flattered

This morning at Starbucks I was standing in line with my new scarf over my black corduroy jacket and my silver jeans and my blue sweater, waiting to order my Venti Pumpkin Spice Latte (WITH whip, thank you). And a man, who I have never seen before, or even noticed in the packed little place- came up to me and handed me a note.

At first I thought it was a flyer or something so I took it and smiled and barely glanced down to notice it was the back of a receipt, written in a scrawling hand-

"You are the most perfect shape in the whole world. Everything about you fits, the things you are wearing compliment you in a way that only makes you look more beautiful."

I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and blushing, then he said, "I don't mean it to be improper at all. I just thought you should know."

And then he left with his latte or coffee or muffin and that was that.

And I was shocked, stunned even, that a perfect stranger would take those two minutes out of his life to tell find a spare receipt from his pocket and scrounge for a pen to write me a note just to tell me that, I am, in fact- perfect just the way I am.

deserted

I am seriously in need of this Thanksgiving vacation.

I saw Jimmy a few weeks ago, and mom a week before that and Sara and Tom a month before that... and now- I am ready to take a break for the unrelenting LA weather and people and lifestyle and go home.

Where I can lay on the couch and pet the dogs and bake and see family and be alright with cranky grandma Kate.

Right now I feel like I am itching to get out of my skin- that this body isnt mine anymore and I dont want it. I want mine back. I want my hair to be shiny and my eyes to be bright. I dont want the dark circles and the sags and the lack-luster skin. I would like to be regular 22 year old me.

Instead when I am back to Kate- I'll be 23. A whole year older, none-the-wiser and a lot more disgruntled.

I am sick of this nonsense.


I miss having a life. I miss my family. I miss weather. I miss sleep. I miss Jimmy. I miss feeling young.

You know that scene in "Prelude to a Kiss" where the old man is in Meg Ryan's body and is standing at the ocean and yells, "It is wonderful to be young!".

Well, I get it right now, too.

All the aches and pains, all the sleepless nights, the dizziness, the exhaustion, the difficulties with simple tasks; opening jars, using a can opener, coordinating medicine with meals and every little mundane detail that I can no longer take for granted.

Instead- I am forced to be sore, tired, grey-skinned and slow.

I am not used to it. How much my hands hurt after using a screw driver. How hard it is to actually stay awake at night. How hard it is to stay asleep in the morning. How often I actually have to remember to take fiber and vitamin C and D and B and E and Iron and Potassium... and the list goes on.

I feel old. I look old. My skin has no elasticity... I will be an ugly old lady. Sag'in bag'in Kate. Only I wont have an airplane in my pants.