at the same time,

it's really not all bad. what am i even saying - i love it, most of the time.

i went for a long walk around the north end tonight. and while there was nothing particularly special about the night or the walk, on some level it was profoundly memorable. i know i will miss it. i know i will never have it again, not like this. i can already sense the impeding shadows of stress that are just around the corner - stress about the show, stress about money, stress... about other things, bigger things, scarier things.

but right now and right here, there is a calmness unlike anything i've felt before. or perhaps i have, but not since i was a child. nothing can touch me here; i'm surrounded by some kind of golden shroud of peace, and i walk at an extremely even pace, and all my thoughts are so wonderfully lucid. i had a dream last night that they offered me my job back at the restaurant - "it was just a test, you're back on the schedule now" - and i just stood there, watching the boiling bubbling chaos of service industry hell around me, wondering what i could do to make them fire me for good.
i woke up laughing with relief. oh, it's so good to know it was a dream! i wouldn't go back to that life if they offered me twice what i was making. i'd rather eat nothing but kraft dinner for months.

i really would, you know. this is something i was thinking about while wandering around tonight: how it was all too easy to forget that living on a tiny budget can be more rewarding; how fully i had myself convinced in no time that i couldn't do without a serving job i hated, under a boss i didn't get along with. there is literally not a thing about it i look back at fondly. time slid away from under me like quicksand in that job, and so did all that glorified cash i was making. jesus, how much money did i throw right back into that bar? all i ever had there that's worth remembering was fun, but fun and being happy are so fucking far from being the same thing.
besides, come on - even the fun wasn't usually much to write home about. all my best stories come from other places.

i'm realistic. i know i probably won't love the next "real" job i get, either. but i'll be cautious this time, and mindful of what chances i take. it's far scarier to be owned by a shit job than to have to cook your own dinner. i chose the career path i did far from naively: i knew i would end up living in houses that look like junkyards, and that i'd have to budget for things that are bare necessities. i knew and i didn't care. i know how to function under dire financial conditions, it's what i know. i came from that. how to put money away and invest in the future? not so much. i chose a moment-to-moment kind of life, and when that moment-to-moment yielded more funds than i was used to, i spent it just as lightly as i had come by it. and then that's what i became used to.

concentric circles, though, right? i'm here right now, happy to have reclaimed a peace of mind that's been lacking from me for entirely too long. also happy to be in better control of how i'm living and what i'm spending. it will get old, of course, as being broke tends to. in a year i'll likely be making more than i was leading up to all this.
well, either i'll be making more or at the very least i'll be much happier. maybe both. but definitely one.

right this minute, i'm feeling pretty optimistic about everything.

we walked around the commons

for a bit after brunch, acting stupid. funny how some people automatically play to a particular aspect of your personality. it's great when you just want to feel like you're ten and have never had a worry in the world.

a puggle puppy came running toward us, and we both instantly dropped to our knees and rolled around on the grass making silly sounds. her name was paprika. the couple who owned her gave us dog treats and she went wild with love.

five minutes later, we were bored with the puppy and started walking down to gottingen to grab a beverage. josh had found an elongated object that looked like it was once the handle of a mop or broom, and was now lugging it around and using to point at things meaningfully.

"YOU. are a bearded iris."
"who did you just call a bearded iris??"
"...the bearded iris we just passed?"
"oh, thank god. i thought you were talking to that woman up ahead."

later, on the backpackers patio. marinating in the sun, wishing i hadn't worn jeans on this hotter than hell afternoon.

"i've been thinking of getting a tattoo. i don't know if it would suit me, though."
"bullshit. anyone can pull off the right tattoo."
"ok, how about this: anne of green gables carrying a platter of puffs."
"you would never get laid again."
"what if i tattoo it on my ass?"
"then people will just assume you're a child molester."

when i was making my way home up north street, the world looked colorized and airbrushed and i was, quite unselfconsciously, humming a tune from west side story.