small stories
august 17 and the fog is thick.
today heather and i went biking out through the presidio, not far from golden gate bridge. the air was thick with redwoods, the houses huge with pride and money. the panhandle was full of cyclists.
i feel bits of myself coming back to the surface after a long time away. the corporate world is not mine. i tend to believe in ideas and people fully, and really can't pretend when i don't. this week i wrote a formal letter to my boss, comparing my original job description to a list of tasks that i have since taken on. i am sick of pencil skirts and washing white boards in the early minutes before all the students show up. i am ready to be surveyed from the brain down, and not from the legs up.
the passage of time does interesting things. paintings fade and grow mold, trees bend under the weight of wind and rain, men and women grow into the expectations they're given. i'm ready to create my own. i miss the chicken-scratch drawings of life abroad. college feels sophomoric. i'm forgetting the nicknames i had as a freshman in the dorms. the pump on my hip is no less a part of me than my knees or my ears. my blood sugar echoes the hill patterns of san francisco.
and sometimes, on the rare quiet days when time passes just slow enough, there are little stories that make me want to write again.
yesterday, at the grocery store: between the carrots and the hummus, i was approached by a small older asian woman. i was listening to Harry Potter on my ipod and didn't notice her until she put a finger in front of my face. she was smiling like she was hiding something for me behind her back.
"how's the weather up there?" she said.
"um, good," i said.
"i like to say that to people who are big and tall," she explained.
"great," i said, beginning to walk away.
"but really it's me who's short!" she said. "i always used to say that to my fellow nurses in the hospital."
"great, great," i said again, because no other adjectives popped to mind.
later, at jessi's housewarming party in berkeley, i had a story to tell as i introduced myself to her housemates. those are the best stories, i think. little ones you can cup in the palm of your hand, like blueberries.
in other news:
ryan schrock, i like your text messages.
today heather and i went biking out through the presidio, not far from golden gate bridge. the air was thick with redwoods, the houses huge with pride and money. the panhandle was full of cyclists.
i feel bits of myself coming back to the surface after a long time away. the corporate world is not mine. i tend to believe in ideas and people fully, and really can't pretend when i don't. this week i wrote a formal letter to my boss, comparing my original job description to a list of tasks that i have since taken on. i am sick of pencil skirts and washing white boards in the early minutes before all the students show up. i am ready to be surveyed from the brain down, and not from the legs up.
the passage of time does interesting things. paintings fade and grow mold, trees bend under the weight of wind and rain, men and women grow into the expectations they're given. i'm ready to create my own. i miss the chicken-scratch drawings of life abroad. college feels sophomoric. i'm forgetting the nicknames i had as a freshman in the dorms. the pump on my hip is no less a part of me than my knees or my ears. my blood sugar echoes the hill patterns of san francisco.
and sometimes, on the rare quiet days when time passes just slow enough, there are little stories that make me want to write again.
yesterday, at the grocery store: between the carrots and the hummus, i was approached by a small older asian woman. i was listening to Harry Potter on my ipod and didn't notice her until she put a finger in front of my face. she was smiling like she was hiding something for me behind her back.
"how's the weather up there?" she said.
"um, good," i said.
"i like to say that to people who are big and tall," she explained.
"great," i said, beginning to walk away.
"but really it's me who's short!" she said. "i always used to say that to my fellow nurses in the hospital."
"great, great," i said again, because no other adjectives popped to mind.
later, at jessi's housewarming party in berkeley, i had a story to tell as i introduced myself to her housemates. those are the best stories, i think. little ones you can cup in the palm of your hand, like blueberries.
in other news:
ryan schrock, i like your text messages.