Resonating on the Photos of Twenty-Seven

One of my very favorite things to do, whether unhealthy or not, is to resonate on memories. I have a knack for getting hooked on angry-girl music or obscure alternative rock bands for weeks at a time Today, I came across an old artist that took up a month of my life, and I couldn’t but revel in all the images during each bitter lyric.

So there we were, house music way too loud. My hair orange from the self-dye job the day before, reeking of smoke that I’m not completely convinced came from legal substances from the couple behind me. How old is too old to be in a club? Is this my Carrie Bradshaw moment? Am I having this existential moment as I mack on the boy whose arms I’m in?

I pulled up after dark to my apartment after work. Fairly positive I take up a parking spot and a half in the huge twenty-five hundred pickup that I still drive, I have to do a little jump down to get out in my pencil skirt. Dragging up some laundry that was left in the backseat and reeking of the barn up the three flights of stairs to my apartment, I opened the door to find no power but a really excited puppy. He’s always happy to see me.

Well, I pulled into the gas station, already hours behind, in a town I don’t know, because my eye-ball feels like it’s about to pop out. I scratch my contact out, because it’s scraping my eye-skin, only to find I can’t actually see without my contacts, but I have an hour left to pick up the horse trailer. Then, there’s a six hour drive back home. Running into the convenient store I search for contact solution, but I can only find $15 eye drops. Fine.

So you’re telling me that the train is stopped at a station four from home because there is a fire? How is there a fire in the city? Fine. Filing out of the train like cattle, we were all steered towards buses that would take us to the next station. With eery feelings and claustrophobia, I peel myself out of the crowd. Catching the eyes of a scooter at the same time as another passenger. I ran to the scooter to make it my own before linking it, awkwardly, and pushing it the two miles to the next available train station. Sweating and running to make the train before it left without me, I spot the boy sitting smugly already in my train. How did he beat me?

It seems each week has been packed with adventure and self-discovery, or maybe just self revelation that I don’t like house music and not to dye my hair, but I was chatting with one of my bests today that I would be too nervous to go back and alter any of the moments before, because I wouldn’t want to be anywhere different. Each little image of age twenty-seven will stay ingrained in my thoughts I think. Some of them brought a little fear, anxt, or self-improvement, but I wouldn’t trade them.

Bring it Bebe Rexha. Play another one.

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