Sunday, February 15, 2015

Thoughts.

I drank too much coffee yesterday and made the same mistake again today. I learned that three cups is my absolute limit but I should stop somewhere between the last sip of my first cup and the tenth or twelfth sip of my second cup.

I turn 26 in a couple months. I appreciate the beauty in turning older and I welcome it wholeheartedly. But I'm at the turning point of approaching my 'late twenties'. Although 26 is arguably still very young, I'm not getting any younger. A part of me says, 'Thank God' but the other half of me is nervous. What will 26 bring? What will I make it about? 

She did the needle test on me and I felt my palms starting to sweat. What would it say? The needle steadied over my left wrist. I felt it ever so slightly. I waited. It swung left to right and then in a circle. She puts the needle and thread back onto the table. 'A boy first, then a girl. Only two.' She says. Subconsciously I rub my wrist. She tells me the test is true. I do the test to my best friend three times. Each time produces the same results. She's slightly disappointed but I don't want her to be. I do the test to myself. It stays true. A boy, a girl, only two. I think about my future children often. I think of the three secret things I want them to know as an absolute truth, three things I hope they never forget. I want to encourage an insatiable excitement for life within them. I hope they aren't afraid to be a little strange or a lot weird. I hope I make them feel brave and bold enough to be who they want to be. And if the world doesn't understand their magic, home always will. I often think of these things as my window is rolled down and the wind sweeps through my fingers. Cars weave in and out of the paint lines. The music is on so loud it almost drowns out my thoughts. Sometimes the music wins. 

Ethan said he's proud that I'm not complacent with where my life is. I thought a lot about that. I even dreamt about it. Self improvement has taken a priority over a lot in my life. I don't have patience for empty words, especially not for my own. I'm trying to figure it all out. I'm trying.

The way one eyebrow may raise. Cadence. How one holds a pen. The stretch of the arms as a yawn escapes. The shape of hands. The insignificant is never just so.

I think about the plane I'll be leaving on Tuesday afternoon. I hope my seat is not by the propeller. I don't like seeing the propeller when I'm trying to look at the clouds.

How does one meet someone organically? Do meet-cutes happen in real life? I read the Missed Connections on Craigslist a lot. Some make me sad, others gross me out, but most make me happy. People are just hoping to find their person. Whether it's for a day, night, month, year or eternity. The person with the nice smile, the pretty dress that made them look twice, the person who committed the rare act of making eye contact and paired it with the question of, 'How do you know if an orange is really ripe?', the guy who nonchalantly spit out a funny one liner that instantly made someone laugh like they haven't laughed in months, the quiet girl who sipped her coffee in a funny way, the guy on the train who was reading Catcher in the Rye and it made them nostalgic and sentimental which made them want to know his name. They see them, feel something unexplainable, send their feelings out into the digital unknown and cross their fingers in hope that that person noticed them too. In hopes it was serendipitous, kismet, cosmic. 

It's 12:16 am.