wake me up when september ends
So I guess the old question arises... where DID summer go? How am I sitting here in my stepfamilie's dining room in Portland, Maine? Why am I not working a nine hour shift at Vickies, running down South Prospect street and doing pilates every night? What? I dislocated my knee and tore my patella tendon? (sorry Marth). What? Steve has stage four leukemia and got his spleen removed in July? Bone marrow transplant in the fall? Possibly a short-term move to Boston? What?
At first I felt like a bad person when my first thought was... actually this has been a really fun summer. I'll admit, when I first got home and realized I'd be here for more than just a weekend or possibly a week I cried. I cried every day my Mother drove me to the pool so I could doggie-paddle with one leg. I cried after I was panting from crutch-hobbling from one end of the Gibson ward to the other. I didn't feel like a cute young twentysomething. I was a gimp with a house full of cancer and sad people and a father that eloped after dating a woman for two months.
Then one day it rained and I entered a stare-down with my crutches.
I spray pained them with gold glitter and superglued on fake Wal*Mart jewels.
I went out a lot.
I went to concerts at the Big Easy and the Empire. We did bar-hops and beach-nights and everything in between. I perfected a berry crumble and a flourless chocolate cake. I kissed a guy who picked me up using sign language on a dance floor... while I was still employing my blinged-out crutches. I skinny dipped on the East End beach with strangers at two in the morning. I waddled over topless and shared a joint with a fortysomething and his girlfriend. I listened to a Stevie Wonder cover band after eating pot brownies, the herb of which came from an Abbey Road t-shirt wearing stranger sitting on Drew and Wini's apartment building stoop. He had a David Gray poster hanging on his wall. I played Scrabble in many a'awkward locale and met a host of characters along the way. I held a vegetarian cookout at my pad. I taught myself how to cook everything and anything sweet potato-y. I told dirty jokes with my physical therapist. I got the cover of Abbey Road tatttooed on my RIGHT shoulder blade in dark outlines. I am not over him.
How does this summer compare to the last few?
How is it somehow the best since '05? (the summer to rule them all).
How am I now a senior? How is this my last year in Burlingtron, city of the future?
All life is is little moments. There are no huge epochs. There are no grand epiphanies.
There is a new song, a vegan brownie, a caramel colored cat, a traffic-cone graveyard, a mix-tape, a meteor shower, a walk around the boulevard, a bass line, a kiss, a conversation.
That's all.
There is no romanticized this or that. There is no black and white for sure Jesus Moses Allah anything.
There is grey clouds with a little bit of pink and gold peeping behind them.
Is that the sun?
At first I felt like a bad person when my first thought was... actually this has been a really fun summer. I'll admit, when I first got home and realized I'd be here for more than just a weekend or possibly a week I cried. I cried every day my Mother drove me to the pool so I could doggie-paddle with one leg. I cried after I was panting from crutch-hobbling from one end of the Gibson ward to the other. I didn't feel like a cute young twentysomething. I was a gimp with a house full of cancer and sad people and a father that eloped after dating a woman for two months.
Then one day it rained and I entered a stare-down with my crutches.
I spray pained them with gold glitter and superglued on fake Wal*Mart jewels.
I went out a lot.
I went to concerts at the Big Easy and the Empire. We did bar-hops and beach-nights and everything in between. I perfected a berry crumble and a flourless chocolate cake. I kissed a guy who picked me up using sign language on a dance floor... while I was still employing my blinged-out crutches. I skinny dipped on the East End beach with strangers at two in the morning. I waddled over topless and shared a joint with a fortysomething and his girlfriend. I listened to a Stevie Wonder cover band after eating pot brownies, the herb of which came from an Abbey Road t-shirt wearing stranger sitting on Drew and Wini's apartment building stoop. He had a David Gray poster hanging on his wall. I played Scrabble in many a'awkward locale and met a host of characters along the way. I held a vegetarian cookout at my pad. I taught myself how to cook everything and anything sweet potato-y. I told dirty jokes with my physical therapist. I got the cover of Abbey Road tatttooed on my RIGHT shoulder blade in dark outlines. I am not over him.
How does this summer compare to the last few?
How is it somehow the best since '05? (the summer to rule them all).
How am I now a senior? How is this my last year in Burlingtron, city of the future?
All life is is little moments. There are no huge epochs. There are no grand epiphanies.
There is a new song, a vegan brownie, a caramel colored cat, a traffic-cone graveyard, a mix-tape, a meteor shower, a walk around the boulevard, a bass line, a kiss, a conversation.
That's all.
There is no romanticized this or that. There is no black and white for sure Jesus Moses Allah anything.
There is grey clouds with a little bit of pink and gold peeping behind them.
Is that the sun?