Tuesday, November 22, 2005

it's funny what you can get used to.

so i am sitting here at a cafe on Germantown Avenue having an anti-Starbucks experience. the cafe is called InFusion. comfy chairs, drinks served in ceramic, non-corporate approved music playing, an enormous shelf of books behind my head, a few people quietly tapping away at laptops (Jeanine and I included). someday, i said to her, i am going to work at an indie coffeeshop. someday.

obivously, i am back in Philly for the holiday. despite the fact that i was totally convinced i was going to die, the plane ride was uneventful and i even walked into PHL a half hour early (go Southwest). the only kink was, somewhere between breakfasting at McDonalds, the Boy dropping me off at the airport and walking through security, i lost my cellphone. normally this wouldn't be such a big deal, but trying to find someone at an airport without a cellphone is a near impossible task. after i called the Boy and determined that my cellphone was nowhere to be found in his truck, i went to T-mobile, got a new phone and whored myself for another two years.

things are a bit strange and not quite what i expected here. i think in my four month absence i may have idealized Philadelphia a little bit. as i walked out of the airport i was greeted by dark skies and a cold rain, as Al and i creeped our way up the Schuylkill Expressway i marveled at how old and dirty and small things seemed. the highways here seemed miniaturized, three lanes each way seemed inadequate. the familiar spreads of clean white concrete were nowhere to be found. maybe that's the difference between cities in the Northeast and cities in the West: the accumulation of dirt.

my parents dropped off Boris The Old Camry for me to tool around town in. it was weird to be driving around in a car that low again. as i was locking and unlocking the car yesterday, i kept trying to use the keys for the Jeep. at one point i looked down at my keyring and realized the things they unlocked were 1500 miles away. my life in Houston (such a weird phrase, my life in Houston) seems far away and dreamlike, but the pieces of my life still left here in Philadelphia don't seem entirely real, either. the black leather jacket my parents brought down for me belonged to the Philadelphia Bethany. the Houston Bethany wore this sage green blazer and didn't really need anything else because it never gets cold enough. the Philadelphia Bethany made way more money than the Houston Bethany does. by the Houston Bethany is far happier in her studio. the Houston Bethany never has to warm up her car for ten minutes in the morning. and on and on and on through my head, until i stopped at the part where i mentally referred to Houston as "home".


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