10:59 a.m. | 2005-12-02
Can You Even Spell Chopin?
With sweaters that lightly peek out of fitted coats and matching scarves and shoes that click when you walk there's no more time than now that I'd rather be somewhere else.
Because here people look at me, wonder what interview I have today (I've been asked three times) and have no clear idea of what this might function as. It's not that I like dressing up. I like wearing my jeans and I love my regular old t-shirts but...it's just this place.
This isn't what I imagined and as much as I tried to lie to myself I knew in high school that if I went here for school this is exactly how it would be. I didn't want it to be.
I find myself wishing that I had stayed. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to say that I left to learn something, learned it, and almost wish that I had already known it so I could have just stayed there in the first place. Because I'm itching in my skin so bad these days to feel that cold wet air against my cheeks (that rosey uncomfortable cold). These pearls are too much for this town. This look is too much for these people.
My smile needs to be elsewhere.
This morning I was near in tears (after a relatively good start to the day) when someone mentioned something to me. It started me thinking about all of the broken hearts I've left behind and in a very John Cusack does High Fidelity way I've started to hand write people letters. Even people I talk to on a weekly basis -- if I had a chance to hurt them or break their heart I want to make clear my intentions and make sure that things happened how I think they happened.
Because I think I'm good to people. I think I'm loving and sweet and caring and I'm mindful when I do have to break hearts. For one the pain might be a little too fresh, so I'm going to wait, but for the others I look forward to knowing that I'm not a vindictive bitch. It should be a nice change of pace.