it is febuary in 2008 and i live in boston. i walk to school everyday and listen to my ipod or talk to papa on my cell phone. i spill coffee on my mittens.
this time last year i was a restless bartender living in gloucester. i took walks on the beach with sarah and her dog remi, and drank martinis and watched soap operas and worked late nights making other people happy.
three years before i was living in bridgewater, stir crazy with my parents and engaged. noah and i took dance lessons for our wedding and fought like cats and dogs.
the previous year i lived in a shoebox apartment with tina, sam and missy. titi and i had no windows in our bedroom and on saturdays when we didn't have to waitress could sleep until noon because time meant nothing without sunlight.
and before that, in a cabin in oregon. which changed my life in most every way. i had a hoop nose ring and ran naked in the woods with a group of women. learned to love reading poetry outloud.
and in 2001, spent most of my time at 609 wingert drive, with my boyfriend and college friends. i was there on September 11, after chapel, which is where i first saw the footage of the second plane hit. in the boyfriend's arms as we watched people jump. and the footage of the tower falling.
and the year before that, meghan was my roommate on naugle 3. we locked the door and listened to the cars or elton john and danced like wild. we fought like crazy, too. screamed at the top of our lungs.
the year before that i lived with a really conservative mennonite girl, with the hair covering and everything. she used to read me excerpts of her christian romance novels aloud and i would fall alseep to the sounds.
1 comment:
this reminds me of something...every time i go to journal afer a long absent period or attempt to write a letter to someone I haven't chatted with in awhile, i do the sum up thing. the thing that you did in this entry. and the same thing that happens in my writing seems to happen here. everything seems wonderful. even fighting seems romantic when you write about it in the past tense. my life which mostly seems tedious, boring, stressful and meaningless in real time takes on a mystical tone whenever i write about it. like a fuzzy montage with really great music. i wonder why that is. i wonder if we only remember the things that have the ability to take on that sort of ethereal quality or if it is just our tone which begs to find some meaning in our past. for example, i fucking hate when i splll coffee, i hate when i break up with somone, i hate when i waitress, i hate when i scream at people at the top of my lungs (mostly) and i hate driving in the rain. and yet somehow, when i write them like that, they sound just great.
Post a Comment