Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Just three hours

Work soon. Telling myself it is a mere three hours. Willing myself to get through it so that I can hang out with bestie from high school and go to the Goodwill $1 sale.

1. It's strange in all its glory, the odd corners of life in which one suddenly finds oneself. We were close for about four years -- the most painful times of high school. That era during which the only way I made it through was due to the fact that she was there: co-authoring delectable serial fiction in the back of biology, folding notes written to each other in that certain odd way that only teenagers know how (do teenagers still do that? Or is the ancient art of high school paper folding gone by the wayside now that things are a bit more paperless?)

But now we find ourselves again in the same city, 15 years later, our lives are very different. Her life is exactly what she wanted: husband, kids, another on the way, steady womanly/caring profession, church. But Mine? Well, let's take a peek at the life list, shall we? Man, yes; home, a work in progress but yes; lack of children, yes (woot!); writing career, no. Adventure, very little. Travel? Barely. Art and beauty and style and financially comfortable? Not in this cruddy little suburban neck of the woods.

Securely ensconced in my adulthood and only halfway to fully human. How do I obtain these things? I suppose I keep writing. Always writing. When I'm not working at horrible horrible day job, that is.