regrets

Sometimes, when I’m swiffing the floors or listening to music or lying in bed or breathing, my mind wanders to Austin. It’s 2012, the first day if classes. I’m sitting in the front left corner, closest to the door: my seat always and forever. First to enter, last to leave, there’s no reason for me to take that seat other than it was my place when my world was physics and the physics guys and the physics room. I rounded out an odd foursome of an endurance machine, a hockey player, and a guitarist who usually seemed high but rarely ever was. I am alone on this new adventure, but finally, after two long years of waiting, felt like myself again. Here is where I belonged.

I never made it to Austin, but that picture and its sentiment lingers golden in my mind. It was a logical choice and, according to the pros and cons list I drew up over two months, a good one. I was satisfied with the decision.

But when I let my guard down and that daydream arises, reality often stings.

My second regret: leaving Carderock so soon. What a stupid girl I was.

But then a little hand shakes me out of my meloncholies. I know all my decisions, however awful, led to him. And to my time with him. No amount of Texas sunshine can replace a single moment with him. I’d take a dirty diaper over hallowed halls any day.

I just wish my daydreams would wander into possible futures instead of possible pasts. The latter seems such a waste of time and saltwater.