If we all smiled as much as Debanshi at her Arangetrum, I believe the world would be a much happier place intrinsically. If we all wore glasses like Miss Marmelstein’s, there would be no war, because we’d all be too busy laughing at each other to shoot bullets. In fact, national boundaries would disspate. We’d all become just one bespectacled family under the sun.
And if we all wore pink caps, we’d all be poets. Not that I am one. But I do wear a pink cap, occasionally.
I don’t think the world has a cap on the number of whats we can become. What are you? Your identity is like a chocolate cake–you can make in any way you like, as long as you bring enough for everyone. It’s yours, but you can only enjoy a slice. I mean, you may attempt to eat the entire thing, but I think you’d get fed up with yourself eventually. So embrace the sharper edges of reality–be divided, and give yourself away.
Vyvy says we’re more like a pot luck, because otherwise we’d get tired of chocolate cake. But who ever gets tired of chocolate cake? I think Vyvy is strange.
I also happen to think Vyvy is one of the most amazing, inspiring, adorable people I have ever met, and I will love her until the stars fly home and then some.
I went and bought a planner, finally. Walking through Office Max on a Sunday afternoon is the closest I’ll ever get to walking through an oxymoron. A disorganized store for organizational supplies. Hella trippy. It took me ages to find the aisle with the planners. I finally settled on a red one with pretty paper, just so I wouldn’t feel as if I were crossing over to the dark side. Inside, there are international codes for phone calls to all nations. Just in case I ever need to get in touch with somebody in Albania. My soulmate, or someone crazy.
You know, I have come to realize that for someone who is unprepared for virtually everything I actually do an awful lot of planning. For example, I plan to be amazed. Today. Right now.
Let me write that down.
Lately I’ve been feeling the need to fly. To just grab a novel off the shelf, drive to the airport in the late-afternoon light and take off at dusk with a cup of Seattle’s Best in my hand, watching the streetlamps flicker in the whirling dust below…falling asleep with my head on a stranger’s shoulder and waking up wishing I were back home. My body yearns to be elongated, my thoughts inverted–I want to dance in the light of foreign moons. Some people crave sex in the same way that I crave Southwest Airlines. I’m tempted to say both desires are easily satisfied by the proper altitudes.
You know, Cole Porter had it right. We should all just stop thinking, and start doing. So let’s do it. Let’s fall in love.
