A Place To Draw Blood Laughing

Today, after a long waiting period, I got new glasses. I usually wear contact lenses, but glasses are brilliant things to keep around for all those little moments when sight is immediately necessary. For example, if one were to roll out of bed at 4:38 am to investigate an odd noise of breaking glass. I would want to be able to see past my two-foot-fishbowl if such an unlikely thing occurred.

I stood in the optometrist yesterday with two different frames in my hands. One pair was slender, black, square lenses. Very simple. Very sophisticated. The others were thick and shaped on the sides with sleek silver lines over matte black metal. Very modern. Very bold.

I stood there for fifteen minutes looking at the two damn frames, realizing that they curiously represented one of the constant decisions I make when representing myself. I bounce continually between portraying myself as a mature, clean-cut and put-together young intellectual, and a quirky young artist with strange taste and bold decisions. I swing between blazers and denim, plastic and pearls.

Fuck it, I thought to myself. I put the silver and black frames on the counter and clicked my card down. I am only young enough to do this once.

And that’s true. I am only young enough to wear these glasses once. I am only young enough to shave my head and dye my hair blue once. I am only young enough to dress like a schoolboy once. I am only young enough to wear my heart on my sleeve once.

And if I work on it enough, I’ll be young enough once to do whatever I want to, for as long as I want.