Wednesday, March 19

Where In The World Is Carlye Sandiego?

I don't want to hate on Atlantic-Pacific because she's clearly too good at teasing hair for me to actually dislike her, but is this how the other half lives?


I don't mean the half who have expendable income for purchasing what must be $25 in tulips instead of hoarding that for a week's worth of lattes, all purchased with a low-level amount of guilt. I don't mean the half who own solid colored leather bags that match everything, a long-term goal of mine I can never bring myself to accomplish. I don't even mean the other half who pull off knee-high socks regardless of inevitably cat-called by everything over the age of 40.

I mean, is this how simplistically everyone else runs their lives? All easy-breezy, throwing wet plants into a cow hide bag and hoping for the best? Heading out without a proper jacket despite the fact that we are still very much in a tundra and come 4pm you'll be shivering?

I always saw those Gather magazine editorials and hazy Tumblr shots of people enjoying their weekend like a photo essay of Brooklyn twenty-somethings would suggest it, but never knew that might be real. The suggestion of a lazy afternoon wherein you can eat a salted caramel cookie and not worry about the calories, because food is so low on your non-existent neuroses level that it's just something that happens and slowly melts away in your memories until nighttime, when you have a small nosh and go to sleep to ready yourself for the week.

Every time I leave the house, my brain feels an onslaught of chores and responsibilities screaming at me. Pick up soap, you're running out of cotton rounds, get more coffee pods, crap you forgot the reusable bag again. The toilet paper is constantly diminishing; the to do list never rests. My weekends are an extension of the workweek done at a slightly less competent level. A shortened two-day experiment in trying to get things done while trying to enjoy a calm cappuccino for five minutes while manaically scrolling through Twitter, wasting too much time staring at a screen instead of pounding pavement in a beautiful park or a lovely place.

Something about a bag filled with flowers and not much else makes me feel like there's another way to live, to control the chaos, to have a day off without feeling like I'm falling behind. Sure, most of the difficulty stems from working for myself and never being able to confirm that I'm working enough, but mostly, I'm just curious because I can't figure out how we got to this. Did she go to the farmer's market and resist temptation to spend $12 on lettuce, instead just selecting one bouquet and popping it directly in her bag? Did she buy them at the corner store without acknowledging the fact that they'll instantly start wilting the second you bring them into your home, as bodega flowers' lifecycle always ends the second American currency exchanges hands? It's a gateway into a simpler life that I kind of wish I could have.

Even if, you know, this is all just a photo shoot and everything is most likely staged.

Either way, I want to be skipping the streets, two dozen tulips in hand, with nothing to worry about. That would sure be a delight.

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