Two Thoughts

Today is an odd sort of post because I have two thoughts. The first was a topic lovingly provided by my good friend Megan Feniak, and the second is a thought that could not have otherwise stood alone. So- without further ado. . .

Yeah, that's it, stop reading this and read on down.

Sunglasses.

Now that it's summer I guess it's completely logical that sunglasses are back in style. If not in style, then at least in use. If we were going to talk in terms of style then it might be noted that big-framed sunglasses are what ladies are using to take up two-thirds of their faces these days.

I don’t really mind, in the sense that it creates this atmosphere of mystery. Sometimes I'll walk by a girl and think, "Huh, she was . . . a . . . female." Then, as I'm walking away, I'm thinking what could her eyes, and, more importantly, her upper cheekbones look like?

The fact of the matter is that a lot of what another person looks like comes down to eyes, and to have anti-reflective, gradient, interchangeable, mirrored, photochromatic, or polarized lenses roughly four inches in diameter over each eye really shakes that up.

I suppose what I'm really trying to say is that I like a pair of nice eyes, and sunglasses are like the abaya of the ocular region. They're almost like the anti-abaya, if you think about it, an accessory which only leaves the eyes to the imagination.

Bits of String

Once upon a time (by which I mean within the last few months) I had string on my wrists. They were all over a year old (most more so), two of them yarn bracelets from friends and the third a red string, colour long lost, that was woven and tied around my wrist my last year of high school.

As time would have it, these 'bracelets' began to wear down. They got thinner and thinner, and eventually they started to break. Undaunted, I would tie them back together, asking friends to help me. Eventually I turned to thin strips of duct tape to bind the loose ends together, hoping that they would hold.

They simply broke in other places, weak from years of being rubbed up and down my wrists, subject to the wear and tear of everyday life. I could remember when and where each one was from, and the memories associated with them, but I was unable to wear them again.

From all this, I got to thinking, maybe friendships are like bits of string. You have a friendship, much like you wear string around your wrist, and it's fun while it lasts. Later on, though, it wears away, and you're left trying to hold it together, trying in every way you can to keep the memories and not let that relationship fall apart.


At the end of the day, though, it doesn't matter. It breaks in too many places, and eventually you have to just take it and put it in your pocket, or in a desk drawer, and try to remember what it was like. Eventually your wrist no longer feels bare, and then you can move on.