My life experiences consist of a few moments of heartache spotted in experiences mostly of my denial, laziness and avoidance; and vaguely feigned hatred for people with bad haircuts. Balls. Well at least I can write about men who continually creep on me. So there's that.
I also have my pipe dream of being discovered on the street. Become some actual artist's muse so that I'll never have to actually work. I want what everyone wants. I want to want to work, not to have to. Everyday that I cannot find another job and have to show up at my insane, public health research department I think about just walking away from it all to go... where?
I do feel attached to Massachusetts but that's mostly because it is all I know. I might love Barcelona or Paris or Montreal but they're not my home. I think I just like being lost in a crowd. One night in Barcelona we went to this club, Apollo something. Everyone hated it but me. We walked in and you could feel the beat in your skin, your hair. It was hot and crowded like some sort of 1990s era Seattle club mixed with rich Euros who like to slum it in the dangerous parts of town. It smelled of sweat and smoke and tequila. Needless to say, I loved it. I broke away from the group and weaved in and out of the pulsating hoards of people. I could close my eyes and just feel like I was in a wave that was somehow both smashing around me and carrying me away. I told everyone I loved it for the same reason I love New Years Eve, I love being a part of something bigger than myself. Hundreds of people in some hundred year old theater bumping into one another, all strangers doing something different but the same. On the stage there was a bright light, I cannot remember what else was on there, I think at some point a woman was faux stripping, maybe a dj? Or he might have been on the level above. I felt drunk and tired but while I might have been tired I wasn't drunk. In fact I didnt get drunk in Barcelona and I didnt sleep and I honestly didnt even really eat until the last stay, I was just leveling the whole time. I weaved back through the crowd and was grabbed by a ridiculously good looking man. He pulled my face towards his and said something in Spanish and I was with one of Courtney's friends so I thought "Oh my God I cannot have this stranger get in my face in front of someone else I barely know." Trying to do the right thing. I was walking back with the drinks and handed them out and then put mine down, walked back up pushed through the crowd of a dozen equally handsome, dark haired men and grabbed the one that had grabbed me and without saying anything began to kiss him. Courtney's friend's jaw dropped and I just continued.
I say that I feel the most comfortable when I'm abroad and the least anxious, and that's true. But I also think its because I'm most myself then. It is partly of where I am in the moment but also I feel like I can be myself because no one knows me. The less restrictions I put on myself the better I feel, but I do well with limits... I think we all do. So where do I draw the line? Anxiety is a motherfucker.
Sometimes I dream that I'm drowning. But I wake up thirsty in the middle of the night. How come? I dream that I'm running up a tall staircase in a building surrounded by windows and there's a wave rushing towards the building and I'm racing it. I know it is going to hit and I know I cannot outrun it, but I'm chasing something anyway, at the top.
I have this dream all the time, running, beating the wave before it crashes down on me. Although the truth of it is that with my luck, I'd trip and fall. So I'm not going to attack any Argentine men in Boston, it isn't Barcelon,a but I'm still hoping for someone to discover me and pay me a salary to learn Spanish and travel South America have fun and write about. Need money, will write.
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