I’m sinking. But not like an anchor or a stone this time. It’s soft. Delicate even. Like the ballet dancer I was in a past life or am in my dreams. I did a backbend today and then the whole world went blurry for a second. I sang in the shower today and then felt like I was drowning in solitary ennui.
But there’s no cure for sinking when it’s really more like drifting because we’re all moving so slowly they can’t be sure which direction. And someone got blood on my lab today, and someone stepped on my foot in the rain and those things felt real, indicative of the person who I am. Who skips slam poetry meetings because she’s never read her work outloud and who dreams of days when friends will be here because time is drawing to a close, here and maybe there as well and maybe the only way I can stand to live is by making peace with the rip in my pajama pants and the “Class of 2015” scrawled across my chest.
Hey everyone! I’ve inherited a job as a fiction editor for Forth magazine after submitting this piece. I’m excited, you’re excited, we’re all excited. Check it out:
P.S. I’d date this about piece March 2012. So once again, hold the boos and hisses.
So, well, what’ll you know, it’s the last first day of school. And predictably, I’m not too enthused about the whole deal.
I’m feeling nostalgic, rightly so, but possibly for the wrong reason. You see, I keep trying to comb back through memories to get to my first first day of school; before love and fear and angst and grief, and think about the person who I was then.
But I don’t know who that person was anymore. I don’t remember her at all. What she thought about, how she talked and laughed, what she dreamed would be in store for her far and away. I should better ask my parents than try to patch together runny glimpses of the past.But I think there’s a certain tragedy in evolving past the point of recognition.
Instead of elementary school, the only thing I can think about it my first first day of college, now a steady three years in the past. And how mis-guidedly happy I was trying to be, unencumbered by misfortune after misfortune lived out, and the toll that can take on the mind and body. I think about myself, schlepping through rain in my dark blue dress and California-bought boots thinking that my niche, my place, my joy was only right around the corner.
Can that be what I thought when I was five? Surely not. Surely I sat in whatever colorful clothes my mum had dressed me in, mind empty, agape, awash with all the possibilities to come in some way. But I think the biggest difference then was I knew that I was happy, and I knew not to wish for anything more…to go lurking around corners only to accidentally stumble onto some blackened truth.
Happy last first day to all us little 1992-1993 babies.
— T.B. LaBerge // Things I’m Still Learning at 25 (via tblaberge)