Monday, July 21, 2008
The Countdown Begins
11:28 AM | 
Posted by
Wide Lawns |
I'll be home in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. I'm getting really homesick. As much as I love Iowa City and I do because it's magically charming, has more culture packed into about a five block area than you could ever imagine and isn't lacking in freshly prepared fine food, I just miss crazy assed South Florida. Mainly I miss it because I miss my husband and the cat. If they were here I think I might be able to stay and find my own little house on the prairie just fine, but they aren't and I need them with me.
But then I started missing mangoes and avocadoes, the beach, the coconut palms, Miami in all its hot pink lipstick and turquoise platform shod glory. I miss hearing people speak Spanish. I haven't heard a foreign language in 3 weeks. It's a little odd for me. I'm not used to English being the only language. At home it's just one of many ways to name things. Oddly enough there are a ton of ethnic restaurants here, and good ones. I've eaten everything from Ethiopian to Indian during my stay. I miss my island life with all the lunatics. I miss my job and my school. I really miss the grill and the bathtub, both of which will be used as soon as I get home Saturday. I can't wait to be home. I want to throw a big party and invite everyone I know. I want to force feed my sister who I fear is too skinny without me there. This is a problem I don't have, having consumed most of Iowa City. I'm scared to step on the scale.
I've been writing like a maniac, seven days a week. Last week it was all poetry, but I've done a ton of memoir and discovered some significant memories. The hair story started out in one of my workshops as a free write. I have several others that I'll share with you once I finish them. I came up with a lot of beginnings, and that was my goal. This week I'm doing more memoir work. I've discovered that while I love writing fiction and poetry that what I most love and what others most love is when I make my own life into some kind of meaningful story. I definitely think my writing has become more vivid, more creative and more profound since I've been here. I've also read so many new authors and poets that my right eyeball turned red and almost fell out last week. The left one was fine.
Petunia hasn't bothered me. I did notice that she came in yesterday while I was out and placed a bunch of plastic bags folded into triangles on the kitchen counter. I also have a stinky stench in my place that I can't find the source of and I fear she will blame me for it. I suspect something might be dead and I want no part of it. If we were in Florida the dead something would be a human being, but here it's probably a mouse or something.
I'm already in a panic about flying on the small plane again, but if it took me home I'd fly a cropduster to Chicago.
But then I started missing mangoes and avocadoes, the beach, the coconut palms, Miami in all its hot pink lipstick and turquoise platform shod glory. I miss hearing people speak Spanish. I haven't heard a foreign language in 3 weeks. It's a little odd for me. I'm not used to English being the only language. At home it's just one of many ways to name things. Oddly enough there are a ton of ethnic restaurants here, and good ones. I've eaten everything from Ethiopian to Indian during my stay. I miss my island life with all the lunatics. I miss my job and my school. I really miss the grill and the bathtub, both of which will be used as soon as I get home Saturday. I can't wait to be home. I want to throw a big party and invite everyone I know. I want to force feed my sister who I fear is too skinny without me there. This is a problem I don't have, having consumed most of Iowa City. I'm scared to step on the scale.
I've been writing like a maniac, seven days a week. Last week it was all poetry, but I've done a ton of memoir and discovered some significant memories. The hair story started out in one of my workshops as a free write. I have several others that I'll share with you once I finish them. I came up with a lot of beginnings, and that was my goal. This week I'm doing more memoir work. I've discovered that while I love writing fiction and poetry that what I most love and what others most love is when I make my own life into some kind of meaningful story. I definitely think my writing has become more vivid, more creative and more profound since I've been here. I've also read so many new authors and poets that my right eyeball turned red and almost fell out last week. The left one was fine.
Petunia hasn't bothered me. I did notice that she came in yesterday while I was out and placed a bunch of plastic bags folded into triangles on the kitchen counter. I also have a stinky stench in my place that I can't find the source of and I fear she will blame me for it. I suspect something might be dead and I want no part of it. If we were in Florida the dead something would be a human being, but here it's probably a mouse or something.
I'm already in a panic about flying on the small plane again, but if it took me home I'd fly a cropduster to Chicago.
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