Yard Sales. They are so intriguing. There is a whirlwind of emotions I feel when I have them. On the one hand I so hope to sell everything no matter how cheap I have to make everything and no matter how much money I don't make. On the other hand, I feel so indescribably sorry for the people buying my knick knacks because I KNOW how worthless they are. Someone bought my vanilla-smelling, half empty package of tea candles, and I felt bad that they were spending a whole 50 cents on something that had sat in my drawer for the last 5 years. And yet really that's a positive thing--that my trash is someone else's treasure. It's just that when I see the old men buying 10 cent coozies that aren't cool and the unopened package of unsharpened #2 pencils and the tiny UT foam football that I proudly boasted on my bookshelf as a student, I immediately imagine how these items will all end up in this old man's stack of hoarded crap. I don't guess feeling sorry for him will change any of the circumstances, except that I will continue to get richer off of the persons like him who love worthless preowneds.
I was in DC the other day and as I pranced around pretending to be a Washingtonian, I felt one with those other working women because I had on a dress and cardigan for an interview. Suddenly, as I was comforted about my non touristic appearance, I realized there were slowly forming blisters on my heels and pinky toes, and I was struck knowing that I would never be one with the women because my feet hurt so badly. And I was wearing flats. But then I stood on the escalator, and in front of me was a woman climbing up quickly (on the left side...that's important apparently), and just as I was about to look away--ah ha! her heels slid off her feet just enough on each step for me to see the two band-aids on each heel...Soon thereafter I went to CVS and bought CVS brand bandages, and I felt like I could pretend to be a city gal again.
A humbling experience indeed is an overnight bus trip. If you were super human before, you are completely and unfortunately just a tired tired person after a trip like that. I have now taken several of these--one to Boston, two to Knoxville, and two to DC. The next morning all I can think about is espresso and fluffy pillows and the sighs you heave just before falling asleep in your own bed. On this last trip, I got the coveted spot on the Megabus to sleep--the back row on the upper level with 5 seats that if you stretch out on early enough and the bus is empty enough, you can sleep there the whole time. When a big boy, without asking, sits in the very middle seat of this row, it makes the sleeping process a bit more difficult, the arthritis in the knees more inevitable, and the respect for humanity just...not...there. I struggled all night long to find a place where I could fall asleep for more than 20 minutes and not be bitter toward this person taking one of MY five seats. It really never occurred to me until afterward that his sleep was just as important as my sleep. I think I am much more comfortable thinking of other humans as THERE instead of as CREATED. It doesn't change the fact that I was exhausted the next day because of his space in that seat, but it does make me consider that the space in that seat was taken by someone as important as me.
