What’s so cool about me? I look good on paper. I’m young, and somewhat eccentric, and I can fit into skinny jeans and overhead storage compartments. Some days I see my name written and think, “Who’s she?” or “What’s that?” It’s hard being a girl with two first names, or a first name as a last name, or the other way around. I don’t know. At least my name’s not Kristen. Then again, I’m really not that cool.
I don’t seem to write anymore, because I can’t find that tingling sensation in the words as often as I could before. It’s just a rut, I say, or something like wiping out at the Skatium. Painful, humiliating at best, then you make your slow recovery. I am frightened of being judged, truth be told. Is this mic on? And where am I? Halfway across the world, that’s where.
So I took a hot shower to forget my troubles, of over packing and overspending and overeating a ton of under seasoned food. All of those ‘overs’ and not much to show but fewer pounds in my pocket and more on my waist. I could walk 19 miles a day and blow it all on an oatey bar and a cheap glass of wine. At least I got to see Tolkien’s house. At least I’m living.
You know what’s scary? I’m living here, and I can’t come home. Back when I was in Moorhead, I’d be out and about during the day and think, “Hmm, I’m tired, I’m going to go home.” Or if I got really burnt out and needed a “vacation,” the Magic City was hours away. What do you do here, when you feel these things? You log on to Skype and hope that someone picks up the phone. Hello? Anyone…? Echoes. Back to eating my oatey bar.
I love living here. I do. I do I do! There’s orange chocolate, and I get called “Love” on a regular basis. Not only that, I am sitting in a pool of history, entertainment, and good looking men. I’m not homesick, and my bank account’s not empty yet. I’m going to keep on trucking. Yes. Because if I don’t enjoy this experience, drink my weight in tea, and wreak America upon (more or less) Western Europe…well…
The Queen’s not going to do it (God save her). And my best friend that doesn’t fly in airplanes is not going to do it (unless he drives his submarine here). So I suppose that leaves…
Hmm. Me?
You know, it’s a good thing my name’s not Kristen.
approximatelyes.com 