Apr. 21, 2003 - 22:55:12
Dear Vincent,
Easter morning I went to church. Mind you, I wasn't happy about having to get up to go, but I went to appease the family. Easter is always a spectacle in church. I was reminded of those little white socks with the lace frills that every little girl seems to be wearing. I used to hate those. There are white patent leather shoes adorning small feet and blithely colored dresses. There are little boys looking absolutely miserable in suits. Writhing out of their jackets they get frustrated looks from mothers. I got through mass watching various little persons indignantly find their way out of ties and buckled shoes.
Lilly and fiancée were at my aunt's. Here's a little fate or free will story. Lilly moved to Virginia to complete her residency as an OBGYN. Her realtor found her a lovely house nestled in a small community within ear shot of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Lilly and the realtor spent untold amounts of time looking for a little place for her. After finally signing the papers on the aforementioned house, the realtor looked a Lilly and said, "You know you're a really nice girl. I would like you to meet my nephew. He's your age, works in finance and he's smart and personable." Lilly declined, and rightly so as blind dating is much akin to suicide and also because "smart and personable" in one family is "ignorant and socially stunted" in others. Thus ensued the year of the doomed dates. There was a little Italian who backed out of Lilly's driveway around eighty miles an hour and broke the sound barrier on the highway. There was the guy who turned out to be gay. There was the ex who wouldn't stay 'x'ed.
Enter David. Lilly was at a party with a friend. David was at same, also with friend. Lilly and David were supposed to be introduced to friends of their friends. Note that, confusingly enough, the friends of the friends they were supposed to meet were not each other. Lilly's friend randomly introduced her to David when she greeted David's friend. The friend of the friends never worked out. Lilly and David gabbed the entire evening. David is the realtor's nephew.
Taylor, my three year old cousin is a ball of energy. She hurtles about as if shot out of a cannon. Her father, my cousin Joe, looked at me gravely and confided, "I think she might have a.d.d." It came slightly out of the blue so after choking on a swallow of coffee I asked, "Why?" Joe shook his head. Taylor streaked by. "Look at her" he said. I did, for a split second when she streaked by again, giggling. Seconds later in hot pursuit and making dinosaur noises went my Uncle Ferd. I tried desperately to school my face into an expression appropriate for the serious nature of the conversation. "She looks normal to me," I offered voice cracking by restrained laughter. "What would make you think that?" I asked stifling a snort as Taylor and Uncle Ferd roared by again, this time with his arms flailing menacingly above his head. "Well, she doesn't want to take naps" Joe said helplessly. This time I did laugh. "Do you think something is wrong with her?" "Nope." I affirmed. "I think she's three. And to be completely frank I'm more worried about the sanity of the rest of the family."
Right on cue Uncle Ferd stormed by wearing a colander on his head.
Random Thought:
There is a pile of borrowed books watching me reproachfully from the corner. And I in turn watch them mournfully. I haven't the time right now but they beckon so.
Random Thought:
Sleep is a nuisance. I like to sleep but it takes up too much time. There is so much to be done in a day that it inevitably flows over into the night. This doesn't suit at all.
I suppose my alter ego would have long wild hair that is unevenly cut and uses profanities as nouns, adverbs, adjectives, verbs, and punctuation. Takes everything as an insult except from her high school sweetheart husband whom she just takes anything from quietly. Ignorant and loud about it. Well versed in the day time soaps and could quote Oprah verbatim. Read some of a book once. Then again, I think my alter ego could just as easily be someone completely different. Thinks she knows everything. Has read one too many of the classics just so she can say she did. Plays piano beautifully but joylessly. Has lots of appreciation for things that deserve appreciation even if she doesn't really like them. Tactful. Fidelity's fine but she hasn't the time.
I often imagine myself leading other lives as well. Passes otherwise dead time, like driving really well. Sometimes I muse over what I would be like if I'd decided to dance seriously. Logically I know I would have been caught in the small town circuit performance groups dancing in a corps, most likely in the back. But when I daydream it's easy to imagine deft feet and solid ankles, graceful arms. Or where would I be had I never made friends with the library. That's a slightly horrific fantasy. I can see myself wallowing at the mall weekend after weekend. And buying all my clothes from somewhere acceptable to a norm. And in my high school years going out for field hockey and dating the lacrosse guys. And talking of nothing but other people's dating and fashion faux pas, which qualifies essentially as nothing. Forming conjectures about why so and so are 'so over' rather than opinions. Going to a respectable college and marrying a respectable guy and working a respectable white collar job. Yeah, that's a scary one. Maybe I could have slipped to the other end of the extreme. Dyed my hair pink and would have jumped off a cliff if I knew it was not the trendy thing to do. Occasionally I wonder if I'd be a good lawyer. That daydream smashes itself the moment someone I believe is guilty presents themselves in my imaginary office. How about a politician. No I like my jeans and veracity too much for that.
When I wonder about living other lives, much like you, I often find that the ones better than the one I'm living elude me. I can imagine myself a certain way, but I can never imagine working to become that way. That's partially how I know certain things in my life are right. I am working for certain things, and working to keep others. I cannot imagine working to become a dancer, but I could fill days working to be a writer.
More Air than Sustenance,
Meghan
what they said - what they will say
