It’s barely 11pm on a Saturday night. I don’t feel like going out or having a drink. What I feel like is throwing on some music, making dinner, and curling up with one of the new trashy romance novels I bought myself today. I don’t know if this is a sign I should pick up a few more cats *or* if I’m finally starting to grow up.
I don’t feel or bitter or sweet. I feel steady and sure.
Of course, this is now.
Then:
This morning I awoke at 9. (Kudos to me for being able to sleep past 7) I stretch languorously before remembering and leaping from the bed filled with purpose. (No, the bed isn’t filled with purpose- *I* am. Silly) It is imperative I look fabulous today. Today is passport photo day.
Lucky for me, there’s a DMV in the basement of my building. I can get cute and still be there as the doors open. And I do- but it turns out I forgot my expired passport upstairs. Oh, well hell- I’ll be right back. I dash upstairs (Who am I kidding? I mean I took the elevator) and start to collect what I need when Norman decides we’re going to play. He has been quite needy since I threatened him with a little brother and rubs all over my face to show his (now) undying affection for me. Unlucky for me, I’m allergic to cats. (Yes, yes I *know* but it’s not their fault now is it?) So as I dash back downstairs (elevator) my face is starting to get tingly and hot.
There are now 4,000 people waiting at the DMV. Hell. Well at least this gives me plenty of time to scratch at my face and allow the hives to disfigure me. The sweet, elderly Somali gentleman who is (finally) assisting me is unmoved by my need for the perfect photo. Yes, yes [he says] you are quite lovely- no need to worry...
Me: But sir! I renewed my driver’s license here last April and my picture makes me look like an overweight Asian dude! People think it’s a fake! I can’t get stranded in some strange foreign country-
SESG: ::looking at my DL information on his monitor:: Hm, it says here the *I* helped you then. That’s it- you hurt my feelings. Now you cannot see your passport photo.
Me: Wha... can you do that?
SESG: :: Impassive face:: Yes.
And he meant that...
Oh well, I guess I’ll see. There was only one thing I could think of to make myself feel better about the situation was... THEMALL! (Which was convenient because I had business there later) I spent the better part of an hour perusing the travel section- thinking of all the fabulous destinations I could jet off to now that my passport was finally on its way. Destinations like... well, I’m sure I’ll be able think of one LONG before I can afford it. But seriously Kell- on to business.
I’ve decided to make good on a threat.
::slams credit card down on the counter at Victoria’s Secret::
Me: I need breasts that will stop a hot 20 year old musician in his tracks and KILL him. Kill him until he is dead.
Everyone else in the store: :O
Me: No, seriously- I need the mother of all wonderbras.
It’s always the same story when I go to VS. All the clerks either seem to get really embarrassed or I encounter a 'Pretty Woman' situation where they say- 'I’m sorry but I don’t think we have anything for you here' snotty-like. I convince the clerks that I am not above padding or water or plastic or cardboard or duct tape or anything. Come on ladies- these babies have a job to do! And we all manage to do the best we can...
I don’t really have a plan all the way to the Festival. I don’t really have a plan past all the tents set up along the way to the stage where the band is playing. (Breasts leading the way... maybe I should say unbreasts, because honestly, there is very little of actual me in the gravity defying cleavage up front there. I don’t really have a plan but I figure something will come to me. I told him if he blatantly stood me up one more time I’d kill him- doesn’t my pride demand *something*? I see him over there, careless happy- smiling and having a good time. Hey pride! What do you want to do?? Pride says, erm... nothing really. What?! Pride goes on- well... I mean, isn’t his carefree, unplanned demeanor why you liked him in the first place? I think about it and I remember, oh yeah... it *was*. And I can’t be mad which probably means no murder. So I decide to just stay and listen to music instead.
But I didn’t buy one of their new CDs. Instead I hit up another bookstore on the way back and bought a latte and some trashy romance novels for later. Take that.
When I get home (long time later... every major street in MPLS is shut for some stupid festival or another- even the detours have detours) I don’t feel or bitter or sweet. I feel steady and sure. I start thinking thinky thoughts about this peaceful feeling. What does it mean? And here’s what I came up with:
Finding peace is when things didn’t work out *quite* the way you planned and you don’t have the victorious celebratory feeling inside but you’re not upset or unhappy, either. You’re at like... 75%. Maybe you realize it’s not too shabby to be where you are and not all together possible to maintain 100% indefinitely. It’s a moment of perfect unexamined understanding where you truly don’t begrudge the winners or bemoan your own defeats. ...And you savor someone else’s opportunity to be a Rockstar.
I’m going to make some dinner now. And hell, I’ll have a drink too. Norman likes being an only child and I don’t want to grow up too fast, after all.
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