yesterday, when i got off the subway, i started walking on the platform between the pillars and the train. the train started pulling away and, because we were moving in the same direction, it felt like i was walking really slow, almost being pulled backwards. as soon as the train passed the weight was gone and i felt normal. it reminded me of the exercise in gymnastics we used to have to do which involved running down the vault runway with a giant landing mat dragging behind us so that once we took it off and ran regular it felt like we were flying. it would be pretty convenient if things were actually like that. that when something happens that's hard and makes you feel really slow there's a definite moment that you are released and you can fly again, or at least feel normal (whatever that means). jen, joan, and i were talking the other day about how we tend to draw about the things we love and write about the things we hate. i'd like for that not to be the case.
tin ceilings and bar stools and sleepovers and two year olds who speak their own languages and a beach that has the ability to make your brain go dumb and those beautiful vines that grow on the sides of those beautiful houses that still reach for the sun even when it's dark out.