mud pies to medicine: Falling Behind

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Falling Behind

Went on a pretty long hiatus there due to the arrival of my boyfriend. He takes priority over a blog. He loves visiting NYC when he is here. Not even the hefty NJTransit ticket prices can deter him from bringing us both to "The Center of the Universe". As a boy that grew up in a town with a population of something ridiculous like 100 people, he is a bit floored by my ability to reach the city that never sleeps in less than an hour. And as any tourist does, he loves Midtown. As I get pissed at gawking tourists walking slow and saying things like "O M G Can you imagine driving here!" I drag him weaving through people avoiding pashmina vendors and hotdog stands yelling "NO I DON'T WANT TO SEE A COMEDY SHOW." Anyone who has been to Time's Square knows what I'm talking about. And so this picture expresses how I feel in Time's Square.

#39 Dazed in the Center of the Universe

No comments:

Post a Comment

The inspiration you ask?

I miss making mud pies. There is this huge rock in my front yard. To call it a rock really does it a dishonor. It is a boulder, brought home by my father on a huge dump truck after he blasted it out of a work site. My mom one day told me that even though it is nearly 2.5 feet high, 6 feet long, and 2.5 feet wide, that it was, in fact, only half-showing. The scientist inside of me was disbelieving and set out to get some proof. Clad in a dress, bow in my hair, and my best accessory, a shovel, I trudged outside ready to prove my mother wrong. That is when the digging began. I dug, and dug, and dug, and nearly all 3.5 feet of Danielle fit in that hole when I had reached the bottom of the rock. That became my digging spot, my mud pie kitchen. Each day it was dug, and each evening it was filled back in. Sometimes the holes were small, sometimes they were enormous, and most days the hole was turned into my mud mixing bowl with that rock as my counter. The novelty never wore off. The ebb and flow of my childhood was, in many ways, measured by the ever-changing depth of that hole in the front yard, the hole that never really disappeared even each day after it was filled in. Even though the grass has grown back in that spot, there still remains, an indentation, the scars of a childhood well lived and the disbelieving scientists I have always been.

So, you ask me why I want to be a doctor? I do not want to be a doctor. I want to open a mud pie bakery with the cash register on that rock in my front yard. But, somehow, I doubt I would stay in business long, for the world seems to have lost its taste for mud pies. I guess being a doctor will have to do.