I always find it funny, I think lately more than ever because there are just so many little changes happening for me everyday, the extent of my pride in managing said little things. The achievement I feel but then the contrasting ‘oh here she goes again same as last year’ from my teachers and mother. This isn’t last year. I do not think they are remotely aware of how I have never ever come to a lesson late. If I was ever late, I wouldn’t show up, be it five minutes or an hour. I’m pleased with that. That is a big thing for me. And in the same way, I missed a lesson the other day because I panicked. It was provoked. It wasn’t random or uncalled for, it just happened. But I dealt with it and I came back to college, red and puffy-eyed, to do my last lesson. I’m proud of that. That’s a change. That’s something I have worked to be able to do for a long time. That, I am pleased with, whether anybody else isn’t is of no concern to me. I suppose however, it would be nice to have somebody not roll their eyes because they assume a doctor’s note makes it better and I’ve learnt to be demonstrate my confidence and ease. That’s something I worked for. It just happened out of my own effort and practice and honestly, I think I’m allowed to be proud of that without my Mother’s (at their best) horribly patronising comments and sighs from staff members.
This makes me furious.
So, I paint my nails pretty regularly these days. I also work as a barista/cashier pretty regularly these days. A few weeks back, I had a customer come in, a fairly typical, sheltered, suburban soccer mom, and she ordered a latte from me. She saw my brightly colored nails and said, “Wow, you’re so brave! My son asked me about painting his nails, and if it’s okay for boys to do that. Now I’ll tell him there’s a cool guy who does it too!” It was a nice moment, very cute.
Then, last week, she came in again, and said, “Hey, I’m so glad you’re here! I want you to meet someone!” She then brings her son forward, and says, “Okay sweetie, show him what you did!” And he throws his hands up, showing off his bright, sparkling blue nails. He shows them off, and I show mine off to him. He smiles. We fist bump.
Guys, I’ve only wanted to cry once at work before, and that was when someone ordered a large dry soy cappuccino on ice.
This time, though. This was a good cry.
I remember crying over you and I don’t mean a couple of tears and I’m blue. I’m talking about collapsing and screaming at the moon.
The Avett Brothers, Tear Down the House (via hplyrikz)
In dark damp mornings
Do dewed pavements glare
With the orange-yellows
Of a streetlamp flare