fitting. or not.



the mind wanders back.

and i find myself in australia. often.

sipping lattes as we americans cannot seem to replicate.

endless afternoons. countless cafes. the rich, dense sydney light angling across blank pages before me.


there are so many reasons i went to australia last august.
adventure. need. perspective. more that i probably can't even admit to myself, or here actually (here. yes, that's it. some secrets are just that.).
but the impetus was a phone call from my classmate stephen.

we had brunched (ha, doesn't that sound so pretentious and new-york-ish to make brunch a verb!) a few months back, just before he left for sydney (home) and he had spoken of a girl. so when in the message he said he had important news, i knew. he was getting married. of course he was, and i would go. i would be there for him, to celebrate, to meet this girl--this lovely girl.

friendship is a funny thing.
and for a very long time i was not particularly skilled in that arena because i, quite frankly, didn't have the energy to invest, nor the foresight to understand that friendships are relationships--relationships that take work. real work.
so it was important to me--to make up for all the lost time--to go. to fly across the world. and support a friend.

for a week and a half stephen allowed me to intrude on his australian-way-of-life. i met his gorgeous fiancee. and we embraced adventure and comfort simultaneously.

on the saturday before i returned to the states, stephen and i headed to luna park, just the two of us. giddy with expectation we practically skipped from ride to ride assessing the damage we could do in the few hours before the park closed.

not much as it turned out. the rides were exorbitantly priced. so we settled on the three-pack and set out. stephen and i, both amusement park aficianados--with a penchant for the thrill of terror, immediately agreed on the park's one true roller coaster: wild mouse. we would take on the small, unassuming child's ride. and i demanded we do it together.
the boys in charge pandered to my impish demands and said, of course, of course you can both fit in one mouse car. we could not. well, i could fit, plus one of stephen's legs. or stephen could fit. with one of my butt cheeks.
so, nope, there was nothing to be done. we would not be riding together.
and so stephen set off, leaving me to scramble into the subsequent cart, calling out for him to wait-up (what, was i five? and like he had any control over it?).

so off i went.

and it was there on the slow-moving mouse-trap, nestled right up against sydney harbor that i first thought i might die. as the car moved around turn after turn, i thought: it's just going to keep going. it's going to topple right off. and i will fall right into that-there water, spending eternity with nemo and company. i mean, surely no one has ever weighed as much as i. i will be the straw that breaks the camel's back. this is where the ego goes, you know?
needless to say, this was not the kind of terror that thrilled me. i became very quiet and thought very seriously about screaming out to those boys at the front. if i begged for them to end it--would they? would they even be able to hear me? and would they they climb up to retrieve me? no. no, of course not. instead i would be the one person who would just head right off the track, silently, eye's shut tightly. and the only sound would be that of the cart hitting the water. and i'd be gone.

when the ride finally ended i met stephen on the other side. and truly, in some ways it felt like that: the other side. and we both took deep breaths and then began to tell our tales of the mouse-trap-that-near-did-us-in. and the thing is, stephen had the same thoughts. he figured he would be the one--the one who would finally cause the cart to divert from it's pre-destined path.

and then he turned to me and said, meg, can you imagine where our minds would have gone if we had actually ridden together? how we would have felt knowing there were two of us--a combined weight, too much for too small a space?

and oh god, did we laugh.

i didn't actually see stephen get married when i was in australia. they decided, at the last minute, to elope to hawaii, as they should have. but it didn't matter you know? because i went.

and we had luna park. and i found myself thankful for the many, many different ways that friendship manifests itself.


ugh.


this morning found me cleaning moth larvae from my kitchen ceiling.

sometimes i wish i could accurately describe just how un-glamorous new-york-city-living is.

oh wait. i just did, right?

staircase wit as a means of evaluation.


i have slow reflexes.

impossibly late come-backs.

as a child i would practice long, drawn-out speeches in front of the mirror. my own what-i-should've-said lecture series. responses well-formulated weeks, months, years after the date of expiration.

i can be witty.
sometimes.
and let me be clear that i'm using this "sometimes" liberally. because more often than not, i am not.
witty, that is.
jokes, when thought of at the appropriate time, are mostly abandoned half-way through.
and come-backs come twenty minutes too late, leaving me wishing for the offender to do just that, come back.
come back. please.

there is a term for this.
a condition that i suffer from, if you will.
l'esprit de l'escalier. (it's french, which means i'm practically french, don't you know?)
now bear with me, most of the following info comes from wikipedia:
the term, coined by french philosopher diderot, roughly translates to staircase wit. what? you ask. fear not, i'll let diderot explain: a sensitive man like me, overwhelmed by the argument leveled against him, becomes confused and can only think clearly again [when he gets to] the bottom of the stairs.
staircase wit?
get it?!
isn't it brilliant, isn't it just absolutely perfect?

so i met this guy. and on that first night l'esprit de l'escalier fled my "sensitive soul" and my remarks were witty and quick and cute (might i add cute?).
at least, this is how i remember it. do me a favor, don't ask him, he might see it all a wee bit differently and i don't want to burst the bubble just yet, okay?

and this is how i knew.
that i might just like him.
diminished esprit.
or the flee of l'esprit, if you will. (credit to kate for this).

a very good sign.


today i went to the doctor's office in search of answers.


i found none.

nor did i find a tissue.

that's right, the doctor's office did not have tissues.

in the middle of cold and flu and h1n1 hysteria, not a tissue to be found.

can you imagine?

they offered me toilet paper or paper toweling.

and this doctor is supposed to be good, the head of female physicians in nyc.

the issue of tissue was the tip of the iceberg.

this is all to say...

i will not be returning. not ever. which i told them through tears as i {somewhat} stormed out of the office.

i have spent all day in bed. dreaming of spring.










historically, spring is a difficult time for me. the stripping of layer upon layer upon layer upon layer of clothing is abrupt here in manhattan. that being said, spring in the city is unlike anything you can imagine. the city is reborn, changed, and everyone comes out to play.

as of now, my number-one-must-have-accessory for the impending (i know, i know it's still like two months away, but a girl can dream) spring season: metallic gold sperry topsiders from jcrew. hoo-ahhh, yes please!




and then...
and finally...