Watch you spin around in your highest heels.
The thing is, calling it a vacation simply doesn't do it justice, does it?
Seeing Danita in South America was...unreal. I keep telling people, It's a totally different world down there, and the thing is, it is. You walk around looking at everything, blinking in curiosity. I kept thinking, How beautiful these people are. The Spanish they speak is so lyrical, their skin the color of coffee.
Something else I kept thinking while I was down there, watching Danita share mate with her fellow peace corps volunteers: I sort of feel replaced. It's childish and selfish, but it's hard to see a best friend have other best friends. It wasn't until the plane ride home that I caught these jealous thoughts in my fist and cracked them. Ridiculous. I love Danita, and I'm glad she has best friends in this strange and beautiful world.
Not seeing Nick for 10 days was way more difficult than I'd imagined. When I finally saw him again in the states, I hugged him hard, clutching his T-shirt in between my fingers. I'm in love with you, was the only thought in my entire head.
I've been in the mood to read my mom's novels recently. She has a slick, seamless way with prose, and I've been craving it recently.
So then, Wednesday night, picking at bar food that gleamed like dead fish under the blue bar lights, my Writing Center colleagues and I laughed about our lives in the dim, windowless Writing Center attic, where we work for 20+ hours each week.
"You didn't know that?" Tom asked me. I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach when he told me.
"No," I said. "How long does she have?"
Tom had just told me that my boss's young wife -- with whom he had two young children -- was dying of brain cancer.
"It's terminal, so, you know, not long...It makes religion look like a big joke, doesn't it?" Tom commented absently.
I covered my mouth with my hand and felt like I might be sick, trying to wrap my mind around something so guttural.
"Julie," Tom said, "If you're going to be a psychologist for a living, you have to toughen up about these things. Or else it will break you."
We'd had this conversation all summer long, Tom and I. He spent all of July telling me I couldn't be so soft, and I spent all of August defending my compassion as a strength. We ended the summer in an uneasy truce, with me still unwilling to give up optimism.
I struggle with that, still. Perhaps I should go back to South America, where there are no rules and you're allowed to feel as much as you want. Even boys!
Good times.
Seeing Danita in South America was...unreal. I keep telling people, It's a totally different world down there, and the thing is, it is. You walk around looking at everything, blinking in curiosity. I kept thinking, How beautiful these people are. The Spanish they speak is so lyrical, their skin the color of coffee.
Something else I kept thinking while I was down there, watching Danita share mate with her fellow peace corps volunteers: I sort of feel replaced. It's childish and selfish, but it's hard to see a best friend have other best friends. It wasn't until the plane ride home that I caught these jealous thoughts in my fist and cracked them. Ridiculous. I love Danita, and I'm glad she has best friends in this strange and beautiful world.
Not seeing Nick for 10 days was way more difficult than I'd imagined. When I finally saw him again in the states, I hugged him hard, clutching his T-shirt in between my fingers. I'm in love with you, was the only thought in my entire head.
I've been in the mood to read my mom's novels recently. She has a slick, seamless way with prose, and I've been craving it recently.
So then, Wednesday night, picking at bar food that gleamed like dead fish under the blue bar lights, my Writing Center colleagues and I laughed about our lives in the dim, windowless Writing Center attic, where we work for 20+ hours each week.
"You didn't know that?" Tom asked me. I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach when he told me.
"No," I said. "How long does she have?"
Tom had just told me that my boss's young wife -- with whom he had two young children -- was dying of brain cancer.
"It's terminal, so, you know, not long...It makes religion look like a big joke, doesn't it?" Tom commented absently.
I covered my mouth with my hand and felt like I might be sick, trying to wrap my mind around something so guttural.
"Julie," Tom said, "If you're going to be a psychologist for a living, you have to toughen up about these things. Or else it will break you."
We'd had this conversation all summer long, Tom and I. He spent all of July telling me I couldn't be so soft, and I spent all of August defending my compassion as a strength. We ended the summer in an uneasy truce, with me still unwilling to give up optimism.
I struggle with that, still. Perhaps I should go back to South America, where there are no rules and you're allowed to feel as much as you want. Even boys!
Good times.