08.16.01
God knows if I'll perish in my 25th year
I woke up late today, gagged while I forcing down my breakfast, had trouble finding an outift that didn't make me look like a fat mutant, was late getting out the door, and my contacts hurt my eyes when I put them in.
Until I got out of the house this morning was shit. Once I hitched up my skirt, put on my helmet and started coasting down my hill, I felt the air rushing past my cheeks, just cool enough to make them turn pink. In my sweater and skirt, this felt like an early October morning. I know it's only mid-August, but there's something about morning with this feel that makes everything alright. I love the drive to work. It's all downhill, the streets are quiet, the sky is still pale.
I know these roads like the back of my hand. I played on them when I was little, I stood on the corners wishing desperately to be just a little cooler, prettier, smarter, taller, thinner when I was in junior high, I despised them when I was in high school, and now every morning as I bike down them, I'm glad they're my roads. Cities my be more exciting and glamerous, they may have better rock concerts, more interesting museams, classier art, flashier people, but I don't care. They suffocate you, they steal your soul. There's too many people who you'll never know. People talk about places and other people that make them feel like home. This just is home.
wunderwuman at