I read Stripes’ post from yesterday and giggled, since oh how I remember the pains of figuring that out. Granted, I was the girl in college who had the habit of dressing in a way that frequently prompted the question about my upcoming job interview from fellow students and professors alike, so my problem was really the mild sort. Regardles, figuring out whole new wardrobe requirements is no easy task. Wait for the segue. Especially when you’ve already cut your wardrobe down to a fraction of its original size. Oh there it was.
I’m not kidding when I describe this as the Second Coming of the 30 -for-30. I haven’t done a count, mostly because that would make me sad, but believe me when I said it’s small. And it’s somehow going to last me for a least a month, likely longer. And seriously, though, could I scream PrivledgedWhiteGirlFirstWorldProblems any louder?
I had a whole theme of what I was planning on writing about for this outfit. I took it yesterday, on Tuesday September 11, and I didn’t think much about the date as I was getting dressed. It’s an anniversary that makes me pause, but in an odd, reflective way instead of the more state-approved patriotic way. I did read some well-articulated thoughts about using this anniversary as a way not only to reflect on the actions eleven years ago, but on the consequences that occurred as a result of the day. As a result of America’s reaction.
I’m not that patriotic of a person–not in the sense that I love my country because it’s mine. Moreso, I feel like you love a country in the same way that you love and respect a person–because they deserve it. I think when you look at the actions of our country, the line gets a
little lot blurrier. So when I took off my sweater and realized I had (very unintentionally) decked myself out in red white & blue, it was strange.
Like I said, those were things I thought about writing about–the challenges of turning my professional wardrobe into an everyday casual one while simultaneously chopping it into a fifth its size; the thoughts that get tied in knots when I start trying to decipher my own feelings about what happened eleven years ago which includes America’s reaction; I even considered a lighthearted post about an apple growing on one of the trees in the backyard. But then? I got distracted.
Then I got distracted with the fresh, ripe raspberries growing all around the wall I picked for photos. Omnomnomnom. Like, seriously guys, have you tasted the amazingness of fresh raspberries plucked from their branches? I repeat: Omnomnomnomnom.