I dream of living by the ocean, the waves crashing as close to my front door as possible. I love everything about this fantasy, but it takes an ominous turn if I think of going into the water. I don’t even want the calmest swell covering the top of my foot. That’s too far in for me, no thank you!
I hear the oldest woman alive died. Again. That’s her prize. Assume the title, only to bestow the inevitability of its fate to the next woman in line. I ponder how far down that line I might be. If you line all of us ladies shoulder to shoulder, in order of earthly eviction how many miles down the line do we go before I am the oldest one standing?
My mother always used to tell me that I had an “over-active” imagination, with an emphasis on the over. In hindsight, I don’t think she meant that as a good thing. She used to say that when I was being annoying. Like the time I insisted on bringing a backpack to the supermarket with a wolverine mask from a 1991 costume set that I stole from my older brother and a bathrobe inside.
I’m nine or ten years old, sitting at our dining room table when I put down my fork, look up at my dad, and ask: «Γιατί η καρέκλα λέγεται καρέκλα και όχι τραπέζι;» “Why is a chair called a chair and not a table?” This will not be the first, or last, time I’ll see an adult with an expression of utter befuddlement
When I was young, I learned to hide. Our home was filled with alcoholic chaos. I knew my parents loved me, but I couldn’t trust them because I never knew when there might be another outburst, disappearance, or explosion. There were only so many closets, garages, and attics I could retreat to. I was a child.
I’m trying to convince my friend to watch the film Point Break (1991). She doesn’t believe me that it’s one of the greatest (and sexiest) action movies out there. Our conversation goes something like this:
“Do you like watching hot men stand a little too close to each other when they talk and act like they don’t have a hard-on for each other?”
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