The moon is visible after a 12-hour work day; suffice it to say I’m eager to free fall onto notebooks and sweatshirts not yet cleared from the couch. But I can’t. I’m not home yet. Still walking and focused on my heel-ditched feet.
On the concrete, I spot a three inch piece of circular black cloth. I want to move on, get home, get comf. But the opportunity of doing Hashavat Aveida (returning lost objects), in this case a lost black kippah, is knocking. So I pivot, crouch to the concrete and finger the kippah between by thumb and pointer looking for identifying features.
Inspecting it, my eyebrows turn from quizzical minus signs to threatening backslashes as my face registers disgust a second too slowly. I’m holding black padding from someone’s bra, coned into a perky half-moon in a way that tells me it’s freshly minted. Instinctively, I frisbee the boob fossil away and chastise myself for trying to a mitzvah.
Here’s a list of other innocuous discoveries:
I used to think that people dyed their hair fluorescent shades of the rainbow because they were insecure about being invisible. Just the opposite: I’ve found that it’s the green-haired boy in class answering the most questions and the girl with cyan strands who’s walking taller than everyone else. Thinking now, maybe confidence only works when you dye your hair a shade of aqua.
I thought I was over whole “the most attractive thing is a good singing voice,” but I’m not. It’s shallow, noted, thanks! But I recently discovered Spanish singers and…uno momento for me to catch my breath…are surreal. Hebrew music you feel in your soul, Spanish music you feel in your hips.
About three weeks ago, I was at an organic health foods store and decided to buy raw, unsalted nuts and raw, unoiled dry fruit. The first time you bite into anything without a kashrut symbol you think a black hole is going to suck you under. But really, it wasn’t a big deal. And I’m not about to walk around wearing entirely black outfits in case there really is a black hole lurking and it will think it’s already got me, since I’m wearing all black, because that would be crazy. Right??
Almost every professional journalist I speak to, is pretty depressed about being a journalist. One photojournalist is considering retiring to pioneer a charity that donates fishing poles to Belize children. Others in the media complain that they wake up at 3 a.m. and all so that people can rag on them to lose ten pounds or call them Hillary Clinton puppets. Super motivating.
The more time you’re away from your significant other, the more you think about him or her. I blame Snapchat. Snapchat filters also make you look better than you actually do, making you feel less confident. Makes you consider changing your style. There’s always blue hair dye to consider.