GOSH! Being home, ya know?
My last month in Boston I was starting to feel guilty because everyone was acting so emotional and I felt so stone faced. Of course it was strange to be graduating, and I would be moving a lot farther than most of my roommates and friends, but I was pretty casual about it. My last week there I was trying to remember the last time I had really cried and I couldn't. (Normal occurrence for a lot of boys, not so with the lady friends I hang out with.) I decided it was probably in January, which felt like ages ago. I thought about how in high school I used to cry all the time! I mean every day I would be crying about something! Of course in high school I was a lot more emotional in general, so I try to dismiss this comparison.
Or so I thought!
I've only been home a few days and I've cried every day! How old am I? (22!) It's noon and I've already cried today, how is this possible? I guess there's something about being home that really affects me. Family drama has been high. My mother is flying to Spain on Monday to see her family and a lot has been going on. I also had an upsetting series of dreams last night where both of my grandmothers passed away and my nanny job e-mailed me to say they were going to stick with their nanny from last summer--checked my e-mail this morning, not true. I still have the job.
It's just crazy to me that I went from feeling like I couldn't express emotions, and now I'm all emotional and babbling to my friends and making long distance phone calls and sobbing about my feelings while I hear about my friend's much more taxing day with real work life.
This morning my mom said she feels weird about me sleeping in my room where the internet router and all these chords are- she said she heard they give off bad energy or something. So I'm down with that theory.
It feels like I've been here a lot longer than I have. But today should be good. No more crying! I'm going to help my mom move stuff out of her classroom (because she is switching rooms) and then I'm going to get together with my friend. I told him "let's go somewhere beautiful" which should be an easy task around here.
love.love.love.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
California Again
Two or three hours is too long to wait to see one of your oldest friends. I've been holding my breath for the past few hours, so I stepped outside to try to make a phone call. I decided for an unbiased perspective on my own life (okay everyone is somehow biased but you gotta start somewhere) I would call Riley (x3). But she didn't answer. I know she's busy with all her training in Georgia, and we haven't been able to reach each other for the past week or two. So then from Riley I thought of Ola, who I know is in Australia, but decided to try her phone anyways. I was surprised it rang, but when she answered she sounded flustered because its expensive, and she would skype me later. Fail. Fail.
I had walked out of the house barefoot, immediately got a splinter, plucked it out, and got to walking through sand. I was sitting on an old leather lazy boy. Before sitting down I poked it to coax out any spiders that may have been hiding. If they were, they remained hidden. After Ola hung up, I teared up a bit and continued sitting. What to do, what to do. Wait two or three hours I suppose, talk to one of my oldest friends.
I stood up and grabbed a long stick, wrote in the sand "THIS IS NOT BOSTON", hoping someone would read it and say "DUH".
Now onto another memory that is not Boston:
My dad pulled out a newspaper article from the LA Times of this puppet theatre we went to a few years ago: http://bobbakermarionettes.com/ Unfortunately, the article was all about how the place is potentially going out of business. Read the article here
And it made me think of the business my parents had when I was younger. We lived in Northern Michigan (Petoskey), across the bay from touristy Harbor Springs. Heading up North on Highway 31 (towards Oden) my parents bought the property of an old gas station. After the tanks were removed, the building was painted blue and my Uncle Bob helped my dad put together some signs "The Christensen Gallery". In the small building to the right of the lot was the antique gallery, filled with collectables my dad found from all over. On the left, in the bigger building, was a bookstore and gallery. In addition to the gallery itself, it was at times home to the Christensen Puppet Theatre. My mom was the main engineer of the paper mache puppets, a whole crew of characters. Puppets for the holidays, the animals (like our dog Patsy), and the miscellaneous crazy guys full of personality.
Sometimes my parents took the theatre on the road, carrying the fold up stage to schools or ski resorts. But for private events, the show was at the Christensen Gallery. Silly voices, Santa and his Elves, reoccurring characters like "Sally" or "Bobby".
It's nice to think about.
love.love.love.
I had walked out of the house barefoot, immediately got a splinter, plucked it out, and got to walking through sand. I was sitting on an old leather lazy boy. Before sitting down I poked it to coax out any spiders that may have been hiding. If they were, they remained hidden. After Ola hung up, I teared up a bit and continued sitting. What to do, what to do. Wait two or three hours I suppose, talk to one of my oldest friends.
I stood up and grabbed a long stick, wrote in the sand "THIS IS NOT BOSTON", hoping someone would read it and say "DUH".
Now onto another memory that is not Boston:
My dad pulled out a newspaper article from the LA Times of this puppet theatre we went to a few years ago: http://bobbakermarionettes.com/ Unfortunately, the article was all about how the place is potentially going out of business. Read the article here
And it made me think of the business my parents had when I was younger. We lived in Northern Michigan (Petoskey), across the bay from touristy Harbor Springs. Heading up North on Highway 31 (towards Oden) my parents bought the property of an old gas station. After the tanks were removed, the building was painted blue and my Uncle Bob helped my dad put together some signs "The Christensen Gallery". In the small building to the right of the lot was the antique gallery, filled with collectables my dad found from all over. On the left, in the bigger building, was a bookstore and gallery. In addition to the gallery itself, it was at times home to the Christensen Puppet Theatre. My mom was the main engineer of the paper mache puppets, a whole crew of characters. Puppets for the holidays, the animals (like our dog Patsy), and the miscellaneous crazy guys full of personality.
Sometimes my parents took the theatre on the road, carrying the fold up stage to schools or ski resorts. But for private events, the show was at the Christensen Gallery. Silly voices, Santa and his Elves, reoccurring characters like "Sally" or "Bobby".
It's nice to think about.
love.love.love.
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