Some days, no matter how grumpy I wake up, or how much my home’s heater has been malfunctioning that week, the weather makes me happy. I totally wrote ‘fappy’ there, by accident, and I probably shouldn’t have erased it. Because fappy weather is happy weather. You know?
Today is a perfect autumn day in southeastern Canada. I am going to work at an art class with precious children and then possibly chilling at a coffee shop to study and walk around before getting my mother to pick me up. I am not uncomfortable with that sentence for the moment, mainly because I’ve finally come to terms with what my life currently needs to be, and because goddamnit my mother is pretty amazing. My family is awkward, and I am okay with that most times. My schoolwork always comes together before the moment it needs handing in (I don’t know why I stress on this so much when I know I will hand it in on time come hell or a crowd of evangelists). My writing is picking up.
I have good things wrapped up in me like a gift basket. But sometimes I miss hugs from my friends, and sometimes my boy and I pick fights over gas. But really, days like this are what I live for. Screw my upset stomach and cramps and heavy feeling. I am going to live in this moment regardless, breathe in this dying air of fall, and make the most of today.
Life doesn’t always let you be all whiney and retrospective even when you really want to be sometimes. I need to stop being so hung up on being perfect and take more walks to watch the leaves change. This is a beautiful, waning fall. It is warm and unpredictable and I need to make the most of this unpredictability.
Ranting is natural, but it is after the rant that matters. It is after the, “I can’t do this anymore”‘s and “FML”‘s that matter, because that is what you have to show for yourself. You never want to show off the things you gave up on, the days you wasted, the time you spent without good purpose. Maybe I’ve been inundated with old American idioms from all the American lit I read last year, but I want to use my time. And I want to use it so it has the best possible chance of sticking in my memory as a thing to hold on to when I am feeling whiney, out-of-place and careless.
A stupid poem can become emblem to millions of lost young hipsters. Old Indian men can be Canada’s new Terry Fox. Learning to get around without public transit can mean you stay at your love’s place so much longer than you usually do. Breaking and entering may just be other words for “start anew”.