homecoming
The beach was great. Even the major allergic reaction I had to the residual pet hairs left (presumably by some former vacationers)on the furniture couldn't spoil my fun. There are no particularly noteworthy stories, but let it suffice to say that I got what I needed--affection, familiarity, charm, wine, the atlantic ocean under a full moon, relaxation, games, sun, and lots and lots of pictures. There was talk of making the beach trip an annual event between the five of us and I hope this talk turns into a bonafied tradition. We'll see.
As ever, coming home breeds mixed feelings. There's a ton to do in the next month and a half between moving this week and studying for the exam in Sept. and I feel like I should be freaked out about it, but I'm not. This could be residual glow from the vacation, but honestly, I'm not feeling all that glowy from vacation. It was not really mythic or nostalgic. Just comfortable and real. For the first time, being around this group of people didn't feel desperately charged with that *this-might-be-the-last-time* feeling and while that mellowed some of the highs, it also killed most of the melodramatic lows I usually experience when enjoying (enduring?) the company of the people I love.
In any case, the windy city is hot and muggy just as it was the day i left. My boss still can't figure out how to use basic technology and I've been jabbering on the phone to brandi and josina all day.
Later, I will pick up the keys to my new apartment and walk J through so that she can hatch covert decorating plans.
By the end of the week my beloved Aaron will be arriving in the midwest to make a semi-permanent home in Mnpls. How lovely.
So I guess, life is normal and more importantly, life is fine.
During vacation I talked a lot with D about the concept of happiness. He thinks the world is badly made and therefore the pursuit of well, nearly anything, but especially happiness, is futile (nihilism, anyone?). He says it all the time. "le monde a fait mal" he quipps, and I always argue. I don't want to wax about the meaning of life, but here's what I know: I, at least, have a capacity for happiness in this world, despite (or maybe because of) how it's made. This is not because I am deluded or special, but only because I'm stubborn, because I'm determined, because I believe. And the truth, at least for me, is that things keep getting better because, I suspect, I keep working at them. I have improved. I feel good most of the time. No, really. If you had known me in highschool (uummmhmmm...Morgana) or even college these words might impact you upon reading the same way they impacted me upon the realization. The romantic in me, the former goth, the alienated teen, balks at this truth. And it is not because I am settling or becoming numb, on the contrary, I am building the kind of life that I want, with the kind of people in it that I want. And wonder of wonders, it's not working out half bad.
As ever, coming home breeds mixed feelings. There's a ton to do in the next month and a half between moving this week and studying for the exam in Sept. and I feel like I should be freaked out about it, but I'm not. This could be residual glow from the vacation, but honestly, I'm not feeling all that glowy from vacation. It was not really mythic or nostalgic. Just comfortable and real. For the first time, being around this group of people didn't feel desperately charged with that *this-might-be-the-last-time* feeling and while that mellowed some of the highs, it also killed most of the melodramatic lows I usually experience when enjoying (enduring?) the company of the people I love.
In any case, the windy city is hot and muggy just as it was the day i left. My boss still can't figure out how to use basic technology and I've been jabbering on the phone to brandi and josina all day.
Later, I will pick up the keys to my new apartment and walk J through so that she can hatch covert decorating plans.
By the end of the week my beloved Aaron will be arriving in the midwest to make a semi-permanent home in Mnpls. How lovely.
So I guess, life is normal and more importantly, life is fine.
During vacation I talked a lot with D about the concept of happiness. He thinks the world is badly made and therefore the pursuit of well, nearly anything, but especially happiness, is futile (nihilism, anyone?). He says it all the time. "le monde a fait mal" he quipps, and I always argue. I don't want to wax about the meaning of life, but here's what I know: I, at least, have a capacity for happiness in this world, despite (or maybe because of) how it's made. This is not because I am deluded or special, but only because I'm stubborn, because I'm determined, because I believe. And the truth, at least for me, is that things keep getting better because, I suspect, I keep working at them. I have improved. I feel good most of the time. No, really. If you had known me in highschool (uummmhmmm...Morgana) or even college these words might impact you upon reading the same way they impacted me upon the realization. The romantic in me, the former goth, the alienated teen, balks at this truth. And it is not because I am settling or becoming numb, on the contrary, I am building the kind of life that I want, with the kind of people in it that I want. And wonder of wonders, it's not working out half bad.