In three weeks I will pack my army green rucksack full of impractical shoes, black & white 35mm film, books that pair well with train rides and mark it for Paris. But that is in three weeks. Until then I have pages to write, psychological conditions to memorize and leases to sign.... I don't necessarily like until then's
There is a line in the book 'Franny & Zooey' where the two are talking and Zooey says "no one is counting minutes." It is so simple, so small in the greater context of the book, but it is one of my favorites.
I feel that at this particular point in my life, I have surmountable reasons for counting minutes. Summer is approaching, classes end in a few days (both of which signal the days of endless reading and whims of prolonged enjoyment) and another year is added to the chalk tally of my stint in academia. And while all these things are fast approaching, my time is not spent counting seconds on my hands, willing them to pass faster so that I may come even a minute closer to the prequel of my next six months. Instead they are spent on porches hoping for rainstorms, on bikes exploring forgotten streets, in fields eating picnics and in a tree house sharing sacred moments. Rather than my list of 'instead of's' these are my daily doings; my friendly take times between classes and work. These simple acts of play are my times spent.
today i realized that i live in a play world. i am moving to europe for the next six months in close to four weeks; paris for two, maastricht for about four. no, i will not come home, thank you.
today was a postcard day. pictures on postcards always look like perfection. sandy sunny beaches with the perfect shade of brown tan, sugar coated flowers & various architectural feats made to look even more remarkable with the dramatic shooting angle. today was one of those days. predestined run-ins and edifying conversation with every person met, it was perfect. donna walked into the store looking for my help but instead gave me encouragment in all the right places. hilary and i ate for hours, feading off one anothers theories, thoughts or concepts currently being mulled over in our minds. elle always proves true. talking love and feminism over carrot cake reads nothing but decadence. intelligent input. postcard day. happy tomorrow.
If there is an amateur reader still left in the world--or anybody who just reads and forgets to process the information just gathered--I ask him or her, with untellable affection and gratitude, to subscribe to my blog. I offer my sympathies upfront to anyone who reads the poorly strung together words on this page and accepts them as a legitimate excuses of a time waster. I do not blog. I do not know how to blog. Nor do I think I have anything "blog-worthy". All disclaimers aside; time to go down the rabbit hole, shall we?