There are many of each and they all rattle around in my brain confusing the shit out of me.
Some days it seems like I could never leave here, others, it would be a piece of cake.
When I got off the plane 2 days ago, I was slightly let down; I didn’t feel that same sense of relief that normally accompanies my arrival here on The Plateau.
I missed my curls, 50 shades of green, and my mommy and daddy.
The hours back here have been riddled with uncertainty and confusion, longing and ungroundedness.
My children’s football coach is our new favorite nanny. My friend had the most beautiful baby ever last night. The leaves have turned every color orange in the spectrum. MCB is hunting for an Elk.
My life feels perfect.
In the South, I could see my folks every single day. I could swim with Manatees whenever I wanted. I could become a SUP-er and have killer abs. I could run at sea level on the sand and my back would feel brand new. I could hang out with gals I knew in my childhood days. My kids could gain residency and go to one of the really good state colleges.
Round and round. So badly that I haven’t even been able to talk about it with anyone. Hearing others’ advice at the moment is just plain irritating to me because then I feel like whatever they think, they’re not seeing “the other side.”
I really like the idea of no more winters, no more cold, no more falling down on the ice.
But I pulled this killer orange sweater out of the closet today to wear to work and thought, “Where could I shop down there?”
Seriously – my clothes are a huge part of my artistic being and I am not so sure that Navy and White (standard colors when pink and green are not in season) are that inspiring.
I could be the oddity and wear my red cowgirl boots to the beach? I could melt inside my glorious purple, fake mink evening jacket?
I could try to start a new sparkle-beanie trend?
Or I could shop at Lilly Pulitzer.
I actually do shop there, but wearing Lilly here in the West is fun. Wearing it there is just mainstream.
And I don’t know how to do mainstream.
And I don’t want to learn.
But, now that I am thinking about it, I bet I could score some outrageous vintage librarian sweaters and gingham golf pants.
Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope yet.