Someone asked me this morning where I was going, and for maybe the first time in the airport, I hesitated. It wanted to come out "home", but never quite got there. And then I started to wonder, is this really it? I'm finished with that life, destined to a new age of weekend visits and fleeting glances on semi neutral territory? It just seems bizzare, yet another sign of this surreal and grand adulthood, that I can go home and be with my family, and then leave, be done with them, and come really home to our apartment. Like, when does home stop being home and just become just someplace you visit?
I must admit, I can never quite escape that trepidation going home, that urge to primp and present myself. I thought it used to be just seing LuLu, but I think its a greater issue of just wanting to prove progress. I come back so rarely, and such a long chunk of time passes between visits, I always want to show outwardly the changes and work and maturity that I've exprienced since the last venture east. Hence the haircut (though in my defense long since neccesary), I pluck my eyebrows, I obsess over the clothes that I bring, and become totally possessed by little stupid things that fall outside whatever "me" of the moment that I'm trying to channel. Totally hyperobsessing over my toenail polish right now, when , I mean really, what the hell does it matter?!
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1 comment:
The toenails look fabulous. Really, you simply must put me in contact with the people you know who have such fabulous taste in nail polish color. MUWAH
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