on being invincible

(quickly, before we just jump on in here, i have to say i borrowed "the hunger games" [this ain't no english class, i don't need to underline the title of a book in real life.... right?] from patrick last night and finished it about a half hour ago. and i must note that i finally understand why everybody's so crazy about them. because, hey, it was really good. especially because it was kick-butt-action-ey without being tiresome; it was clever and original without creating a so completely, overwhelmingly new world; the characters were very well-developed without ms. collins spending too much time on the precise shade of their eyes or extensive life-history; and, best of all, it was cute and romantic without being mushy, overdramatic, heart-wrenching, over-descriptive, sappy, tear-jerking, idealistic, or sexy. and, for a young adult novel, that was a plus. a huge plus. those are often the reasons i avoid reading such books. [can you tell i'm a tiny bit picky about literary romance? no? well, i'm not. at all. at all!] and now that my really important and really relevent critique of a book probably all of you have read is drawing toward its close, i can now progress to the really really important things and the really really relevant things this post was meant to contain. [which, if you convert my interpretation of what is important and relevant to most other people's interpretations of what is important and relevant, will probably only equal about 1/4 of a really in the metric system.])

you're probably all (ALL OF YOU!! THERE ARE SO MANY!!! OH MY GOSH YOU NEVER END!!!!!) 89/5 really sick of hearing about my move-out schedule, but, bear with me as i remind you, since you're all (ALL!!!) incredibly interested in my daily machinations, that i move out in a mere two days.
two.
2.
dos.
and i don't really know how to say two in any other language, except french, but french spelling is a little over my head. dou? (doux? deoux? djeoujxe? whoever decided to convert the french language to writing had a very cruel sense of humor.)

i have attended two going-away parties in the past three days, and i can say with a heavy degree of honesty (that's about 19/3 to your measurements) that the first was one of the best nights of my summer. it was in alyssa's magnificent backyard, and though my best friends were at a concert, i still spent the evening (if arriving home at 1:30 a.m. can still be considered "evening" -- i know that my parents didn't buy it anyway) with some of my favorite people. a lot were leaving, but a comforting amount are staying, and i have consoled myself these past few days that those who are leaving will only be a few hours away (besides the obvious exception, but she'll be back in 4 months and we'll still skype) and will be down to visit often. but even with those set to embark the next day gathered around the campfire, i managed to (nearly) forget the sadness of the occasion and was able to run around and dance and joke and laugh and hit and hug and snuggle and pose and creep and sing like nothing was wrong. which, in reality, it won't be. yes things will change, and it will be hard and it will be scary, but i'm up for the challenge.

(of course, i say that now while sitting in my pajamas in my parents' home, waiting to finish writing this so i can close my quickly-heating laptop and ponder with a slight increase in seriousness when it is i actually want to get off the couch and shower. my roommates are going to think i have a serious disease.)

but today, i have to run to the bank and set up a checking account (by myself!) yeah, you're all thinking (SO MANY) that it's high time i grow up and shoulder some responsibility and accept my mortality, that i'm an adult, i'm not going to live forever anymore. maybe once i was, back when the most i had to worry about was grades and whether such-and-so liked me, and i could climb fences and jump rivers with no thought for the consequences. because there were none, were there? for what is death if you don't believe in it? nothing, it can't exist. i was invincible. but i've walked into a skin this summer that is no longer impervious to the outside, and to my inside. and while it's exhilirating to be strong and new in the face of danger that, i can now see, exists all around me, i still wonder where my other skin went: where i shed it and why, if it gleamed with such gold as i remember it, i can no longer find it among the boxes and textbooks and housing accounts and goodbyes that have recently accumulated around me. maybe that's why me and rachel made those plans, maybe that's why i don't want to do anything but read novels about imaginary 16-year-old girls in my pajamas till the early afternoon, because it reminds me, a little, of how i was once golden and untouchable -- by danger, by ideas, but, lease of all, by care.

two days.

lady in spain -- ingrid michaelson

both sides -- kalai

neighborhood #4 (7 kettles) -- arcade fire