Wednesday, August 27, 2008
I love me a high ceiling.
This ceiling is high; at least three stories high. OK, maybe only two stories. But it's high. Really high. It's dead space, but it's beautiful dead space. The air around me is completely cold and sterile despite the 90 degree temperature hovering just on the other side of the condensation-collecting glass behind me. I look up and feel dizzy for just a moment.
I love me a high ceiling.
I'm making a decision and it's just for me. It's pointless, it's fleeting, it serves no purpose but that of my own.
It feels a little (or maybe a lot) great. It feels a bit fantastic.
She asks me to take a deep breath, and I think I'm closing my eyes. She asks me to take a deep breath and for a moment I feel like I am at a doctor's appointment. I'm partially expecting to feel the cold shock of her stethoscope on my bare skin.
But then, she has no stethoscope, just a stainless surgical steel post and a rubber glove.
This is the prettiest doctor's office I've ever seen.
Yes, my eyes closed as she pushed the post through flesh and I held on tight. Jason stood nearby, wearing a smile I couldn't interpret. But then, I didn't really try to.
For reasons unknown, I didn't even want to see it when she was finished.
For reasons unknown, I was feeling a little embarrassed that my eye was tearing up.
I hopped down from her table and motioned to Jason with my thumb as we made our way down the steep stairway.
"It's your turn."
And so it was. And so he did.
This decision seems like one among many trivial yet important decisions for me. Trivial because they're the types of decisions that most individuals grapple with during their early years of high school. These are things that are whispered and discussed amongst pubescent young girls while changing into shorts in the locker room. These are things that we do to break the rules.
I've reached a point where these rules no longer exist and yet I still long to break them.
I'm not sure if that makes me incredibly hopeful or entirely under-developed.
Jason and I walked back onto the street and began searching for a celebratory post drink. We needed to celebrate, but I don't think he even realized just how much.
All of these decisions; big and little: the decision to go back to school, to move to Philadelphia, to pierce my nose for heaven's sake... these decisions feel decadent to me right now. They're little pieces of dessert. They're oh-so-sweet and meant to be savored.
So, can I have my cake and eat it too then?
Eh, screw the rules.