astronaut ambition

going home again

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Tue Jul 04 00 / 3:42 PM

They say that you can never go home again. Last year, I proved that wrong.

Summer 1999 was likely the best four months of my life so far. It was a transition summer, a third of a year spent whirling on a hazy humid brink. I wouldn't say that I grew up that summer, or that I went from teenager to adult. I think I actually grew down. I'm an insanely mature individual, and have been thus since kindergarten. Last summer I finally acted my age. And I did it all in Renfrew. I brought that town - and some of its inhabitants - to its knees. Then I got down on my own and howled to the ultraviolet.

This summer, it just isn't working. The weather has revolted, the money isn't free, the friends aren't available. I've gone back to being old, and it's frustrating.

Canada Day weekend was slow and steady, race pace face.

Last last weekend was wild, but lacking. Jen, Ashley, and I reclaimed our streets, but this time nobody was looking. Everybody was there, but nobody of note. Time slapped me in the face with a glove after I had lost the duel: my brother arrived. We got him drunk to bring him up to speed, and it was amusing, but last year I was the one who didn't know how to take a tequila shooter.

I don't want to let such things define me, but what else is there? We are defined by what we do. Yet I feel that instead, I am defined by what I haven't done. And every year, there is less and less of that.

Who's different this year: me or the world?

Time marches on, of course, and makes space change. You can always go home again, so long as you understand that home is a place you've never been.

</>

Lisa Higgs

.

*going home again*
.
latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Tue Jul 04 00 / 3:42 PM They say that you can never go home again. Last year, I proved that wrong. Summer 1999 was likely the best four months of my life so far. It was a transition summer, a third of a year spent whirling on a hazy humid brink. I wouldn't say that I grew up that summer, or that I went from teenager to adult. I think I actually grew down. I'm an insanely mature individual, and have been thus since kindergarten. Last summer I finally acted my age. And I did it all in Renfrew. I brought that town - and some of its inhabitants - to its knees. Then I got down on my own and howled to the ultraviolet. This summer, it just isn't working. The weather has revolted, the money isn't free, the friends aren't available. I've gone back to being old, and it's frustrating. Canada Day weekend was slow and steady, race pace face. Last last weekend was wild, but lacking. Jen, Ashley, and I reclaimed our streets, but this time nobody was looking. Everybody was there, but nobody of note. Time slapped me in the face with a glove after I had lost the duel: my brother arrived. We got him drunk to bring him up to speed, and it was amusing, but last year I was the one who didn't know how to take a tequila shooter. I don't want to let such things define me, but what else is there? We are defined by what we do. Yet I feel that instead, I am defined by what I haven't done. And every year, there is less and less of that. Who's different this year: me or the world? Time marches on, of course, and makes space change. You can always go home again, so long as you understand that home is a place you've never been.
	</>
Lisa Higgs
.