Knitting a ranch house
If you ask me what my favorite movie is, I will say Breakfast at Tiffany’s. When I was living in New York with Amanda, as a junior in college, in an empty Greenwich Village apartment, Amanda bought a copy for me on VHS and borrowed a TV from our neighbors so I could watch it when I was deathly ill on my birthday.
There is a scene where Audrey Hepburn’s character, Holly Golightly, is placidly — and seemingly happily — knitting a giant red lopsided something-or-other. She is moving to Brazil to be with her Rich New Flame, she tells her Jilted True Love, a gentle writer-type who is deeply in love with her still. What are you knitting? he asks. She replies that she thinks she’s knitting a scarf. But her Rich New Flame recently brought over plans for their new ranch house. And she may have mixed up the blueprints and her knitting instructions. And maybe she’s knitting a ranch house.
That’s how I feel all the time.
I’m always looking for The Perfect. For example, it took me two years to pick out a pair of glasses. (And then I lost them. Oh the irony.) I’ve only seriously dated five people. I’ve switched jobs looking for someplace that would make rainbows shoot out of my ears and unicorns jump out of my desk drawer. But all of this search for The Perfect leads to indecision. Last night, Kevin and I were looking for someplace to watch fireworks. I dillied and dallied, as I am wont to do, thinking of where we could go, and finally we just left the house and started walking somewhere, anywhere. We ended up on Damen Ave. watching three glittery, chaotic, smoky, surreal homemade fireworks shows from three different neighborhood parks, the kind where old people set up lawn chairs and teenagers shriek and little kids toddle around holding sparklers, and two neighbors commiserate with a bottle of vodka and young couples hold each other and everything around you is exploding, and you jump because that was TOO close and TOO loud but you are fine. You are just fine.
Is it bad to sit here with a PBR, some Doritos and Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked Ice Cream at 12:36 am? Is it bad to talk to my parents about them coming to Chicago and heartily recommend that they stay in a hotel? Is it bad to spend money on things like cute underwear when I’m having trouble making rent? Is it bad to be happy that my sister dumped her boyfriend, who was too quick-tempered and fratty anyways? Is it bad to be so judgemental? Is it bad to be unsure of what I really want, out of life, other than a PBR, some Doritos, and Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked Ice Cream? Ok, I’m lying, I know what I want to do. But anything I say out loud will turn to dust, so I’m staying quiet.