I spent the weekend, mostly, with my younger sisters and my grandparents, watching both home movies and reality t.v.
With this alchemy of influences, time seemed to speed up exponentially, like when my dad used to spin the playground carousel a little too hard and we’d have to hang on tight, wedging our Keds up against the bars to stay on. I soaked up flashes of everything, one after the other, Clockwork Orange-style: the innocence of my younger sister’s first baby movies and the tender love of our young parents as they posed with us; the deadening decadence of all the catty contestants on Rock of Love, the grief that comes with being 85 and losing so much, the undeniably heartbreaking emotion of being voted off American Idol; how at age four, I jumped and skipped at random times, like a little jumping bean, as a simple plea for attention; the way that we’re all reaching towards something, working harder than ever, for what? A spot on America’s Next Top Model? The chance to be elderly and awake? I boarded the plane this morning full of conflicting thoughts, feeling like I’ve been asleep through too many waking hours.