Friday, May 10, 2013
After this post, I will not post my dumb mug again for at least a few months, I promise. Nick took this shot of me coming home from work on my birthday. Send this one to the media if I go missing, please. Not the bloated-face shot of me in my college graduation cap and gown in which I look like Grimace in mourning.
Spring is the best. Fall can suck it. Oh, the smell of dead leaves and allspice is a rapture, but they are the death knell that ushers in winter. Just so we're clear, the order is: springtime forever, summer in moderation, fall is a balm after months of being sweaty and pink, winter extracts your soul with its lamprey mouth.
The city's heavy in greenery now and our yard's regrown its bright canopy. I had a spell where I was down for a few weeks, I was wading through sand up to my knees just trying to make it to the end of the day. Then it'd be midnight, 1 a.m., 2 a.m. and I couldn't force myself to go to bed, knowing that sleep meant time-travel to the next morning when I'd have to do it all over again. I built a carpet of dirty laundry in the bedroom and ignored the cat hair clotted together against all the baseboards. I wore the previous day's makeup to work. Everything felt difficult.
It passed, whatever it was. I feel light again, tugged along through my days in happy starts as if by a 100 lb. dog on leash. Last weekend my father-in-law visited and we went to a minor league baseball game and ate ice cream out of a miniature helmet. Michelle had me over the night of Cinco de Mayo and we ate fajitas and made serious progress on a pitcher of margaritas meant for more than two people. I celebrated wonderful Claire's birthday and she did not think the garland I made her out of backyard flowers (weeds) was dumb, which, thank God. By the time I pulled it out of the jar I transported it in, the dandelions were starting to shrink, but did she ever put it on and wear it all night. All of life cannot be baseball and fading garlands and margaritas and the greatest friends but sometimes a weekend contains them all and you wonder how anything under the purple night sky could ever feel difficult. And it probably isn't just the margaritas talking.
Yesterday was my birthday and friends came over and ate donuts and drank beer and avoided standing too close to the backyard fire we had going because, oh yeah, fire is hot and it's May out there. I've never "felt" an age before but I feel 27. I'm not clawing to get to the next thing. The next thing shows up eventually. I didn't know that when I was 23 and it was terrifying.
When I get moody and savage with Nick, I'll retreat to the bedroom in a huff and shut the door and read my book. He'll pop in at some point and ask, are you mad at me? And I'll say, no, no, I'm in here because I'm trying to be good.
This year I'm going to be an aunt in the proper sense, and in the friend sense and I'm thrilled. I'm running a marathon in October. And other things will happen, that I can't pretend to anticipate. And I'll try to be good.