Thursday, June 28
0 commentsLisa embodies my longing for a wildness and passion-driven side of life. On most nights she is in touch with her body, learning how to hip hop in a prestegious dancing school in New York City. She narrorates events and people that she observes in Washington Square on my answering machine and I listen to them while admiring the quiet, violet budded tree outside my own bedroom window. She is a playwrite who occasionally gets intimidated by the cut throat creativity of New York. I imagine her writing in several coffee shops, hopping on the subway for work in the morning in her red tennis shoes & cute pink skirts, and chatting up anyone who looks friendly enough to her. I admire her life of living off writing and creativity while I am completly insecure of properly stringing nouns and verbs or throwing fragile thoughts out into the public- that maybe if I was just a little braver I too would be hip hopping on a Tuesday night. . .
She tells me I appeal to the softer side of life with a similar admiration I have for her. I get paid to hold hands with people, probe for life stories, can talk (with grand animation) for hours about neurology, the heaviness (and lightness) of a body, and the art of it all. I like to connect the dots when I have a moment to think past the list of things I need to do today. I lust after quiet, perfect moments that sneak up unexpectedly like a spontanious nap with a set of friends or laying in the grass with Ben and Ian watching the space shuttle race across the Chicagoland night sky. What I love most, however, is the way I can call Lisa, who I have not seen since September, and immediately launch into life stories, theories re: sexual intimacy, and current stage performances. Anyone eaves-dropping on our conversation would (probably become easily annoyed and)wonder how many times two girls could say "No, no, I love your life".
Erasure: A Little Respect
posted by Jenny Thursday, June 28, 2007
