Extremely Long Scarves, Ladybugs, and the Art of Being Ridiculous
Grumpy and in my head, you wanted to go for a walk in the snow, maybe dinner, but I head out for tacos and winter air, not fit for company. Trying to appear marginally helpful, and grab the trash bag of donations on my way out. Roommates warn me about a bag nearly broke, but I leave full steam ahead nonetheless.
Cramped on the inside, cold air is disheartening instead of bracing, and I am more internal and brooding than when I left home. At the light, I think about how my best friend says you don't really need to push the crosswalk button, it's only there to make us feel in control. I start to cross, watching the little white man blinking in agitation, and the bag splits open, spills out with eight seconds left to go.
I can't help it. I start giggling.
I giggle and kick and gather fallen jeans, shirts, whatnots, panties, hangers and doodads scattered across intersection asphalt. Giggle turns to laugh as I stuff little bits of life into the donation box. Cars are honking. People hesitantly ask if I need help, and I breathlessly call out No thanks! in between chuckling. I wait until the light changes, go for another round, now laughing out loud like a complete and total loon. Giggly and sniffly and huffing and chucking the leftovers into the bin, I see a few more items on the street. I almost walk away, thinking enough is enough, but there's a notebook, a hanger and a little wooden statue. The statue landed magically right side up like a piece of toast fallen with jelly on top.
Perhaps it's because I'm perverse and already giddy, I wait a few lights to see if a car hits the statute, but it's in the special spot of the intersection that no car moving in any direction ever seems cross. What the hell? I shrug and grab the notebook and statue, but leave the hanger.
I head towards tacos, statue and notebook in hand. My Dr. Who/Dr. Seuss scarf waves in blustery winter wind, just a little too long to be anything but ridiculous and a little too colorful to ever be quiet. I laugh harder, seeing the notebook is from that friend who doesn't like me anymore because I'm annoying and frustrating. I stuff down my giggles when I go in and order tacos, but they all know me by name because I usually hate to cook. I sit down and start writing in the notebook, which seems like the only appropriate thing to do. I pay for the tacos, and the owner hands me a religious "Nuestra Senora 2013" calendar with a shy smile. He's convinced I need Jesus. He may be right because the giggles hit again as soon as I'm almost to the door. The owner calls out my name, waving the wooden statue. With my arms full of change, a calendar, and tacos, I nearly forgot my heroic little survivor of the intersection catastrophe . Adding it to my bundle I almost drop everything at the exit, my scarf dragging the ground as eating families look on in quiet concern.
Back into the cold and on my way home, I feel good.
Good because I like my scarves a little too colorful and a little too long. When I get drunk I put on my ladybug costume from three Halloweens ago and dance. I like my monsters to have orange, fluttery wings, and when I'm not acting like a brooding ass, I enjoy walks in the snow. When I get home to see my best friends, running through my senile neighbor's sprinklers is the best way to break the ice after a long separation. Being barefoot in the rain is just the way to go, most especially when your default is intense or worrisome. And nothing in the world can convince me that glitter isn't a fantastic thing.
Life isn't in our control a majority of the time, which sucks, so I retreat until something silly shakes me awake. Something wonderful and rambunctious to remind me that none of this is as heavy as it feels, even if everything truly is as precious and important as it seems.
So tonight- I'm not going to answer any of the big questions. I'm going to put my wooden statue back on my window sill. A cracked dollar store reminder, that just happens to be a large rose covered in ladybugs.
I'm going for a walk in the snow with you.
And then go from there.
Cramped on the inside, cold air is disheartening instead of bracing, and I am more internal and brooding than when I left home. At the light, I think about how my best friend says you don't really need to push the crosswalk button, it's only there to make us feel in control. I start to cross, watching the little white man blinking in agitation, and the bag splits open, spills out with eight seconds left to go.
I can't help it. I start giggling.
I giggle and kick and gather fallen jeans, shirts, whatnots, panties, hangers and doodads scattered across intersection asphalt. Giggle turns to laugh as I stuff little bits of life into the donation box. Cars are honking. People hesitantly ask if I need help, and I breathlessly call out No thanks! in between chuckling. I wait until the light changes, go for another round, now laughing out loud like a complete and total loon. Giggly and sniffly and huffing and chucking the leftovers into the bin, I see a few more items on the street. I almost walk away, thinking enough is enough, but there's a notebook, a hanger and a little wooden statue. The statue landed magically right side up like a piece of toast fallen with jelly on top.
Perhaps it's because I'm perverse and already giddy, I wait a few lights to see if a car hits the statute, but it's in the special spot of the intersection that no car moving in any direction ever seems cross. What the hell? I shrug and grab the notebook and statue, but leave the hanger.
I head towards tacos, statue and notebook in hand. My Dr. Who/Dr. Seuss scarf waves in blustery winter wind, just a little too long to be anything but ridiculous and a little too colorful to ever be quiet. I laugh harder, seeing the notebook is from that friend who doesn't like me anymore because I'm annoying and frustrating. I stuff down my giggles when I go in and order tacos, but they all know me by name because I usually hate to cook. I sit down and start writing in the notebook, which seems like the only appropriate thing to do. I pay for the tacos, and the owner hands me a religious "Nuestra Senora 2013" calendar with a shy smile. He's convinced I need Jesus. He may be right because the giggles hit again as soon as I'm almost to the door. The owner calls out my name, waving the wooden statue. With my arms full of change, a calendar, and tacos, I nearly forgot my heroic little survivor of the intersection catastrophe . Adding it to my bundle I almost drop everything at the exit, my scarf dragging the ground as eating families look on in quiet concern.
Back into the cold and on my way home, I feel good.
Good because I like my scarves a little too colorful and a little too long. When I get drunk I put on my ladybug costume from three Halloweens ago and dance. I like my monsters to have orange, fluttery wings, and when I'm not acting like a brooding ass, I enjoy walks in the snow. When I get home to see my best friends, running through my senile neighbor's sprinklers is the best way to break the ice after a long separation. Being barefoot in the rain is just the way to go, most especially when your default is intense or worrisome. And nothing in the world can convince me that glitter isn't a fantastic thing.
Life isn't in our control a majority of the time, which sucks, so I retreat until something silly shakes me awake. Something wonderful and rambunctious to remind me that none of this is as heavy as it feels, even if everything truly is as precious and important as it seems.
So tonight- I'm not going to answer any of the big questions. I'm going to put my wooden statue back on my window sill. A cracked dollar store reminder, that just happens to be a large rose covered in ladybugs.
I'm going for a walk in the snow with you.
And then go from there.
Love you, love this :)
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