Ah, I remember the day I told my father that the crap band on the radio playing that crap song was an incarnation of his beloved Jefferson Airplane. At first he was incredulous, and then we had a long discussion on how poorly Grace Slick has aged for someone who used to be a babe, and then he told me, in all seriousness, that I better not do a lot of hard drugs because I'd end up looking like Grace Slick.
Good call, Cliff.
I thought that this being the first year in three that I wouldn't have a month-long break, I wouldn't care so much about vacation, but I think I care more. It's been a long four and a half months: there were a lot of long nights, and moments where I had to let the dog lick the tears off my face, and minutes spent staring out my office window watching traffic go by on 12/18 wondering what I was doing with my life. And there were far too many minutes when I had to remind myself that it was a period of transition, and it would pass, and one day soon I'd have a hard time remembering what Kato life was.
I thought, too, that this week would drag by and I'd spend the minutes staring out at the same view of 12/18 (this time a little snowier). But it's Monday and things are good: I wrote a poem about auks, I made funny comments and asked smart questions in multiple meetings, I'm working on a team that is responsible for redesigning the company Web site and we get to do whatever we want with Flash and color. If you had asked me this past June to predict my life in December, I would not have answered using the phrases "graphic design" and "implementation grid" or "PageFlex"--but I'm glad I do now.
I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life, but this is the first time since August I've had two consecutive weeks of feeling like if I end up doing this for a couple more years maybe it's going to be okay, and that's good.
And the house was filled with people this weekend, and we had a good time wandering around State and Monroe Streets and making fun of all the students studying for finals, and we ate pizza and talked about books and bought Beach Boys LPs. When they left, I didn't stand in the parking lot and wonder what to do with myself next. I didn't think about how I felt, actually, which was the biggest indication that I was okay in this Madison life; it wasn't until later that evening, when I was sitting on the couch full of Qdoba and listening to "Don't Worry Baby" for the eighth time that I realized that I hadn't done anything not ordinary when they drove away. I went back inside. I caught up on e-mail, finished some freelance work, swept the floor, ate dinner and bought apples. I went back to my life.
I had a moment last night where I looked at the B and said, You know what? Madison is a really neat town. And then he laughed and laughed, because I said "neat." Just like Liz.
What else is there to say. I'm going to go listen to one of the four records I now own (thanks to Jeano and P, who helped me pick out two records that I could listen to all winter, just because I want to one day be able to say, Oh, yeah. That was the winter we moved to Madison and listened to Aretha Franklin every night) and pack for my jaunt back to New York.
Have a happy Christmas. Go do something crazy that you'll be a little embarrassed about the next morning. Eat cookies for breakfast and something straight from the container at midnight. Catch up on movies, reading, sleep. Sit on a couch with a dog. Admire the snow. Don't let anything--not even a mannequin coming to life--stop you now!
Ask that mannequin to dance. And then kill her before she gets old and plays a cougar on television.
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