A little bit about everything except the whole going-back-to-school thing; you shall have nothing about that.
The last glorious days of summer, and I'm already nostalgic for them. This is a quality in myself that irritates me. Overly nostalgic, fine, but could we at least wait until the very thing about which we are all nostalgic is finished happening? I always do it, too: I remember driving through the dark streets of Saint Louis Park with K a while back and thinking, "This is so nice... and in a few days, I won't be here and I won't be able to ride around with Kevin while he pretends to shift with his water bottle... how sad is that? I'm going to miss him, and I'll miss this moment... and I won't see him again for a while...."
See, and the whole time I'm thinking, oh sad, this will be over soon, I'm completely missing out on enjoying the moment for what it is. For pete's sake.
Recently I followed a link from one YA author's blog to another to another, where I found this hilarious "retro-blog," where the girl only posts journal entries from the distant past. So while other people are discussing The Sad Death Of Peter Jennings on their blogs, this girl is talking about The Tragic Death of River Phoenix, complete with Seventeen and YM collages. Hilarious.
Of course, my old journal entries are rarely funny; I've always been too thinky and weird for that. Nevertheless, for your Tuesday entertainment, I present:
Moments from Augusts Past...
August 9, 1993
I got my braces off today!!!!!!!! Definately a day to be celebrated!!
August 17, 1996
I'm writing with my brand new Fed Ex pen that I ganked from some poor customer at work today. School starts in a week and a half. Wooo. My Junior year. No, actually I'm really excited about it. I've got all these great things on my list or something. The OHS AIDS Walk team that I'm organizing (with the help of the fabulous Rebecca Fox-Blair); Pass The Green (Yaayy!!); The Chautauqua; new friends; a new and improved Panther Press; Once Upon A Mattress; my job. This Bobby McFerrin Gig!!!!; + I'm even sorta trying to write a book. Crazy. [...]
Um, what else? I have my driver's license, I cut my hair, I'm cute. I work at Ben Franklin. Aaaahh! It's actually pretty fun... sort of.
7 August 1997 -- 13:48 -- Charles DeGaule Airport
My God, it’s over. All second semester -- the anticipation, the “Oh, I’ll be in Europe for most of the summer,” the thinking -- it seemed so unreal all through the spring and June and now again, did it ever happen? Did I ever leave home? I swear, I can’t believe it’s been this long. We just left, maybe 4 days ago. I expect once I’m home, the feeling will be even stronger.
Still -- raining. From here I can see wet, black pavement under a tired and cloudy afternoon sky. Stark. Not too much like my other memories of Paris -- a colorful mélange under a strong blue sky and cheery sun.
6 August 2000 11:15 am MFA, Boston
Probst I, 1960
oil on canvas
A huge canvas – bigger than my bed. White background with hints of orange and yellow, huge black and brown slashes across the canvas. The black gathers together in the bottom left corner, and swirls up across the page like a twister, a tornado. Two women behind me pause, and one says, “I could do that,” rather scornfully. I want to turn and say no, you couldn’t. To “do that” takes more passion than you’ve let yourself feel in years – maybe more than you’ve felt your whole life. To “do that” requires a confrontation of self, an awareness and acceptance of the darkness, the rage, the pain, and the truth we have within ourselves. It requires an acceptance of and a belief in the truth of one’s own voice, and the power of one’s own truth. It takes huge movement and giant feelings and trust in oneself. It takes love – the love you need to let yourself express your darkest, rawest, most primal feelings. I know I couldn’t do it – but at least I’m working on it.
3:20 am Thursday morning, 30 August 2001 White House Porch
There is no good reason for me to be awake right now. Other than: I’ve been at Bob’s, and I’m not tired, and the first day of my senior year in college is tomorrow – or today, rather, and I’ve been up for hours thinking about how everyone has changed, and all the ways we haven’t changed, too . . . I was reading my old plans and laughing and wincing and skipping over parts . . . .
Last year, Dave Bradley wrote about the duality of Molly, how on my plan I’m this rampaging mega-bitch, and then in person I’m a “Sweetie.” I embrace that duality. I’m feeling more and more confident about the Bob’s thing . . . tonight Charlie Marshall reminded me that the best managers are those who take care of themselves! Sounds like something I ought to know already. I feel nostalgic and sad for the parts of me I’ve lost along the way, for the moments I didn’t enjoy enough at the time . . . but what’s new? I always feel nostalgic and sad. Luckily, autumn is coming! My favorite! O season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
1:50 am (mountain) Thursday night 21 August 2003 – Home – ABQ
I have this phrase running through my head: “What have I got to lose? Other than, you know, everything.” I guess it’s what I told Mark Bechtel back in March – though maybe I said, “There’s nothing riding on this” not what have I got to lose. In any case, the former is what’s running through my head just now....
So there you have it: 10 years of Augusts, and I didn't change a whit. Melissa Bailey and I were just talking about that the other night; about reading our report cards from kindergarten and finding that we're exactly the same at 25 as we were at 5. Which is both troubling (don't I **EVER** get to grow up?) and reassuring (that the core, the essence, of who we are only strengthens over time, and that the world has not been enough to erase the essential characteristics that make me ME).