The ideal is not real.

This morning, whilst en route to an estate sale a hundred miles north, I heard an interview with Nicole Atkins on NPR. She talked about Marcel Proust, and how he had influenced one of her songs with the idea of "the ideal is not real". She talked about how we, as humans, try to idealize our romantic partners, but in the end, it's all chemical and we have no control over who we end up with; that felt empty to me.

Couples were everywhere at the estate sale: sixty-year old antique dealers beside me in line, a man who told me he had to find something for his wife so she'd forgive him for all the junk he bought, wives asking their husbands to bring the trucks around to haul their finds, a hot bearded man with his wife and son that I couldn't take my eyes off of. I wished I'd brought a person with me to hold stuff, haul junk around. save my place in line. I couldn't stop thinking about it as I was alone in that line of fifty people, pushing my box with my feet because it was so heavy.

I ask strangers to hold my place, to watch my stuff. There are dogs and kids, and workers moving around constantly. I love people-watching, but in that moment, I wanted to be share my awesome thrifting life with somebody. But I guess I haven't found that special smelly somebody yet ;)