Do you ever wonder what that feels like? I do, often. I imagine it to be a prolonged version of the rollercoaster/vertical drop feeling, just maybe not as intense. Or I’d probably liken that feeling to the one I get from listening to certain songs (see: For All The Marbles by Amandine; Welcome Home, Son by Radical Face; most of the songs by the Kings of Convenience; etc.) — maybe that’s how I want it to feel like. And if that is indeed the case, I would like to fall forever.
Unfortunately, it’s not a very useful feeling to get while I’m writing a paper.
Being home is strange. There are still students here that I know; I think it’ll take a couple more years before no undergrads recognize me. You know what’s funny? At AU, all undergrads are babies to me — even the seniors. But not the seniors at Penn, no. The ones I know, I met them when they were freshmen and I was a junior; maybe that has something to do with it? Maybe it’s because I wasn’t a grad student here?
It’s already Thursday. There’s this paper that I need to write (I have until June 1), which means I’ve been spending every day so far at the library (Van Pelt). And this is okay because Mom is working — but she has off next week, which means that I won’t be able or even want to work at all. This also means that I won’t be able to see my friends, because I feel bad not spending time with Mom when she’s not working; because when she’s not working, she’s alone; because when she’s alone, she gets literally bored to tears. You know, when she calls me sobbing and saying that she just wants to hear my voice? It’s heartbreaking, really. It’s bad enough that I live in fucking DC.
It’s already Thursday. So far, I’ve met up with Ashley for lunch twice, run into Frank after one of those lunches, and run into John at the library. I’m having lunch with Luke today, with Bob tomorrow, and seeing Star Trek with (the same) Luke tomorrow — or at least that’s the plan. And then? There are still a shitload of people that I want to not just see but actually spend time with. Maybe that means I should move back to Philly.
It’s already Thursday. I still haven’t stopped by the old workplace to visit. Well, “old” — I’m still doing work for them. Actually, they have work for me to do. Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow. You see, the problem with me is that I’m never fully satisfied with getting a big group of people together and hanging out. Yes, good food and good company make for good times, for sure, but for some reason I feel the need to meet with people one-on-one first; I think it’s because catching up is easier that way. Well, that and I’m never too keen on mixing my circles of friends together; I like to keep them separate. Is that crazy? I don’t care. I actually find that to be quite normal and logical, but I won’t tell you why, because 1) I don’t feel like getting into it and 2) I don’t have the words to explain it. Besides, logical things don’t need explaining.
Socializing can be so awkward sometimes.
Oops, did I just offend someone? Would “dummies” make you feel slightly better, even though they essentially mean the same thing?
Moving on. I meant to write this yesterday, after I got back from the half-assedly shoveled streets of my residential neighborhood.
– After you shovel, you’re supposed to sprinkle SALT on your little piece of concrete so as to prevent the formation of a sheet of ice, should the temperatures drop overnight and freeze the slushy mess left over by bipeds.
– In the same vein, you’re supposed to sprinkle salt AFTER you shovel; what on earth do you suppose a little grain of salt here and there will do in two inches of snow? I’ll tell you what a little grain of salt here and there does in two inches of snow. NOTHING USEFUL. It’ll melt itself a nice little hole of about one inch in diameter AND THAT’S IT.
– And of course if you’re stupid enough to just put the salt and the snow together, I would hope that you’re not dimwitted enough to shovel it all away. Which means that you don’t shovel. BUY A SHOVEL AND GET TO WORK!
Is it icy outside today? Aw, shucks. I hope you enjoy the ice skating arena that you and people like you have inadvertently created! I’ll be working from home in my pajamas if you need me.
I forget how much I hate the morning commute in the winter–with men in their big coats and grumpy faces, women in their big coats and grumpy faces and two+ bags, me in my big coat and grumpy face and huge backpack, and the heat on the train that makes me gag and suffocate… And I left my phone at home.
You know, if you’re gonna hold the door on your way out for people on their way in, don’t look at them impatiently, don’t tell them to “come on,” just–just don’t fucking rush them. So you saw me coming from thirty feet away; good job! Well fucking spotted! But who the fuck told you to hold the door for me? I’m limping because my foot hurts; not because I think it looks cool to walk that way. It’s fucking freezing–below freezing–and yes, believe it or not, I DO want to get inside the building as fast as I can. But my foot hurts, my blood’s probably all smeared on the inside of my boot, I only had four hours of sleep, and you’re holding the door on your own free will, so no, I will not “come on” to keep your freezing dumb ass from holding the door too fucking long. Sorry, pal; if you’re too stupid to let go, you’re gonna have to endure the bitter cold. Shouldn’t you be wearing something warmer? Like, I don’t know, a coat?
Moving on to people and elevator etiquette. If you’re too fucking lazy to move your ass a couple of inches over and press the button to your floor, don’t wait until the last minute to say, “Can you press 2 please?” We already passed the first floor; what the fuck were you waiting for? Were you just too shy to say something? I can tell it took a lot of courage to utter those few words! Close call, wasn’t it? You were lucky, though; if you had asked me, you would have ended up riding all the way to the eighth floor before getting back down to yours. That’s right–I’m as much of an asshole as you are.
And on that note, I’m gonna go throw up.