'Cause you were the same as me, but on your knees
It just occurred to me today how much I've adapted to living here. I wake up in the morning, I go to work, I fantasize about all the things I could make for dinner and then throw a frozen pizza in the oven because, well, honestly. I do my laundry and buy broccoli and studiously ignore the crazies on the bus and go to little hipster concerts and drink my tall pumpkin spice latte in the Starbucks at the bus stop while waiting for the 2 and all without direct adult supervision (Mara doesn't count). Even though everything has changed, I really never think about it. It just is.
It's not like I never miss home or having family around, because I do. Just not actively. I think I lay face down on my mattress and sulked for about five minutes afterMom and Dad hugged me and left the day I moved in here, and then got up, took stock of the room, and tried to remember where I packed my sheets. I slid into a new chapter with no need for a segue and haven't really thought on it since. I guess that's how I function. It's like how the old poem put it, what with the moving finger having writ and all that. Or how in Super Mario Bros you could advance the screen all you liked but you couldn't go back at all. Maybe you could've stomped another Goomba or caught that 1up mushroom, but if you didn't, you didn't, and all there is to do is dump Bowser into the lava and see if maybe this time the princess is in the castle (she isn't, she never is). My life is just rolling onward and if I spend all my time looking back I'll walk backwards into a telephone pole or something. No saves, no restarts, nor shall all thy tears wash out a word of it. Who knows, maybe the next level will be one of those nifty underwater ones.
In case you didn't notice, I just drew a parallel between The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam and Super Mario Bros and used it as an analogy for adjusting to change. I'm not sure if that's brilliant or soul-crushingly sad. I vote brilliant, but I could be a little biased.
When did I grow up? I don't remember it happening, so it probably hasn't. So long as nobody else catches on to that, I should probably be in pretty good shape.
Just a little while ago I was fiddling around with google maps and I was able, on the satellite image, to manually zoom in from a view of the world down to fifth street southwest. Yup, that's home, just how I remember it: a pixellated gray smudge. I suggest painting the roof hot pink, it'd stand out a little better. It's easier to see the bright yellow house next door. But I guess I can't complain too much. No matter where I go in the world, so long as I can hop on the internet for a few minutes I can see my house. It's like looking up at the night sky in Athens and seeing the big dipper, except less Fivel and more Jetsons.
It's not like I never miss home or having family around, because I do. Just not actively. I think I lay face down on my mattress and sulked for about five minutes afterMom and Dad hugged me and left the day I moved in here, and then got up, took stock of the room, and tried to remember where I packed my sheets. I slid into a new chapter with no need for a segue and haven't really thought on it since. I guess that's how I function. It's like how the old poem put it, what with the moving finger having writ and all that. Or how in Super Mario Bros you could advance the screen all you liked but you couldn't go back at all. Maybe you could've stomped another Goomba or caught that 1up mushroom, but if you didn't, you didn't, and all there is to do is dump Bowser into the lava and see if maybe this time the princess is in the castle (she isn't, she never is). My life is just rolling onward and if I spend all my time looking back I'll walk backwards into a telephone pole or something. No saves, no restarts, nor shall all thy tears wash out a word of it. Who knows, maybe the next level will be one of those nifty underwater ones.
In case you didn't notice, I just drew a parallel between The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam and Super Mario Bros and used it as an analogy for adjusting to change. I'm not sure if that's brilliant or soul-crushingly sad. I vote brilliant, but I could be a little biased.
When did I grow up? I don't remember it happening, so it probably hasn't. So long as nobody else catches on to that, I should probably be in pretty good shape.
Just a little while ago I was fiddling around with google maps and I was able, on the satellite image, to manually zoom in from a view of the world down to fifth street southwest. Yup, that's home, just how I remember it: a pixellated gray smudge. I suggest painting the roof hot pink, it'd stand out a little better. It's easier to see the bright yellow house next door. But I guess I can't complain too much. No matter where I go in the world, so long as I can hop on the internet for a few minutes I can see my house. It's like looking up at the night sky in Athens and seeing the big dipper, except less Fivel and more Jetsons.
posted by Betsi at 10:01 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home