited for my sister to have her baby in July, we're all in love with it already.
Love. All the different permutations. It's funny that G and K and I have all settled down with one man. Katie, of course, but the rest of us... it's just curious. We can talk about our relationships and understand where one another are coming from because we've been talking about these same things for more than ten years. K's love is in Switzerland, G's has stayed by her through the insanity that is law school - because she's awesome and he'd be an idiot to let her go, and three years later, I'm still with Eric. We're living quietly, but it's like we have our eyes peeled for bombshells on the horizon. My trouble is that I can never see them coming. I think I'm doing so well and then *whoosh* I'm on my back and the rug is ruched up over in the corner. There's love, joy, laughter, passion, comparable libido, need for exercise and food sensitivities, but little trust. In the grand scheme of things, asking for anything more would seem thankless and presumptuous. But I finally understand what all those songwriters and authors were talking about when they mourned the loss of 'that look in your eyes.' He used to smile with his whole body when he opened the door and saw me perched on the counter, and not having that when I remember it so well, it hurts sometimes. We're so attached and unattached at the same time, losing when we think we're protecting ourselves.
I'm looking at apartments next week. It feels like it's either time to make a declaration or move on. We live like we're married but we're not even dating. What does he or this relationship represent? Why do we stay? It's not because it's easy, that's for sure. And it's not because it's a challenge. I don't think it's force of habit, nor is it fear of getting back out there. I believe that this relationship is valuable; despite our clashing communication, I don't wish for something 'better,' while I doubt that it even exists. We both bring so much to the table, we just have to remember that it's a feast.