Fleeting as it may be
In as many words, she didn’t say a thing
All that and a bag lady!
\To each his scone/
What goes around, comes a brown.
When in loan:
Don’t meet a dead horse.
Broken dishes scattered across the floor. Empty cabinets that had echoed the screams from the night before. Introducing a new life into this world was supposed to be a happy occasion, but Rob didn’t see it the way Melissa did.
Newly divorced and ready to dedicate the next few years to teaching Physics, Rob arrived in Bedford excited for a fresh start. He signed a two year contract with the Junior High School. Definitely overqualified for the job, Rob understood that most school districts were making cuts, not hiring, so he couldn’t afford to be picky.
When he toured and interviewed with the school, it seemed like a fine school. Nowhere near being a top school in New Jersey, but fine enough to spend a few years. Rob was just happy to be out of the ten mile circumference.
What’s the deal with people who are undoubtedly American-English speakers that choose to put a European accent on words? Croissant.. That is what I was presented with yesterday afternoon and it made me cringe. The word “croissant” somehow pronounced with a “w” and without the “t” rocked my Thursday. I was half-expecting for her to end the transaction with a “Thanks y’all!”
And don’t worry I didn’t settle for that European schlock, got me some old fashioned doughnut.
Is a question asked to me over and over. With my lease ending in my NYC apartment at the close of July, I was faced with a decision I knew the answer to months ago. It only took me half-way through my one-year lease to realize that I am moving to LA in the fall. Everybody asks the same question: why? New Yorkers, for good reason, don’t see a point in leaving the five boroughs for the spread-out, traffic-plagued, plasticity of Southern California. That is one of the reasons I love NY. Because we are the utmost, the end-all-be-all, the “fine, leave! we don’t need you anyway.” Leaving NYC has nothing to do with NYC. There is just an incessant force pulling me westward.
“I don’t know.”
There is no one answer that really makes sense. Maybe I will come back in a year’s time and admit that it “wasn’t for me” and I couldn’t handle the city’s superficiality or lack of culture. That would bring a more definite answer, at least. The biggest personal torture would be to never know my answer to “why?” This is why I leave the East Coast in a few months. To seek answers. Whatever I may find, run into, or lose out there brings me closer to my long-term answers.
I will never lose my NY identity, I am not one of the spineless masses that will sell there soul for a cameo on some ABC Family show. I will do everything on my own terms and my own way. There is no such thing as winning if you never lose, someone probably said once. As time passes, I will lose and I will win. Leaving NYC is a temporary loss, but one I can deal with as I need to take risks to achieve what I want. That is why.
If Brock Lesnar shows up at your front door selling Girl Scout cookies, would you get more Thin Mints or acid?
If you throw up on Thursday morning and you had brunch the day before, what exactly would you lose?
Coach K or Mike Krzyzewski?
If a teacher sends you to the corner for a “time out” and there is a child in each corner of the room, does said teacher get a technical?
Trimming Timothy’s tomatoes tomorrow, tempting?
Pressing a wrinkle-free shirt.