Casper!
Ok, that was lame. I know but I really like that movie.
Alright here's a short story I'm working on for my comp class about my first visit home. It's not wonderful because it was pretty forced. I haven't felt very creative in a long time. Usually this really bothers me but lately this apathy thing has been a nice break from the normal me.
Oh and I signed up to be a big sister. I haven't heard back yet but I'm really looking forward to it. But anyway here's my short story.
"This is your captain speaking. We are just above the Palm Springs international airport and in a few moments we will be desending. At that time we will turn on the fasten seatbelts sign and ask you to do so. It's a sunny 74 degrees out on this saturday morning. Thank you for flying United Airlines, we hope you enjoy your stay here in Palm Springs or if you're returning we'd like to be the first ones to welcome you home."
I'm not really sure which applies to me. It is my home but I'm really only visiting, so maybe its both. Then why does it feel like neither apply? I have felt kind of homeless ever since I first moved out. We did move alot when I was younger but I always new where home was because it was where ever my mom was, she was my land mark. But now I have only boxes of clothes and a few sentimental items to mark where I am expected to sleep. It feels unstable.
My room is in the far corner of our apartment. The door that leads into my room is the swampy color of brown packaging tape. In the opposite corner of the room is the air mattress where we sleep which is next to a stack of boxes that double as a night stand. A few suitcases and an old dresser are the only other objects in the room besides the clothes that occupy every square inch of what would be tan carpeting. The walls are kept bare. There is no real reason to decorate them since we're moving again in a year anyway. What would be the point? The only real signs of life are the clothes; without them the room would be unbearibly sterile.
Sometimes I wish I was back in my old room. It was drenched with emotion, from the music, to the magazine clippings, and the stickers. Even though the room screamed angsty teenager it still illustrated me well at that point. It would be so easy to fall back into that pattern of blame, or would it? Even if I couldn't I could still loose myself in my old bed and my loud music. Yes, I could always do that. We aren't aloud to play music in my new apartment or the upstairs neighbors jump on our ceiling. So, that's what I'll do when I get "home" or to "my mothers house." I'm not sure how to refer to it yet, but either way I will roll up in a ball under my old comforter and pretend I'm back for good. I know already that this is unrealistic, there are so many people expecting me to just "drop in." But in two weeks time and with so much "dropping in" to do I doubt much actual quality time will be spent. Especially with Kevin on the trip too, that will double the quantity of people. I'm begining to wonder what the point to this visit is.
Suddenly a bell pulls me out of my thoughts and I look up to see a red picture with two hands fastening a seatbelt. "So we meet again step six," I mumble. Any oppotunity to sound like a comic book super villain must be exploited to its fullest potential. You see my nemesis is what I call the six step mind set or the time warp. I first manifested the six step mindset when I was in junior high. In its simplest form the time warp is the idea that in six steps you will be six steps ahead. I know this sounds elementary but if you broaden this idea you can begin to look at your life as nothing more than a series of events broken down into almost a flip book. It sounds depressing but once you get past that it's liberating. Almost like you can step outside yourelf. "Steps" can be broadened, though, into a more metaphorical state.
For example, one series of steps I have plotted out for about the last five or six months is my leaving and returning "home." We first decided that we needed to escape one Sunday afternoon when Kevin was talking to his friend DJ. Kevin and I had been planning on leaving for some time but the opportunity had not come up yet. DJ was renewing his lease the following week and was looking for new roomates. By the following Sunday we were packed and on our way to Iowa. You can place steps in many different areas, it all depends on personal signifigance. For me pulling out of my moms driveway for the last time seemed a good place to start, arriving and unpacking were monumental steps, beginning to recognise faces that I passed down town or in Hyvee, buying the tickets to return, and landing in the airport placed the highest on my transisional priorities list. The last and most signifigant step for me I assumed would be finally seeing my mom and my sister again.
So I get up and try and blend myself in to the already conjested line. Our bags in the overhead compartment fight against my pull as I try to get kevins out for him since he's sitting in the seet nearest to the window. But eventually I wedge them free. Then we are being herded into the line and marched down the long hallway from the plane to the inside of the airport. It reminds me of a vaccum tube or maybe something from Star Track, either way, I still wish we could get off planes the way they do in old movies. The stair case gets wheeled up to the plane and the young girl sticks her head out the door instantaneously seeing her old friend or her long lost sister. She waves as she gets out but the wind blows her hat right off her head. Luckily the loved one she is about to reunite with catches it and when she reaches the bottom they say some smooth line like, "I think you lost this." The perfect conversation starter for such a long seperation. Yes, I think I would prefer that to stepping out of vaccum nozzle and having to pass through security before greeting my family but that's just me. That's basically how its going though but luckily the Palm Springs airport isn't very large and we will probably quickly locate my mom and my sister.
I have time to look for them now because I think another plane's bags are ahead of us but I think I need something less emotionally stressful so I'll go wait for the bags. Someone touches my shoulder and I turn around. They're both crying and I want to cry too but I feel inappropraitly detached. As if I'm watching some other mother and daughter reunite. I keep waiting for the feeling to pass but I have a feeling it won't. They parked across the parking lot and I walk with Autumn's hand in mine. It's so much bigger than the last time I held it I don't know how that's possible.
...I haven't really finished it yet. I tacked on a stupid ending for class but I won't make you suffer through it. I f I ever finish it I'll post the rest!
If you got to this point I'm impressed thanks for your time.
Ok, that was lame. I know but I really like that movie.
Alright here's a short story I'm working on for my comp class about my first visit home. It's not wonderful because it was pretty forced. I haven't felt very creative in a long time. Usually this really bothers me but lately this apathy thing has been a nice break from the normal me.
Oh and I signed up to be a big sister. I haven't heard back yet but I'm really looking forward to it. But anyway here's my short story.
"This is your captain speaking. We are just above the Palm Springs international airport and in a few moments we will be desending. At that time we will turn on the fasten seatbelts sign and ask you to do so. It's a sunny 74 degrees out on this saturday morning. Thank you for flying United Airlines, we hope you enjoy your stay here in Palm Springs or if you're returning we'd like to be the first ones to welcome you home."
I'm not really sure which applies to me. It is my home but I'm really only visiting, so maybe its both. Then why does it feel like neither apply? I have felt kind of homeless ever since I first moved out. We did move alot when I was younger but I always new where home was because it was where ever my mom was, she was my land mark. But now I have only boxes of clothes and a few sentimental items to mark where I am expected to sleep. It feels unstable.
My room is in the far corner of our apartment. The door that leads into my room is the swampy color of brown packaging tape. In the opposite corner of the room is the air mattress where we sleep which is next to a stack of boxes that double as a night stand. A few suitcases and an old dresser are the only other objects in the room besides the clothes that occupy every square inch of what would be tan carpeting. The walls are kept bare. There is no real reason to decorate them since we're moving again in a year anyway. What would be the point? The only real signs of life are the clothes; without them the room would be unbearibly sterile.
Sometimes I wish I was back in my old room. It was drenched with emotion, from the music, to the magazine clippings, and the stickers. Even though the room screamed angsty teenager it still illustrated me well at that point. It would be so easy to fall back into that pattern of blame, or would it? Even if I couldn't I could still loose myself in my old bed and my loud music. Yes, I could always do that. We aren't aloud to play music in my new apartment or the upstairs neighbors jump on our ceiling. So, that's what I'll do when I get "home" or to "my mothers house." I'm not sure how to refer to it yet, but either way I will roll up in a ball under my old comforter and pretend I'm back for good. I know already that this is unrealistic, there are so many people expecting me to just "drop in." But in two weeks time and with so much "dropping in" to do I doubt much actual quality time will be spent. Especially with Kevin on the trip too, that will double the quantity of people. I'm begining to wonder what the point to this visit is.
Suddenly a bell pulls me out of my thoughts and I look up to see a red picture with two hands fastening a seatbelt. "So we meet again step six," I mumble. Any oppotunity to sound like a comic book super villain must be exploited to its fullest potential. You see my nemesis is what I call the six step mind set or the time warp. I first manifested the six step mindset when I was in junior high. In its simplest form the time warp is the idea that in six steps you will be six steps ahead. I know this sounds elementary but if you broaden this idea you can begin to look at your life as nothing more than a series of events broken down into almost a flip book. It sounds depressing but once you get past that it's liberating. Almost like you can step outside yourelf. "Steps" can be broadened, though, into a more metaphorical state.
For example, one series of steps I have plotted out for about the last five or six months is my leaving and returning "home." We first decided that we needed to escape one Sunday afternoon when Kevin was talking to his friend DJ. Kevin and I had been planning on leaving for some time but the opportunity had not come up yet. DJ was renewing his lease the following week and was looking for new roomates. By the following Sunday we were packed and on our way to Iowa. You can place steps in many different areas, it all depends on personal signifigance. For me pulling out of my moms driveway for the last time seemed a good place to start, arriving and unpacking were monumental steps, beginning to recognise faces that I passed down town or in Hyvee, buying the tickets to return, and landing in the airport placed the highest on my transisional priorities list. The last and most signifigant step for me I assumed would be finally seeing my mom and my sister again.
So I get up and try and blend myself in to the already conjested line. Our bags in the overhead compartment fight against my pull as I try to get kevins out for him since he's sitting in the seet nearest to the window. But eventually I wedge them free. Then we are being herded into the line and marched down the long hallway from the plane to the inside of the airport. It reminds me of a vaccum tube or maybe something from Star Track, either way, I still wish we could get off planes the way they do in old movies. The stair case gets wheeled up to the plane and the young girl sticks her head out the door instantaneously seeing her old friend or her long lost sister. She waves as she gets out but the wind blows her hat right off her head. Luckily the loved one she is about to reunite with catches it and when she reaches the bottom they say some smooth line like, "I think you lost this." The perfect conversation starter for such a long seperation. Yes, I think I would prefer that to stepping out of vaccum nozzle and having to pass through security before greeting my family but that's just me. That's basically how its going though but luckily the Palm Springs airport isn't very large and we will probably quickly locate my mom and my sister.
I have time to look for them now because I think another plane's bags are ahead of us but I think I need something less emotionally stressful so I'll go wait for the bags. Someone touches my shoulder and I turn around. They're both crying and I want to cry too but I feel inappropraitly detached. As if I'm watching some other mother and daughter reunite. I keep waiting for the feeling to pass but I have a feeling it won't. They parked across the parking lot and I walk with Autumn's hand in mine. It's so much bigger than the last time I held it I don't know how that's possible.
...I haven't really finished it yet. I tacked on a stupid ending for class but I won't make you suffer through it. I f I ever finish it I'll post the rest!
If you got to this point I'm impressed thanks for your time.
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
argon:
Are you thinking about shaving your head? I think it would look pretty awesome. I've always wanted to shave mine, but i've only gotten it down to about an inch, enough hair to be fuzzy... I am personally quite partial to the darcy cut, shaved in the back and hair in the front. anyway, you should go for it. It's not like it doesn't grow back if you hate it.
l_f:
Shaved hair: Dunno - I can't imagine how you would actually look bald (Photoshop, maybe ?) Regardless, you should do what makes you (well, and your beloved one) happy/satisfied/comfortable.