(no subject)
With a rush of clarity, I realize I can have my cake and eat it too...so I grasp large handfuls of icing-ed hunks and shove them in my mouth without pausing to chew or breathe before the waiter can take it away. It may mean I will choke or it may mean that I will be contentedly full of chocolatey goo.
I realize that I can intern at a smaller, independent label (one whose artists I can be proud of), wait tables on the side and still feel like a responsible twenty-four year old. In fact, I can feel even more responsible because I have allotted time to assess my dreams and goals and have thrown away the prospects of a $30,000 a year, entry-level job with full benefits in order to pursue these goals. My ultimate happiness has taken precedent over my head.
I realize that I can tell the boy who dumped me the day before Valentine's Day because he found out I have depression exactly how I feel about him, unharnessed and unrelentingly, and have him want me back two weeks too late. I can unabashedly meet, so soon after a break-up, a film grad student at NYU who is, at this moment, doing strange things with Karen Carpenter's head.
I can be the big sister to one person in this household, the little sister to another and an aunt and daughter many, many households away. I can be the girl who is the whirlwind hostess at our apartment party, gold chain-mail scarf flying, dirty bare feet on the warm sheen of our wood floor, smoking out the window or on the fire escape after serving dinner then apple-pie shots, making sure that the eclectic mix of non-profit workers, corporate stiffs, artists are all happy and mingling well. I can be the girl who dances on a bar while being fed a shot by a woman in a bra and cowboy hat, I can be the girl who does a line in the men's bathroom of a gay bar, I can be the girl eating cheese pizza, farting, and watching Ever After on a Saturday night with my girlfriends. I can be the girl who crawls into the warmth of her closet that is stuffed full of dirty clothes and spends the day sobbing and curled there for an entire blue-skied day.
I realize that I can intern at a smaller, independent label (one whose artists I can be proud of), wait tables on the side and still feel like a responsible twenty-four year old. In fact, I can feel even more responsible because I have allotted time to assess my dreams and goals and have thrown away the prospects of a $30,000 a year, entry-level job with full benefits in order to pursue these goals. My ultimate happiness has taken precedent over my head.
I realize that I can tell the boy who dumped me the day before Valentine's Day because he found out I have depression exactly how I feel about him, unharnessed and unrelentingly, and have him want me back two weeks too late. I can unabashedly meet, so soon after a break-up, a film grad student at NYU who is, at this moment, doing strange things with Karen Carpenter's head.
I can be the big sister to one person in this household, the little sister to another and an aunt and daughter many, many households away. I can be the girl who is the whirlwind hostess at our apartment party, gold chain-mail scarf flying, dirty bare feet on the warm sheen of our wood floor, smoking out the window or on the fire escape after serving dinner then apple-pie shots, making sure that the eclectic mix of non-profit workers, corporate stiffs, artists are all happy and mingling well. I can be the girl who dances on a bar while being fed a shot by a woman in a bra and cowboy hat, I can be the girl who does a line in the men's bathroom of a gay bar, I can be the girl eating cheese pizza, farting, and watching Ever After on a Saturday night with my girlfriends. I can be the girl who crawls into the warmth of her closet that is stuffed full of dirty clothes and spends the day sobbing and curled there for an entire blue-skied day.