July 19, 2008
Running up my stairs last night after watching “Maverick” with the family, I nearly stepped on a brown toad who was calmly waiting for a playful dinner to float down from the light.
Everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed. Have I changed? I feel as if I simply switched from the sur-reality in Mexico City to another reality here. Without a rigid and demanding schedule, life here also feels like a dream as I spend time with old friends and re-study my old stomping grounds.
For now, my wanderlust has been sated. I’m so glad to be back in Georgia that although the maps and postcards of dream trips still decorate my room, their sirens’ calls have been tuned out by the song of a familiar existence.
I feel older. I know that Mexico and Westhill really happened; yet it seems so long ago, as if it happened to another person – and I somehow have memories and stories floating randomly through my brain.
Yet there are obscure, indefinable aches – smelling Starbucks and remembering 3 years of weekend nights laughing with the 988 girls, teasing the green apron guys and flirting with customers – sampling and loving life. Early hours and long nights spent in the KSU library over delayed homework and laughing with the librarians. Student life – cargo pants and jeans, hoodies lounging in the hall and gossiping about the profs. Curled up in my favorite sideline seat armed with pen and coffee; listening, commenting, taking notes, LEARNING. When and how did it so suddenly end? Remembering those late brunches with Ash and Tara in our apartment, with the ghetto speaker set-up blaring our favorite tunes as we sleepily laughed and chilled. DUST. The morning sunrise ritual as we rode up above the city, through the Doors of Santa Fe and my “get ready for battle” song. Monday morning ceremony - looking over the heads of all my kids and laughing with joy and pride.
And all of this too will pass.
Running up my stairs last night after watching “Maverick” with the family, I nearly stepped on a brown toad who was calmly waiting for a playful dinner to float down from the light.
Everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed. Have I changed? I feel as if I simply switched from the sur-reality in Mexico City to another reality here. Without a rigid and demanding schedule, life here also feels like a dream as I spend time with old friends and re-study my old stomping grounds.
For now, my wanderlust has been sated. I’m so glad to be back in Georgia that although the maps and postcards of dream trips still decorate my room, their sirens’ calls have been tuned out by the song of a familiar existence.
I feel older. I know that Mexico and Westhill really happened; yet it seems so long ago, as if it happened to another person – and I somehow have memories and stories floating randomly through my brain.
Yet there are obscure, indefinable aches – smelling Starbucks and remembering 3 years of weekend nights laughing with the 988 girls, teasing the green apron guys and flirting with customers – sampling and loving life. Early hours and long nights spent in the KSU library over delayed homework and laughing with the librarians. Student life – cargo pants and jeans, hoodies lounging in the hall and gossiping about the profs. Curled up in my favorite sideline seat armed with pen and coffee; listening, commenting, taking notes, LEARNING. When and how did it so suddenly end? Remembering those late brunches with Ash and Tara in our apartment, with the ghetto speaker set-up blaring our favorite tunes as we sleepily laughed and chilled. DUST. The morning sunrise ritual as we rode up above the city, through the Doors of Santa Fe and my “get ready for battle” song. Monday morning ceremony - looking over the heads of all my kids and laughing with joy and pride.
And all of this too will pass.
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