We went to Colorado. Came back a little looser, a little lighter, a little brighter, and a little more...perplexed. Because we knew when we came back, our job sitch would be changing. We'd be dealing with living in The Great Barrier Unknown Reef and swimming along with other schools of job-hunting fish. Oh fuck.
But hearing other people's stories wets our whistle. Puts a little skip in our step. Hop in our pop. Toke in our smoke. Likkkke, our friend Margot is working her way through PT school. Our friend Katy...nursing school. And a new friend we recently met...builds green houses and has the philosophy that you truly should love what you do, all the time. Afterall, you spend most of your time AT WORK. And that makes sense to us! But now we must devise a plan to find out how to do that, find a pot of gold, a neverending supply of no-calorie chocolate bunnies, a faster metabolism, Ryan Gosling, and a happy ending. Not that kind of happy ending, Chester you pervo molester.
But the story doesn't end there. Nope. We are also searching for a raspberry flavored schnazzberry wallpaper and a bucket of stars plucked down from the sky to paint our ceiling with. Just joking! Gotcha. No but seriously it didn't all end there because as we were driving back home from our ski trip, feeling warmo and reflective (as we always do after trips) we saw a cop up ahead with his lights on, flashin' red and blue.
So then we got pulled over (for going the wrong way down the highway). Just joking! Geesh you really are Gulliver's Travels guillable. No but a cop had a car pulled over and we glanced over as we drove by. And made eye contact with the man getting cuffed. And in that split second, we thought how similar it was to a sequence from 'Crash.'
Here was this guy with a look of sorrow or remorse or fear or hopelessness or dejectedness in his eye- about to see his life changed, forever. Maybe he stole that car. Maybe he had drugs in the trunk. Or a body. Or a body and drugs. Maybe he deals drugs to pay for his sick mother's doctor bills. Or maybe his sick mother killed someone (hence the body). Maybe he really was a dirty scoundral. Or maybe he was a good-hearted person who truly never had a stroke of good luck and was born into a dire situation. We know they ALL say that. We also know that DOES happen.
SO here we were, a dare-we-say-it privileged wg with several pairs of shoes, several winter coats, driving home from an ultra extravagent weekend with close friends- thinking our problems= not that big. Our life=very, very good. We'll find a job. We'll figure it out. We=lucky.