I write because I must. That is just the way it is for me. The way it has been for the entity of my life and that is the way I want it to be. Surrender seems to be the best word to define my strange writing brain. I have to be this person. I am this person. This realization makes me a late bloomer with no regrets of the stumbling path. This odd and awkward girl growing into an academic woman; even using the term ‘academic’ seems to be a farce as I sit here full of gin and buzzing from an evening of abandon. Is there anything better than a summery gin drink on a hot summer night? Not just in the humidity of Florida, but anywhere out there? The big cities and the little towns, the college spots, and the quiet spots call out for it. To the eventual tiny little private spaces that scream for attention need to be soaked in gin, lemon, and basil on the rocks. My god, it feels like the lifeblood of youth and excitement, in a highball glass glowing with condensation.
To be able to be here, right now. It’s a dream to be here. To sit and describe an evening without pointing fingers and calling anyone out for their own bad behavior. To dance with strangers and laugh until your throat gives out from too many smokes is what summer is all about in St. Petersburg. I will miss these nights. I will write home to my friends, new and old, about these nights. Of course, there is disappointment and missed opportunities in every alcohol-fueled adventure. But those moments are outshined by the music, jokes, and semi-serious conversations. I live for these bright spots without knowing that on a conscious level. Just letting the night happen. Just letting it unfold in this magical way. To accept whatever might occur is a blessing of presence and a curse to the sensitive, poetic soul. Yet the longing seems to creep in the corners of a good time.
I’m physically moving on. I hope to make something of this pile of experience and turn that into a beautiful life. I want you to read all about it. See my name and smile. Perhaps, Florida will get an honorable mention in the acknowledgment section when all is said and done. Maybe one day, I will spiritually move on, as well. However, that seems like an impossibility.
Instead, I fill my thoughts with the possibility of a big city – one of the biggest and coldest, good ol’ Londontown. Will I feel this way far from home? Without the warmth of the oppressive sun, will I feel THIS alive? Will I ever feel this satisfied and ready for sleep when I’m gone? I know the exact right outfit for my scholastic endeavors. I have picked out the coat and will adorn with pins from past Blue Lucy art shows and Tweed rides. After all, I can only be this girl in her grandmother’s blazer and battered saddle shoes with the shining hope of being something greater.
Don’t let this summer pass by without a dance. Don’t let me leave here without a sloppy kiss whilst 90s hip-hop plays ironically in the background. Don’t leave me wondering and regretting the utter ridiculousness of our harebrained madness. Keep ‘em coming, my friends! Please let this happen until my last moments here.