Iguana Is Done with School

I did it.

I feel the chains releasing.

I want to say more but I'm on my way out the door soon to go to my soon to be new neighborhood. Yes it's so true. I am officially moving at the end of this month. Not just to anywhere, but to Park Slope. Beautiful, beautiful Park Slope. I know I shouldn't be discussing this, but I feel it's okay now. The Year of Magical Thinking is done and I'm allowed to move on.

But I'm getting ahead of myself...

Yesterday...

No longer than yesterday...

I'm so flustered to know the summer is here again. That I can actually sit and relax again. The marathon is done and I have finished at a good pace. Not first place but I did pretty well.

Today I finished reading, The Year of Magical Thinking. One of the best personal looks into a life of a woman who suffered so much loss in such a small amount of time. If I believed in love (which I do, but not sure if I'll ever find it) I wouldn't know what to think if my husband dropped dead in front of me. Then three months later my daughter underwent emergency brain surgery. I wouldn't know what to think, let alone write an entire book about it. But what a book. Read it if you get a chance.

It made me realize how this year (May 15th as mentioned in previous entries) has been my own personal year of magical thinking. I just don't know how to turn it into a book. Perhaps someday.

I was in a live DVD recording of Kiki & Herb performance. It'll be in stores someday soon, considering it's their first DVD ever. I'll be in the audience cheering on. It was amazing.

Back to finals...

I made the finals my own. I didn't worry once. Yes I have a couple of nervous issues with them, but I made them my own. I got them all done, much sooner than everyone else AND I did them all very well. My drafting final, that I was most nervous about, what did I do? Oh I made it my bitch. I finished it WAY sooner than anyone else. I have my shit together, always and pretty much forever.

And in that, I am very proud to be an American.

I walked down the streets of Crown Heights the other day, thinking of leaving it. As I looked at the chicken bones on the street, the black neighbors arguing loudly in front of their small children and someone was making chicken out of a barrel (converted into a grill) that was painted Jamaican colors (and a bottle of Sunny-D sat next to it). I thought. You really can't get this kind of atmosphere living in Manhattan.

It's real life.

This is what comes to mind when I think of Crown Heights. A Mixture of ghetto, with class: