Happy Hour

Tonight’s drink: hopefully some red wine at Gordon Biersch Chevy’s, very soon.

It’s been a long time, and a lot has happened. I hardly recognize myself in the memories of a tiny studio apartment, within which every post up until now has been couched, and cached.

Suddenly my entire life: my apartment, my bed, my tv, my workplace, my boyfriend, my reality; has been blown up, like the end of Honey I Shrunk the Kids. I have room to do yoga without moving furniture, and room to breath in that metaphysical sort of way. Everything’s bigger, but not overwhelming – just more spacious, and more comfortable.

Truth be told, my waistline has undergone it’s own little expansion project, too. I guess I should be doing a little more of that yoga.

A couple of years ago, I started to try to write a story about mirrors that has been in the back of my mind for what seems like forever. Mirrors are crazy things – they come across as so transparent, because it’s a reflection of the original item. However, mirrors are easily influenced by a variety of invisible things. Light, shape, depth, angles – all of these things effect the message a mirror sends you. So even though you see the original, you see it through the mirror’s interpretation.

But even if you get the physics worked out, you find that atmosphere also plays a part in how your image translates back to you. Maybe you’re in a stranger’s apartment, and you look completely awkward and out of place. Maybe you’re in your parent’s mirror, and your reflection is young and fresh in place of theirs. Maybe you’re in a bathroom in Vegas looking sultry and sharp against the black marble. Or maybe you’re just at home, putting your makeup on, and curling your hair like any other schmoe.

Either way, you start to realize that you never actually see yourself as you are, but rather as your environment sees you. Like a goldfish, I’ll grow into my new environment, and get ready for the next size up.

But, sorry booty – you need to stay right where you are.