One of the things I cannot figure out is this one time when I was getting drunk with a guy (lol just a guy, go figure) in Los Angeles, there was a female bartender who had a really nice conversation with me, she listened to me yapping on about my nonsense. I remember her telling me about her career aspirations and somehow getting either her number in my phone or giving her my number. The next morning, she checked in on me while I was probably nursing a hangover (I get drunk very easily and I don't like the taste of alcohol, hence why I don't really drink). Every time I look back on that, I wonder if the conversation had been organic and what she's doing with her life now, or whether she was just looking out for me as a fellow woman. Perhaps it was both. I think that night was the night I peed in the bushes somewhere, that was a ratchet ass night. Sometimes I grieve the loss of my silly younger self, but sometimes I marvel at the memories I have made, and am also proud of this stableish adult person I have become. Sometimes these happen at the same time. I only wish I'd had the foresight at the time to really drink it in, and soak up each moment, of myself walking around Thousand Oaks, this belatedly gangly teenager basking in the desert temperatures, not knowing how precious it all was. I'm much more present and conscious at thirty, to know exactly where I am and what I'm doing. It is 5:46am and the sun has not yet risen. It is therefore quite cool at night, and my sister is asleep next to me in bed. The silence is fleeting and momentary and I will enjoy this stillness while it lasts. Have a good week ahead, everyone.
