new york // the high line

New York was:
one short Sunday afternoon in Manhattan / that's all / and a bit of Brooklyn later / very cold / lots of red and yellow / pizza pizza pizza / stylish people / full of cars honking / (my dad fit right in) / a break before a week of college tours / more on that later, I suppose / fun for a visit , but I don't think I could ever live there

the start of spring break

Well, I'm leaving tomorrow for New York. I'm going to visit colleges around New England, mostly in Massachusetts, but we're flying into JFK. Incidentally, the only other time I've been to New York was also March, and it is a pretty miserable time to go (cold but without the fun of Christmas. I don't know if I'll have any time to sightsee on this trip, but I'll take my camera anyway and we'll see what happens.

We have to leave for the airport around 5:45 in the morning, but, predictably, I am attempting to write a blog post without any sort of end goal in sight. I feel like this is a recurring theme in my life, but I'm not sure.

God, time flies by so quickly. It's weird that it's Spring Break already. It's seemed so far off for such a while and now that it's here, it just feels weird. I've been a bit disoriented all week, to be honest. I keep forgetting what day it is. Spring fever, maybe? But it doesn't actually feel like spring yet. It's been gloomy and rainy for the past two days.

I took the SAT this morning, for real this time. In a word: mind-numbing. I hope I did well. But I'm not going to worry about it until I get my scores. Afterwards, I went to Sydney's house (it took us like 45 minutes to get there because of all them hipsters clogging up my streets downtown for SXSW #getoutofmyhouse). We made cinnamon rolls, for lack of better word, and while waiting for the dough to rise, went to Goodwill (dress: $3.95) and Neiman Marcus (dress: $5,000). And we hit Torchy's for some chips and queso. That's how it's done.

Now I'm trading in shorts and queso for leggings and snow(?).

I should get some sleep.
See you on the other side.

at peace

If you stand at the top of the hill on the street your best friend in fifth grade used to live on, you can see the lights in the houses across MoPac. The hills on the other side of the highway look so close but so far away and that's kind of how running through your neighborhood feels, too. It's strange because you know your way through it like the back of your hand, this place you've lived for over sixteen years, but it seems so foreign on this not-quite-winter, not-quite-spring night. At the start, your mind is heavy with the thought of tests and people and things that cause creases in your forehead. But as your watch ticks the seconds and the sun gives way to the stars and the artificial -- but no less beautiful -- lights inside the houses, you will start to feel at peace. And when you reach the top, you won't stop to admire the view, but you will go around the block one more time just to keep on looking.

It will move you. You will want to take a picture, but you've got to learn there are some things you can't photograph and some you can't even write about. Some you just have to keep inside, under your chest, maybe, pressed against your lungs, or between your ribs.

When you get home, the peace is shattered with the sound of voices and the bombardment of colors and lights. It's like coming up to the surface after swimming underwater, all the noise that suddenly jerks you out of your dreams of being a mermaid. You think of Prufrock: "'til human voices wake us, and we drown." This is reality; this is not a children's picture book.

Running is nothing like flying, but when you look at pictures you can see both feet off the ground and for a few seconds, you'll feel a tiny bit invincible.