gratitude part one
"There is neither good nor ill but thinking makes it so,"
Hamlet says
PRPP is either paramedian pontine reticular formation
or 5-phosphoribosyl 1-pyrophosphate
GDP is either gross domestic product
or guanine diphosphate
One day it's brilliant, some divine apparition
The next day its pure evil, and nothing but hate
We are so enamored by what happened a long time ago in some fictional galaxy far far away, and yet we nonchalantly walk away from horrible, gut-wrenching events that unfold just a few feet from our own. our own cold cold feet.
After a speeding ticket, and Taylor Swift's Reputation played through at least 4 times over, I finally get in to Metairie around 8:45 PM that Thursday night. I set my stuff down, and rush out the door at exactly 8:52 PM to attend an impromptu Indian girlfriends' reunion at some pizza place Uptown.
Don't get back home (to Metairie) until 11:30 PM..awaken at 4:15 for a flight out to Philly.
I almost miss my flight because the entire city of New Orleans and their parents have decided to fly out of MSY that Friday morning. But they don't call me the Flash for nothing
My layover is in Chicago, and I am a little depressed---maybe it's the lack of sleep, or the fact that I still associate airports with beautiful, romantic beginnings that are supposed to be adorned with the air of serendipity that you only see on the silver screen.
Anyways, I'm a little depressed, and slightly delirious. I let myself indulge in dangerous daydreams of meeting a lover, new or old---a lover that would sweep me off my feet thousands and thousands of feet off the ground
My roommate's friend's parents met on a plane so from what I know it's apparently very likely.
As I straighten my new puffy blue jacket in front of the airport bathroom mirror, I run my fingers through my hair to tousle it ever so slightly--in the hopes of appearing effortlessly beautiful like Sarah Jessica Parker after her "miserable" all nighters in downtown Manhattan.
I look like an indian rag doll
So I give up, and pretend that my future lover will find me attractive anyways and walk carefully to my gate, pretending that all the men in the world are staring at me. Not just because I have toilet paper stuck on my left sole. But because they can see through it all---into my SOUL, my beautiful, caring, unbelievably sexy soul.
I cross my left leg over my right, just like SJP, and reach into my pocket to pull out my phone even though I know very well that I will unlock it, stare at the background, see that no one is attempting to contact me, smugly giggle as though someone has indeed sent me an adorable message, and lock it again.
Unfortunately my phone is nowhere to be found.
So I walk back to the bathroom, make three very patient ladies exercise their kegel muscles just a little bit longer so that I can check and recheck each one of their chosen stalls. A janitor directs me to the Chicago Police Department in Concourse C, and so I amble on over there, and then amble on back...oddly unphased by the whole thing. Ordinarily I'd have been in tears, overwhelmed and freaking out.
Strangely, with everything else that this year has had to offer--I feel unshakable.
So I'm ambling back, I'm ambling back---and then like some divine intervention a voice announces my name to everyone sitting in gates A10-A15. If it were any other day, I'd be hoping for a special, airport-wide announcement that I had been chosen to attend the Ellen show with Taylor Swift because they all saw my YouTube videos and want to help me practice for the next Superbowl halftime show.
Alas it was just my phone. Someone had turned it in. A prehistoric Iphone SE with a cracked screen and chipped pink phone cover.
And just like that I am instantly relieved..a little happier almost. Happier than I had been with the phone in my pocket just hours ago. Oh how our feelings trick us! oh how
I board my flight to Philadelphia, land in the evening, take a train to University City station and trudge through the snow in my cheap Bongo boots and a duffel bag the size of Germany hanging around my neck. I pull my weight and more around UPenn's campus (which is gorgeous by the way) and into the huge bookstore. Akash meets me a little later, and after a long hearty chat we make our way to his apartment.
We cross a street, I stand on the median and ask him how much longer. "Only 7 more blocks!"
I want to cry. My feet are aching in these stupid $15 bongo boots and my duffel bag is almost as heavy as the emotional baggage I have been lugging around for the past two months.
And that's when it all happens...within a matter of minutes.
Hamlet says
PRPP is either paramedian pontine reticular formation
or 5-phosphoribosyl 1-pyrophosphate
GDP is either gross domestic product
or guanine diphosphate
One day it's brilliant, some divine apparition
The next day its pure evil, and nothing but hate
We are so enamored by what happened a long time ago in some fictional galaxy far far away, and yet we nonchalantly walk away from horrible, gut-wrenching events that unfold just a few feet from our own. our own cold cold feet.
After a speeding ticket, and Taylor Swift's Reputation played through at least 4 times over, I finally get in to Metairie around 8:45 PM that Thursday night. I set my stuff down, and rush out the door at exactly 8:52 PM to attend an impromptu Indian girlfriends' reunion at some pizza place Uptown.
Don't get back home (to Metairie) until 11:30 PM..awaken at 4:15 for a flight out to Philly.
I almost miss my flight because the entire city of New Orleans and their parents have decided to fly out of MSY that Friday morning. But they don't call me the Flash for nothing
My layover is in Chicago, and I am a little depressed---maybe it's the lack of sleep, or the fact that I still associate airports with beautiful, romantic beginnings that are supposed to be adorned with the air of serendipity that you only see on the silver screen.
Anyways, I'm a little depressed, and slightly delirious. I let myself indulge in dangerous daydreams of meeting a lover, new or old---a lover that would sweep me off my feet thousands and thousands of feet off the ground
My roommate's friend's parents met on a plane so from what I know it's apparently very likely.
As I straighten my new puffy blue jacket in front of the airport bathroom mirror, I run my fingers through my hair to tousle it ever so slightly--in the hopes of appearing effortlessly beautiful like Sarah Jessica Parker after her "miserable" all nighters in downtown Manhattan.
I look like an indian rag doll
So I give up, and pretend that my future lover will find me attractive anyways and walk carefully to my gate, pretending that all the men in the world are staring at me. Not just because I have toilet paper stuck on my left sole. But because they can see through it all---into my SOUL, my beautiful, caring, unbelievably sexy soul.
I cross my left leg over my right, just like SJP, and reach into my pocket to pull out my phone even though I know very well that I will unlock it, stare at the background, see that no one is attempting to contact me, smugly giggle as though someone has indeed sent me an adorable message, and lock it again.
Unfortunately my phone is nowhere to be found.
So I walk back to the bathroom, make three very patient ladies exercise their kegel muscles just a little bit longer so that I can check and recheck each one of their chosen stalls. A janitor directs me to the Chicago Police Department in Concourse C, and so I amble on over there, and then amble on back...oddly unphased by the whole thing. Ordinarily I'd have been in tears, overwhelmed and freaking out.
Strangely, with everything else that this year has had to offer--I feel unshakable.
So I'm ambling back, I'm ambling back---and then like some divine intervention a voice announces my name to everyone sitting in gates A10-A15. If it were any other day, I'd be hoping for a special, airport-wide announcement that I had been chosen to attend the Ellen show with Taylor Swift because they all saw my YouTube videos and want to help me practice for the next Superbowl halftime show.
Alas it was just my phone. Someone had turned it in. A prehistoric Iphone SE with a cracked screen and chipped pink phone cover.
And just like that I am instantly relieved..a little happier almost. Happier than I had been with the phone in my pocket just hours ago. Oh how our feelings trick us! oh how
I board my flight to Philadelphia, land in the evening, take a train to University City station and trudge through the snow in my cheap Bongo boots and a duffel bag the size of Germany hanging around my neck. I pull my weight and more around UPenn's campus (which is gorgeous by the way) and into the huge bookstore. Akash meets me a little later, and after a long hearty chat we make our way to his apartment.
We cross a street, I stand on the median and ask him how much longer. "Only 7 more blocks!"
I want to cry. My feet are aching in these stupid $15 bongo boots and my duffel bag is almost as heavy as the emotional baggage I have been lugging around for the past two months.
And that's when it all happens...within a matter of minutes.
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