Tonight Sophia and I did things like wasted an entire box of matches trying to light them with our teeth, made gold grills out of Reese’s peanut butter cup wrappers and snap chatted pictures of us wearing the aforementioned grills to everyone we know, and made dinner on a camp stove in my Mom’s vintage Girl Scout pots. In our motel room.
Yes, we are still here.
I have stories and words to share - really it is all happening, but I am feeling so bounded by this room. I maybe thought that living in a motel might be this cathartic experience that makes all the feelings come out in some romantic saga that is this vividly real and inspirational experience. Like leaving on a journey to tackle the PCT, or boarding a plane with only your passport and a backpack. But I feel stifled. Like what can come out of me is limited by the confines of this space.
It feels less like a motel room and more like waiting room. We have arrived, checked in, and are sitting in our seats with months old magazines to read, just waiting.
Call my name. Let me in. I’m ready.