I had my first official driving lesson on sunday.
I did pretty well; there were a few rules of the road that I was kind of fuzzy on, and parallel parking isn't something i'm any good at yet. But really, overall, i'm okay, and more practice is all i'll really need.
I managed not to freak out, and i managed to handle the multitasking that is absolutely necessary for driving without too many hitches. It seems to take me longer than it should to digest what's in my mirrors; quick glances don't seem to quite convey all of the information necessary for my brain to filter out the visual noise and focus on the important things in the picture. i know from experience that i'll get better at that as time goes on.
I feel more confident now, more able to handle whatever comes at me, and I want to have a car very, very badly. The desire wasn't there when i was sixteen, but it is now; i always told everyone that i would learn to drive on my own schedule, not anyone else's.
I was always a contrary child, according to my parents. I was on a schedule for things all my own, and i refused to bend to the dictates of what everyone else thought I should do. My only large exception was this: at fifteen, I was more than ready to leave home. i waited until i was seventeen, so i could finish high school.
i have always known what I was ready for. Nobody believed me, when i was a child or a teenager, but i did.
I have purple fingernails! After my bra shopping experience (more on that later), I went to Garden Botanika to console myself. i picked up some makeup brushes, which is what I actually went for, and some Black Cherry lipstick. I also picked up one of those little kits that they have--two lipstics, two eyeshadows, and a nail polish in various combunations of colors. I picked out the Vivid combination for myself; all the colors were purples, which work well on me. So my fingers are now a lovely shade of lavender.
She stands in the empty room, wooden floor and mirroed walls and girl in repose in the very center. head drooping, shoulders relaxed, feet carelessly placed.The thump of a downbeat. anohter. Her eyes open. Thump. Her head begnis to rise, her shoulders tense, her hands curl.
another downbeat, the thrum of a bass and then an electric guitar melody, and she is in motion. One foot in front of the other, the muscles sheathing her hips rippling, she is sliding forward, her hands rising in front of her in exhortation or accusation. The melody picks up, there's a flute in the mix and voices, and she swings a leg up, springs, landing lightly and bowing her head, arms flowing at her sides, expressing a certian careful joy. On her feet again, she spins and kicks, moving however the music feels to her body. The flute screams and she arches her back with pain it expresses, the guitar slides and she gratefully sways like a leaf in the wind.
And, finally, a transformation. small things betray it, the look on her face, a inclination of her body, and quickening of the pulse in her wrist. She does not dance in reaction any more but in eerie syncronization. She is no longer dancing to the music, she is dancing as an expression of the music itself, her body another instrument for the song to play through.
and it is gone and she is crumpled on the floor, instrument bereft of a player, a string without a finger to strum it.
I can slide my hand to my throat and trace my collarbones.
They are so fragile. so very fragile.
"and mister you don't wanna walk on water
'cause you're only gonna walk all over me"Omaha by Counting Crows
doing: almost done
energy level: 7
