Organizing closets and sorting through papers is a never-ending process, especially if your name is Grandma and you are sorting through a lifetime of clothes and notes. She isn't getting very fair. Last week she found a box full of letters from her grandchildren and, like every normal person who is easily distracted, proceeded to read every single one. Apparently Bjorn and Kevan wrote some "lovely" long letters. What sweet boys. Today she brought me a 3-page typed (single-space, 12 point) letter that I had written to her four years ago.
Dated August 30, 2006, I knew this letter could be dangerous to read.
"Oh man...I don't think I want to read that."
But of course I did and its oozingly sweet drama didn't disappoint me. Still recovering from my dream-crushing and confidence-deflating AmeriCorps experience (and a few other things), I wrote this letter under no delusion that 2006 was a good year. But Grandma needed a letter.
On my short-lived Starbucks career: "my hair is permanently stained with coffee odor" and "what is it about my '4:30am eye-twinkle' that encourages 50-year old men to hit on me at 4:30am? Who wakes up in the morning (at 4:30am) and think, hey...I'm going to flirt with the barista girl because she'll be too tired to refuse me at 4:30am? When are men going to realize that flirting works so much better when the girl is actually awake? Good riddance, Starbucks." (Nowadays I only ask that men offer a cookie or a donut. The perfect one-liner: "Hi my name is [insert name here], I bought this donut for you. Will you go out with me?")
On my exciting new job: "Interning at Redwood Camp just might reduce me to a puddle of twice-abused emotional rot, but hey...I get to live in a cottage called 'Huckleberry!'" (So full of optimism was I)
On shopping: "Everyone must own a pair of red shoes" and "because I had nothing to wear with my new red shoes, I bought an entire new wardrobe. Now I have too many clothes. I worry that uncontrollable spending runs in the family." (It doesn't)
On creativity: "Only after completing the village puzzle, the Little Mermaid puzzle, the princess puzzle, and the Mickey Mouse puzzle did my mom and I realize that we were addicted...and bored. So we decided to make a quilt." (Best quilt ever made. P.S. - Mom, can you bring it with you in November?)
And thankfully, I also made note of my anti-dating philosophy: "I've decided that relationships are kind of ridiculous. After a while all you can see are problems and everything is so serious and stupid. These little insignificant things become huge issues and then, without any warning at all, you get told that every single one of those issues is your fault. Who wants that?" (I guess some things don't change)
Although somewhat strange, I consider this brief encounter with 2006 to be the best part of my day. As I spent the day hunched over my computer, agonizing over a paper on 18th-century racial identity, I was so happy to remember the crazy 4-year path that brought me here. No more AmeriCorps, no more serving lattes, no more planning camp, no more helping lawyers. I'm finally doing what I want to be doing: hunched over a computer, agonizing over racial identity. Damn it's good to be here in 2010!
this makes me smile
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