growing up

thoughts on change

It smelled like soup in the office for most of the day. I don’t even know why; nobody was eating soup. It’s kind of like this one time last week when I was walking down the street and suddenly smelled nursing home. Two blocks later, I passed an assisted living facility. I think I’m turning into my mother. One time, she smelled that someone had left the television on in the basement from her second-floor bedroom. No, that’s not a joke.

When I was younger, I hated public transportation because it smelled. I would have to wash my clothes and immediately shower after being anywhere city-related. I thought they were contaminated. Now I live in the city, breathe in body-odor trash air, and wear the same jeans without washing them for weeks at a time that sat on the stained bus seat because I was too tired to stand, or that brushed up against that old woman’s Kleenex-clutching hand while she smothered me on the crowded L. It makes me feel thinner. Sometimes, though, I still have to wash my otherwise clean clothes after I do something in them that I wish I could erase (not something dirty), like drink cocktails too quickly because someone else is paying for them.

It’s a funny thing, the concept of change.

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