The mornings are my most creative times (and my most anti-social). In the mornings those wisps of subconscious memories and theories swirl a little stronger in the veins. Through the day I might remember this or that, but the memories are flat as cardboard sentimentally. In the mornings they get to live in the flesh again.
In the morning I can feel that junior year apartment I shared with Sarah, with the light coming through our 6th floor windows as we make margaritas in the afternoon and discuss our incompetent and hilarious professors and our, at times, equally as incompetent and hilarious boyfriends.
In the morning I can be 9 years old again and can touch the fake trees planted in spongy fake moss inside wicker baskets that decorate the inside my parents' house. When my eyes are closed I can hear those damn annoying birds outside my parents' bedroom in the twisty tree, hidden for now behind their drawn purple curtains.
In the morning I can be in the bars of Tempe, being young and carded as my friends flirt and yell across dirty tables about who got drunk that weekend and how drunk they were.
Mornings and Kings of Leon in the ear buds, I can be driving up to Portland, Oregon, and experiencing for only the second time in my life what falling in love feels like as I drive in such utter happiness through the forests and past the meadows.
A change of song and I can be in Danville the summer before I moved to Arizona. I'm walking home from my breakfast of Starbucks, writing letters in my head to my friends who I'm about to say goodbye to. Maybe it's that day or a different day I'm sitting on the balcony in that first apartment eating Panda Express for the first time with my boyfriend. We don't know it yet, but we will be together four years from this point.
I cherish the mornings when I can see these faces, remember that time, feel it again. I shiver and tiptoe through the kitchen to avoid conversation with anyone during these first minutes of the day. An idea sprouting can be easily murdered with innocent idle chat. But sometimes it happens...
...And suddenly my dad is gone again. And suddenly someone else is living in that apartment Sarah and I shared. And suddenly the bars are quiet in the afternoon hour. And suddenly I'm 23 and responsible for making new memories.
Now now, I don't see this as a melancholy escapism, but as a pleasant vacation cut a day short. To remember is to visit. A time to visit an old friend, visit an old town, to visit yourself.
Now now, I don't see this as a melancholy escapism, but as a pleasant vacation cut a day short. To remember is to visit. A time to visit an old friend, visit an old town, to visit yourself.
Time to make some new memories in this post-college life!
Today I'm thinking of heading to one of my favorite parks in San Diego with the bf. The next few days will be packed with errands and the like. I need to buy a job interview outfit, do laundry, go to the bank, met up with the bf's cousin who might be my best link to new friends out here, plus I'd like to work on my tan a little bit more.
Oh the afternoon and its infinite business!
Until next time.
Until next time.
2 comments:
The summer you in lived in Danville will be a summer I'll never forget, amazing memories & adventures <3 I'm the opposite of you though, my mind wakes up at night & and think most then, but then again, I am most antisocial in the mornings, at night I am most social I guess lol :)
You know what's weird? I completely forgot about Danville for the first 3 years at ASU and I don't know why. I've been thinking about it quite a bit since graduation though. I miss the food and the walks and having you all come over to the Yogurt Shack and out to lunch. I don't want to sound sad or anything, but sometimes I wonder if I/we all had more bravery then than what we have now. Thoughts?
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