I couldn’t find a to-go cup, so I just brought a mug instead. I’m living in a small New England town for the first time in my life after five years of having New York City as my home base. I thought I’d be a farmer, more specifically a berry picker. Six AM in the car is the only cool hour, but the farmer in charge was, like, the meanest dad you’ve ever met so there goes my career. On the ride home, my coffee spilled on my lap. I spent most of the day in tears.
I’m OK. I romanticized this summer so much. Bragging on and on to my city friends, how I’m going to run away to this tiny town—the air is clear, it’s beautiful, the house is so cozy. These things aren’t lies, but I mostly find myself in a state of being simply OK and a little lonely.
The perks of having time and limitless supplies means I live most of my time in a drawn universe. I watched this Ghibli film last night called Only Yesterday, and felt so much. With all of the drawing I’ve been doing, I feel like I brought my teenage self along with me for the summer, asking her questions, listening to her feelings, and making something of it. Also drawing lots of dogs.
The days are hot, and friends had visited for the weekend. Drunkenly floating in water a bit too cold, just as the clouds rolled in, I felt good.
My favorite place here is a small farm covered in incredibly rude goats and sheep that remind me of playful dogs. I spend most of my time there grinning, close to the animals, a little bit scared, but happy.
Days at the lake with puddles of sweat in the rolls of my stomach. I usually can’t last more than two hours. The sand is filled with rocks and the bottom of the lake feels like actual shit. I still love it.
I don’t remember the last time I had cable. It’s a beautiful and scary, scary thing. The first week here I spent a whole 24 hours watching E! and eating pizza. I broke vegan to eat ice cream and brie cheese. I’m completely up to date on The Bachelorette, and I never thought it’d make me cry, but it did. It’s my summer romance. I oscillate from real sadness to being truly relaxed. Summers are hard. ♦