This is the part where I barely wrote or ran and everything was pink. I was anxious and bored at the same time and didn’t pay enough attention to the good parts or write them all down. They were there though, there’s always good things if you look for them. I just didn’t know where to look. Everything was happening so fast and so slow and it was like spinning in circles so quickly that you get so dizzy, that all you can see is the last thing you looked at swaying back and forth, back and forth. Or is that you swinging back and forth? It doesn’t matter either way. But you basically feel like you’re moving uncontrollably in a million different directions, and actually you aren’t moving at all. That’s what first semester as a senior in college felt like, like I was in kindergarten playing a never ending game of ring around the rosey and everyone was moving too fast and I wanted to be somewhere else. I’m not sure where, but I wanted to be somewhere sitting with you in stillness and with everything all figured out.
I made some half hearted playlists and played Pink Matter on repeat and waited patiently for life to get back to feeling like a Pinegrove song again. Everything felt pink and I lived in a house full of boys and barely went to any parties. I can count the times, that it didn’t all feel at least a little bit pretend. There were always pot brownies around and I always got this urge to paint things but never really did. I saw my best friend’s play in New York City and it was three hours long and a literal metaphor and made more sense than any of this does. Everything was pink and I was falling in love and had so much to give and feel and do and say and I was only halfway there for any of it. My heart knew it was all wrong before my head did and rearranged my room, dyed my hair back to dark and started drinking only red wine again. I got sick of fighting with him, and him too and stopped doing everyone else’s dishes. I got a little paranoid, a little bit better at parking and made fun of for the way I say “popcorn” . I also got Pimms at this past Pint Night though, and pretty much everything I have ever wanted. It’s cool how many words start with P and how pretty things can seem and you can still have a problem. My problem was basically that things stopped being so pretty. I didn’t see enough smiles or sunsets. I should have known something was off as soon as my coffee stopped tasting like the start of the next story I wanted to write and when we let Donald Trump become president.
It’s crazy to blame any or all of this on being on the wrong birth control pill, with the wrong amount of hormones than I need as a person or whatever, but here I am on a new and different pink little pill and everything seems pretty again and I have the patience to write and people and places to write about and I’m going to Puerto Rico in a month with one of the best humans I have ever met and how cool is that ? I haven’t made the point to get excited about this sort of stuff, and there’s so much stuff. Sara is home and I never have homework and have you seen the moon lately? One night (one of the good parts, one of those nights that I couldn’t put into words and write about because it was stuck behind all the pink. (maybe I’ll call those parts the cloudy pink parts or behind the pink or something and write about them in more detail when I get a chance)). But anyways, one night, I laid in the grass with my boyfriend and just watched the moon without saying a word for a couple minutes and he might have just been doing it to humor me and make me happy, but that only makes me like it more. My point is that there were parts like that and I didn’t put them down anywhere.
I got new pink pills though and realized for the first time this entire semester that my shower is mint green. I had this handmade soap from Austria and it made me smell like mint chocolate chip ice cream while I was in my mint shower. It’s really that simple and now I can’t shut up all over again. Something so silly and I have so much to say and couldn’t settle for a life that didn’t do that to me for another second.
I remember being 5 in kindergarten and kids would play such normal games. Ring around the Rosey, tag, swing on the swings, soccer. I couldn’t even settle for it all then, I couldn’t pretend that all that was enough. I couldn’t just swing. I remember everyone always wanted to just swing and I wanted to pretend we were bungie jumping off a mountain, I’d be bored to death if they didn’t agree. I didn’t play dress up and sing around my house, I had to pretend so wholeheartedly that I was a princess, that it almost felt like the truth to me. I had to create my own language and culture, stories and religion, and anything that wasn’t my own just didn’t feel as good. I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking about that and how it shaped the whole rest of my life and this first semester as a senior and how it still is. I can’t just go to school and come home and park, go to parties, plays, pint nights, eat popcorn and come home and not paint pretty pink pictures and poetry of it all. I can’t go through the motions without feeling like they are my moments, solely made for me and by me. I can’t just go through each day and not be there for any of it. I can’t experience the best parts and find people to lay in the grass and look at the moon with me and point out when the whole sky goes bright pink and plan trips to Puerto Rico, without doing it all with purpose, without feeling it all the way and putting those feelings somewhere. I can’t just live without turning it into art when I know how beautiful this life can be.
So this first senior semester and last few months of 2016 (the weirdest and potentially worst year, globally, on record am I right?) were pink. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad or what color is coming next or if it will even be a different color at all, but I finally am present enough to piece together this part of my life and be an active participant in it again. I didn’t notice until tonight that all semester I listened to this song and ate too many sour patch watermelons, that my room usually smelled like twizzlers and the rest of the house smelled like a “cute boy candle”. I didn’t realize until right now how much I love wearing his huge dumb jacket how asking 15 boys in santa hats about the meaning of life gave me life. I didn’t know how good being on a bus pulling into nyc at night felt, or sobbing about a movie(short term 12) and then sharing an air mattress that sinks to the floor halfway through the night. I just now, just right this second, tonight, realized how good those smoothies tasted, and the bagels, and how nice it is to drive fast and far and how the new childish gambino song sounds especially nice at night, when you’re on your way to get drunk at a bowling ally. Everything is glowing and dark and warm. I’m not over the growlers latest album quite yet and I want to go back to the Purple Cat Winery where I met the dude from the Shivers. I want to write on and on about everything, every little detail that I have left out and haven’t loved enough.
I want to be here for this part and the next one and to write it all down and remember and notice and be more present than I am pretending. I don’t want to lose another second underneath the pink and forget what color any of this is at all. This part is pink.