I was a college girl at 3 a.m., lugging a telescope to the end of the driveway of a rented duplex, searching for something meaningful in the sky after working all night at the campus newspaper, wanting all day and night to discover for myself some truth and share it with others. Other people – normal people – went to keg parties in college and drank cheap, vile potions from tubs and trashcans. No judgement. One time my roommate and I overindulged on Captain Morgan’s spiced rum and painted each other with finger paints, which may have been a sexy thing if we’d chosen a different drink, but instead was just a messy one.
I was antsy tonight – at the age of 40 on a regular weeknight, owning a very small television but no cable subscription and not knowing where the remote control was anyway, nor the “on” button – and as I scooped cat boxes and heated a leftover casserole made of vegetarian “meat” crumbles and tater tot crowns – the kind of thing my former sister-in-law wryly observed as something she never made until she had small children – I felt compelled to take a walk around the neighborhood as it grew dark and began to drizzle a bit. Continue reading