to know true happiness
Dec. 9th, 2002 03:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanThere are things that make me happy without fail: someone complimenting my hair or outfit. Good coffee. Pretty pictures. Eloquence, others' as well as my own. Seeing my breath in the air. The smell of my Body Shop Nut Body Butter. The cheer Christmas lights bring to any landscape, even the drab, barren and worn frame of my otherwise lovely bay window. Unremorseful purchases. White chocolate. Finding solutions. Staying up without feeling tired. Rediscovering the advantages of not having chewed my nails for the past few weeks.
Just right now though, as if you couldn't tell, it's the prospect of New York. Every time I even think about the 11:35 flight I'll be taking out of Orlando International this Thursday or seeing RENT for the (technically) fifth time on Friday night or walking down the spacious sidewalks of Broadway or ice skating at Rockefeller Center or seeing one of the most incredible places in all the world swept up in the throes and trappings of the holiday season, I get this tightness in my belly, like when a rollercoaster goes over a rise and then plummets down again at a high speed. My breath catches and there's an equally involuntary smile. My heart clenches and my eyes mist, wet from almost-tears of excitement and the exhilaration of pure joy. Anticipation is pretty fucking cool, but it's the taxi ride from JFK as the Manhattan skyline comes into view that'll be the real challenge to keep from pushing me over the edge. It's a good thing Diana's amused by my fangirlishness.
Heh. So much for the question of love at first sight.
Three of the girls Lance knew in Clinton dropped out of college to get married. Two others never went because their boyfriends joined the military to get out of Clinton and the girls went, too, usually pregnant, got married and lived on the base. Four girls in what would have been his graduating class didn't get to walk across the stage because they were in their third trimester.
Lance's mom still calls with these stories like Lance needs the warning, like he's gonna knock up some German girl if he's not scared silly.
He gets up with the sun and watches Justin sleep beside him, bleached blonde curls crushed and bent at strange angles, dark eyelashes lying still against his pretty face. Justin is pretty and he's naked in Lance's bed as the sun comes up, and Lance hates all those nice girls he knew back before he met Justin because they make him think he's too young to fall in love for real.
-Tiffany Rawlins, suite: justin blue eyes
Just right now though, as if you couldn't tell, it's the prospect of New York. Every time I even think about the 11:35 flight I'll be taking out of Orlando International this Thursday or seeing RENT for the (technically) fifth time on Friday night or walking down the spacious sidewalks of Broadway or ice skating at Rockefeller Center or seeing one of the most incredible places in all the world swept up in the throes and trappings of the holiday season, I get this tightness in my belly, like when a rollercoaster goes over a rise and then plummets down again at a high speed. My breath catches and there's an equally involuntary smile. My heart clenches and my eyes mist, wet from almost-tears of excitement and the exhilaration of pure joy. Anticipation is pretty fucking cool, but it's the taxi ride from JFK as the Manhattan skyline comes into view that'll be the real challenge to keep from pushing me over the edge. It's a good thing Diana's amused by my fangirlishness.
Heh. So much for the question of love at first sight.
Three of the girls Lance knew in Clinton dropped out of college to get married. Two others never went because their boyfriends joined the military to get out of Clinton and the girls went, too, usually pregnant, got married and lived on the base. Four girls in what would have been his graduating class didn't get to walk across the stage because they were in their third trimester.
Lance's mom still calls with these stories like Lance needs the warning, like he's gonna knock up some German girl if he's not scared silly.
He gets up with the sun and watches Justin sleep beside him, bleached blonde curls crushed and bent at strange angles, dark eyelashes lying still against his pretty face. Justin is pretty and he's naked in Lance's bed as the sun comes up, and Lance hates all those nice girls he knew back before he met Justin because they make him think he's too young to fall in love for real.
-Tiffany Rawlins, suite: justin blue eyes
