Boston on My Mind
Five miles. I’m finally loosening up and integrating the constant blare of spectators into my normal state of existence. I stay calm and don’t mind people passing me.
Five miles. I’m finally loosening up and integrating the constant blare of spectators into my normal state of existence. I stay calm and don’t mind people passing me.
I suppose it was not until I drove it home, filled it with water and plant food, and plugged it in that I realized how far in over my head I truly was.
A car and a job, all in a couple of days. Seven o’clock—time to get up. Laura came bounding into the room. And that was when I found out I was going to be a father.
For yours truly, however, mid-April means “I-only-have-three-days-of-classes-left-and-HOW-many-papers-are-due-on-Friday?”
It was early Saturday evening, and I’d slipped in the door of my local Billa—short for Billiger Laden, or Cheap Shop—ten minutes before closing.
But, five years later, it’s enough. It’s enough for me get over my insecurities and care about someone. Someones. The someones I grew up with.
It has even worked its way into my eating habits. That sandwich is the best on the menu, you say? The one with a lot of things on it, yeah? Okay I’ll pass.
There is one space that makes me nervous. It’s not a space we hear a lot about or a space we have pictures of. I can’t rearrange it or make sure it’s painted my favorite colors.
I found that women expect themselves and other women to be servants in the church and often that expectation is tied to their femininity.
I don’t forget my body in Cairo, or rarely. I am thickly and humanly here, and it doesn’t feel much like art. It’s odd and awkward and difficult to understand.