Live the dream or dream to live?
Thursday, after watching Louis CK, I had a cigarette with my middle school bestie at the valet stand. "It's going to be 20m for your car." Both of us sighed heavily, thinking about all the work we had to do, how we shouldn't be standing there smoking a cigarette neither of us wants. She works in a neuroscience lab and is always on call. The process of collecting brain specimens takes 12hrs on average, and the time weighs on her. Sometimes we text each other
"When will this guy die? I haven't showered in days."
"When this sagging ceiling tile above me crushes me to death w its black mold you can have my brain."
Then we sigh and try to remind ourselves that we're lucky to have 6-figure educations to feel self righteous and fulfilled over. I started telling her a story about an incredible friend of mine. Lauren is a 5'1" 95 lbs. blond. Her wispy thin hair is constantly in motion, flipping from one side of her head to the other ask she rattles off like yeah's and omigod's between really interesting, obscure facts. Loquacious and viciously curious, you'd think she were a meth addled valley girl rather than a Plan II scholarship student. She's visited all seven continents. She's white water rafted down Nepalese rivers feed by the snows of the Himalayas. She's lived in Hawaii on a goat farm learning to make cheese. And that was just in the past year. Once while we were sitting together in a restaurant in DC (she was interning for National Geographic, natch), I asked her how she always lived.
"When I was like 15, I started taking lipator. I have very high cholesterol and my doctor asked me to, like, stop eating anything with like lots of cholesterol. I stopped eating butter and nuts and everything I love, like my worst nightmare realized. Then one day I said fuck it, sat down and ate a pie. I decided I wanted to live for 35 years rather than wait to die for 70."
We stood in silence for the remainder of our 20 minute wait. We then looked across the drive to see Sara's blue Prius parked 30 ft away. It was there the whole time, we were just too busy complaining to notice. We never notice.
"When will this guy die? I haven't showered in days."
"When this sagging ceiling tile above me crushes me to death w its black mold you can have my brain."
Then we sigh and try to remind ourselves that we're lucky to have 6-figure educations to feel self righteous and fulfilled over. I started telling her a story about an incredible friend of mine. Lauren is a 5'1" 95 lbs. blond. Her wispy thin hair is constantly in motion, flipping from one side of her head to the other ask she rattles off like yeah's and omigod's between really interesting, obscure facts. Loquacious and viciously curious, you'd think she were a meth addled valley girl rather than a Plan II scholarship student. She's visited all seven continents. She's white water rafted down Nepalese rivers feed by the snows of the Himalayas. She's lived in Hawaii on a goat farm learning to make cheese. And that was just in the past year. Once while we were sitting together in a restaurant in DC (she was interning for National Geographic, natch), I asked her how she always lived.
"When I was like 15, I started taking lipator. I have very high cholesterol and my doctor asked me to, like, stop eating anything with like lots of cholesterol. I stopped eating butter and nuts and everything I love, like my worst nightmare realized. Then one day I said fuck it, sat down and ate a pie. I decided I wanted to live for 35 years rather than wait to die for 70."
We stood in silence for the remainder of our 20 minute wait. We then looked across the drive to see Sara's blue Prius parked 30 ft away. It was there the whole time, we were just too busy complaining to notice. We never notice.