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brigdhIt's strange, but I always have so much less free time during the summer. My family manages to crowd hours in a way school, homework and a job never have. Which is my excuse for why I haven't been posting, and for all the comments sitting in my inbox that I'm going to reply to, really. Tomorrow morning.
Unfortunately, I haven't been able to turn all this stuff I'm doing into an interesting post. Everything I write goes nowhere; it's interesting (well, to me), and vivid and all, but it never leads to anything more. I went to a county fair on Monday. I came back and started to describe it, the parade and the Fair Queen contestants, wandering through reeking horse barns in prom dresses, the dirt walkways that turned the lower foot of everything a dusty, pale brown, the overabundance of Confederate merchandise. I went on a long tangent about my decade in 4-H and its summer camps. I mentioned running into my cousin and noticing that his ears were newly pierced, and joked about how my family is counting down the days until that boy comes out. Which is all good. But there's no story to it, no point. So I type up several pages in Word, realize that I can't turn it into a post, and give up and wait for something else interesting to happen.
My family lives out in the suburbs now- though we're so far from the center of the city I don't know if you can even still call it a suburb: the town has its own name and zip code and "downtown" (which consists of a hardware store and two diners). We moved here at the beginning of summer last year; I'm still not used to it. The house I grew up in was less than a block from a main street and cars hummed by constantly, the ones with the bass turned up close enough to rattle the window over my bed. The security light of building across the street shown directly into my bedroom. Distant sirens were so common that I didn't even notice them.
Now when I lie in bed, I can see little flashes of light outside my window. Half-asleep, aware but not thinking, I keep mistaking them for headlights, or reflections off glass and metal. It always takes several minutes before I remember that there's nothing but trees out there now; the lights are fireflies. I don't know why that realization makes me so sad each time.
Unfortunately, I haven't been able to turn all this stuff I'm doing into an interesting post. Everything I write goes nowhere; it's interesting (well, to me), and vivid and all, but it never leads to anything more. I went to a county fair on Monday. I came back and started to describe it, the parade and the Fair Queen contestants, wandering through reeking horse barns in prom dresses, the dirt walkways that turned the lower foot of everything a dusty, pale brown, the overabundance of Confederate merchandise. I went on a long tangent about my decade in 4-H and its summer camps. I mentioned running into my cousin and noticing that his ears were newly pierced, and joked about how my family is counting down the days until that boy comes out. Which is all good. But there's no story to it, no point. So I type up several pages in Word, realize that I can't turn it into a post, and give up and wait for something else interesting to happen.
My family lives out in the suburbs now- though we're so far from the center of the city I don't know if you can even still call it a suburb: the town has its own name and zip code and "downtown" (which consists of a hardware store and two diners). We moved here at the beginning of summer last year; I'm still not used to it. The house I grew up in was less than a block from a main street and cars hummed by constantly, the ones with the bass turned up close enough to rattle the window over my bed. The security light of building across the street shown directly into my bedroom. Distant sirens were so common that I didn't even notice them.
Now when I lie in bed, I can see little flashes of light outside my window. Half-asleep, aware but not thinking, I keep mistaking them for headlights, or reflections off glass and metal. It always takes several minutes before I remember that there's nothing but trees out there now; the lights are fireflies. I don't know why that realization makes me so sad each time.
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no subject
Date: 2005-06-26 01:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-28 05:46 am (UTC)