Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Good thing I majored in English

Aunt Marie is in the ICU. I spoke to Anna today, who was just home from the hospital and sounded upset. I think it is especially hard for her, because of how responsible she feels for her mom’s health. She was the one who took her to the hospital. She is the one who tells the doctors and nurses what medicines she is on. And that person crying out in pain? It is her mom. Anna has seen her in the hospital so many times. I doubt it ever gets easier.

Emma is mean, of course. Lashing out at everyone else because she is scared and can’t express it.

Grandma is sad.

My mom has her own health to worry about. Don’t think that she’s not worrying about her sister’s, too.

And I – as usual – feel helpless and worthless. I know nothing. I can do nothing. I watch and I listen. I don’t understand what is going on. I wish that I could help. And I call in favors from whatever higher beings will listen.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Hate everything

Today fucking sucks.

I am exhausted. Thus unable to cope well.

And I committed to going to the funeral home after work.

Anna just called, looking for my mom's office number. She was all panicked. She's in the ER with her mom - my Aunt Marie.

It is absolutely the last thing my mom needs. Mom seemed so sick and so frail this weekend. She could barely walk. This heart thing has yet to be figured out. May be be her thyroid. Whatever the cause, it is absolutely slaughtering her quality of life. It is really scary.

I hate when life is like this. When the sky opens and dumps everything it has directly upon your head.

I want to cry.

Counting

I didn’t meet my future husband at the wedding. I didn’t meet anyone, as a matter of fact. I danced with my old coworkers and giggled and gossiped. I snuck in a few seconds to see the wedding for what it really was: the happiness beaming off of Kevin’s Replacement and his new wife. And then I found a few seconds to feel terribly envious of what they have.

And I am. Terribly jealous. But maybe I’ll have my turn. My mom keeps talking about how nice the new clubhouse is at Dad’s country club. “We need to take you girls there,” she told us yesterday, “so you can see where you’re going to get married.”

I hope so. I always thought that biological clock talk was bullshit, but I drive to work every morning picking out what houses in my neighborhood I would like to buy and I spend more time in the grocery store cooing at babies than I do purchasing food.

Last weekend, when Colleen and I were at Lucy’s house, Lucy said to us “one of you has to have a kid before me.”

I told her that the only way that was going to happen was if I was her surrogate.

I would love to beat her to motherhood. Just can’t see how that is going to happen.

And this is the part of this entry where I tell you all that I turn 26 on Thursday. 26 seems a lot older than 25. Which seemed a lot older than 24. I am pretty much not young anymore. Hence the anxiety.

For a brief moment, however, let us push my old age aside to pause and appreciate Saturday’s insane comeback by my Wolverines. Seriously, guys, I didn’t think you could do it. I was listening to the first half of the game while getting ready for the wedding and I was so irritated that I had to turn the game off. Imagine my surprise when I found out, on Sunday morning, that you pulled off the biggest turnaround in Big House history. Kudos. And Hail to the Victors.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

I annoy myself

Why is it that I cannot manage to start my homework before 9 pm on Sunday night? Why must I torture myself so?

Procrastination can kiss my ass.

Someone, teach me some coping skills. Quickly. Please.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Beginnings and ends

A woman who worked part-time for my company committed suicide yesterday.

She worked at my old building. I used to schedule her.

I never knew her well. We didn’t work together often. But we were pleasant acquaintances. She was always drinking a Gatorade. She always had her iPod with her.

Her son has red hair. He is about 10. He talks a lot.

And his mom shot herself yesterday.

My old boss called to tell me. She was all shaken up. Understandably.

A coworker brought it up to me. “It is so sad, especially for her son,” she said, “it isn’t something that you could ever come to terms with. It isn’t like she was sick with an illness or...”

That’s not something that I could let go. She was sick, of course. She was mentally ill. You don’t kill yourself unless you are sick. Mental illness is a sickness. I hate the stigma attached to mental illness.

And I hate to think of that redheaded boy who no longer has a mom.

***

I’m going to a wedding tomorrow.

It’s a work affair – Kevin’s Replacement is getting married. I’m really excited for him. He is so in love with the girl that he’s marrying. Just the purest, sweetest smitten that I have ever seen. He tries to act like a tough guy about it – pretending like life as he knows it is over – but all you have to do is look at him when he talks about her to know that he is completely full of shit.

Maybe it will be fun.

I feel like a failure, going without a date. Sitting with all of my coworkers and their husbands. I’m not looking forward to that part.

Kevin’s Replacement and I have joked about how he’s going to hook me up with one of his friends. Am not counting on it. Am not even looking forward to it. I kind of hate those awkward introductory moments. And small talk. And I really don’t want to dance with all of my coworkers around.

Am planning on wearing my absolutely favorite dress (it is the Laundry dress you can see at this post).

At least I’m guaranteed to look hot.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Complicating the crush

I could pretend like the coworkers aspect of my friendship with Darren is not relevant. But it is.

When he has to go late to our joint birthday party because he couldn’t get off of work, it is just a little more personal. And when you have a bit of pull with some people who can change that for him, it is hard not to interfere.

But I won’t. It isn’t appropriate.

It is weird because my work BFF Ashley works in the same office as him. It adds a dynamic that wouldn’t be there if he didn’t work so closely with someone who is one of my very best friends. If he says or does something that’s really funny, I’ll probably hear about it. When he gives her advice and insight into the mind of boys, she tells me.

And when he is an asshole? I hear about that, too.

Ashley has said, a few times, that she worries about him. His moods can be unpredictable. When he is in a foul mood, he doesn’t hide it. And it seems that when he drinks (at least when he is with us) it is to get drunk. Very drunk. “I don’t know what is going on with him,” she’ll say.

I certainly don’t know.

He’s private. Guarded, like me. I don’t even know if he has siblings. I can’t get in.

Ashley called me last night. Told me about how he totally lost his shit on someone at work. I get the impression that it was ugly. She reiterated that he had no idea of what was going on in his head.

So now I’m worried about him. Wondering why he’s being self-destructive. I want to say something, but I’m afraid that he’ll go off on me. Or go off on Ashley for telling me what happened.

In the grand scheme of things, I don’t know him that well. I like the kid. I think he’s a good person. It probably isn’t my place. He would probably tell me that.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Biggest loser ever

I got an email from my professor wondering what I hadn't posted the assignment that was due.

Oh, that would be because I didn't do it.

She does this thing where she marks everything with the week that its due. So all of the materials for this week (which, according to my calendar, started on 9/22/08) are marked 9/30/08. And the work is due 9/29/08.

It really makes no sense. But, still, it is entirely my fault and now I will spend tonight scrambling to finish that homework instead of working on this week's assignments.

Do you know how many times I have not turned in an assignment on time? Zero.

I am surprisingly calm about this.

Can't fix it now.

(Even though my natural reaction to this mistake would be to cry. See how much I've grown?!)

Monday, September 22, 2008

What I get for being nosey

It was a moment of weakness. Weakness and curiosity. I guessed his season had started by now; I wanted to see how his team was doing. And maybe his headshot on the team webpage.

And then, in front of me, was his biography.

They always include marital status. As though it has anything to do with how they play the game.

A girlfriend. Samantha.

And then the article. All about his arrival in his new European country, playing in a new European league for a team that is oh so happy to have him on their roster.

There was a casual mention of the girlfriend he has in the last country he played.

He expects to receive visits from his girlfriend Samantha quite often. The British girl student of his and is about to complete his education in England. If she is there, and he is here he believes he will not be a problem.
-- No, she would like to visit me as often as she can, and will, among other things, to live with me a few weeks time soon.


Thanks a lot, Google translator.

The wit is off the charts

Please don't be too jealous. But I spend the majority of my workday writing the invitation to Darren and Aly's Birthday Bash.

Yes, I am one of those people who writes an excessively wordy and overly clever evite. I can't help myself. The medium fits perfectly with my sense of humor.

Additionally: yes, you read that correctly: Darren and I are having a joint birthday party. His birthday is four days before mine. (Are Libras compatable with other Libras?)

No, as a matter of fact. I simply cannot wait.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Back to the basics

Lucy, Colleen and I drank at Lucy and Chet's house last night.

Lucy and Chet's brand new house, I might add. They bought it in late July (I mentioned it, I'm sure) and we had yet to have ourselves a good ol' fashioned girls night.

Lately, when we have gotten together, we've done it in a group. It's usually at my house, where we can drink, go to the bar and drink more and stumble back to my house to nosh on the contents of my cupboards until it is time to go to sleep/pass out.

If I'm planning on going out - with my sister and my cousin, with my soccer team, with my work friends or with my gay neighbors - I just invite everyone I know. For the most part, I hang out with people who are nothing like me: who don't mind a little socializing with folks who they didn't already know. Friendly type people, my friends are. (I am so not that way.)

As lovely as these big groups of my loud, funny, social friends/relatives are, I haven't had much alone time with Lucy and Colleen.

Last night, we returned to our roots. Vodka, brie, guacamole, gummy worms and 80s music.

We acted like bloody fools.

Bloody, dancing fools. Breakin' it down in Lucy and Chet's new dining room. Scarring poor Chet when he came home for the night. Acting like asses, like only we know how.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Opinionated

My sister has this crazy drive and unwavering belief in herself and that, I think, is why she is so successful at everything she does. Confidence will get you a long way. I know because I don’t have any.

One of the few things that Meg isn’t good at is making decisions. She likes to analyze. To talk through it. She does this thing – she does it to me, to Mom and to Dad – when she asks for our opinion but doesn’t really want it. She asks for our opinion in the hope that it mirrors her own. And if it doesn’t, she isn’t shy to tell you why you’re opinion is the wrong one. And then ask you for your opinion again.

My mom first noticed this quirk when Meg was still in elementary school. She asked my mom for help on a science project. But did it exactly how she wanted to do it anyway.

I could tell you a dozen stories of times she has called. “Aly...I have a question...” (she always starts out this way). I give her my opinion. It is wrong. She hangs up. Calls my mom or dad for their opinion. She keeps calling until she finds someone to agree with her.

She sent me a text message from her hockey practice last night. They were picking out their jersey numbers. She wanted my opinion. “I can have 2 or 5 or 19. What do you think? I know you’re going to say 2 [it is the number I wear for hockey and for soccer] but I don’t think that I’m a 2.”

Then don’t even ask me about #2!

I type back to her. “Go with 5. I feel like 19 is overdone.” It is the number that Steve Yzerman, longtime captain of the Red Wings, wore.

“Yeah, but single digits seem wussy in hockey.”

And that, friends, is what I mean when I say that Meg searches for opinions. But only to bolster her own.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Love Letters on a Thursday

Dear J. Crew,
All I want is to drop $150+ on your fine website. I have a hankering for this amazing purple dress (kudos! Love the design!), no time to go to the mall and try it on and a coupon code for free shipping. I love online shopping. Except your web page? Acting a little funky. And by a little, I mean that it is being a colossal pain in my ass and what should’ve taken 2 minutes has me slamming my face against my desk in frustration. I’m not really in the mood to work to spend my own money. Even if it is for a wicked cute dress.


Dear yoga instructor,
How ‘bout a little more attention to the hips?


Dear anxiety,
So this is what you feel like, eh?


Dear self,
Show restraint. Do not get Thai for lunch.


Dear self,
Also: finish up those assignments tonight. Both of them, even if one isn’t due until Saturday afternoon.


Dear boss,
When you described a Canadian sense of humor as a cross between a British sense of humor and an American sense of humor? Spot on. And, um, by the way: you’re so Canadian I cannot even stand it.

p.s. Way to forbid me to say “bless you” to you more than once every 15 minutes. I know you have allergies and are sneezing all the time, but my voice isn’t really all that annoying and it is a nice gesture. Freak!


Dear red patent leather shoes,
You’re darling, but please try to hurt me just a tad bit less.


Dear note to look into something for an unknown customer that I definitely lost,
Please please please turn up.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Three

When I talked to my mom last night – as I do nearly every night – she had news. My cousin Liz’s husband had moved out.

I’m really sad for her.

I know that it wasn’t all him. I knew that it had been rocky. Maybe they’ll work things out. Maybe this is temporary. I am sad for her.

I have been blogging for nearly four years. I blogged about Liz’s wedding shower. About being her bridemaid. And now I am blogging about her separation. For me, it is surreal. I can’t begin to imagine how she’s feeling.

I suppose that the odds weren’t in their favor. You don’t think about that, when you’re inviting 500 people to your wedding. Or even when you’re one of seven bridesmaids. You don’t think that it won’t last. That they won’t make it to their third anniversary.

Mom wants to schedule an intervention. To get the cousins together. To do something. To get her out of her house. Beyond her misery, even if for only a few hours. I am all for it.

And I know that I should probably call her. But what do I say?
“I’m sorry he moved out.”
“Maybe it is for the best.”
“Lets get drunk.”
“He had a shitty personality.”
“I have no idea what you’re going through because I have never had a successful and serious relationship, let alone a marriage, let alone a marriage that has gone bad.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

I am really bad at this stuff – at showing people that I care. Because I keep returning to how I would feel in the situation. And, quite honestly, I wouldn’t want anyone calling or offering her sympathy or reaching out to me. I would want to stay at home in my pajamas, closed off to the world.

Maybe that is the reason that I have no idea what Liz is going through. Because I close myself off from the possibility of successful and serious relationships because it could go wrong. Because, in doing so, I won’t be like Liz. I won’t be hurt. I won’t have others hurting for me.

But this isn’t about me.
This is about Liz.
I feel sad for her.

And that’s the gist of it.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Riddle me this


Which color?

I have a really hot pair of brown boots that I can see wearing with the teal. But I'm sort of drawn to the fuchsia (or is it magenta? Or is there a difference?).

Maybe I just need to get a hot pair of black boots. And a pair of black tights. And go with the magenta dress. I wore a similar color at Cousin Mara's wedding and got compliments on how I looked in that hue. And maybe I wouldn't mind a reason to buy a bitchin' pair of black boots.

I am so good at spending money!

It’s either nature or nurture

It isn’t my fault.

It isn’t my fault that I look at my calendar as a mission: a mission to relentlessly cram activity into my life.

I am quite sure that I was genetically programmed to be this way. (And by this way, I really mean freakishly stupid.)

My schedule
-1 full-time job
-3 classes
-1 soccer team
-1 hockey team
-1 lesson/week with my figure skating coach
-1 blog

...not so different from Meg’s schedule
-1 full-time job
-2 classes
-1 hockey team
-2 soccer teams
-1 photo blog on Flickr

I would be rather curious to get us both into therapy to find the root of our desires to do everything, be everything, touch everything.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Fun, exciting and wet

I can do anything for four months. I keep reminding myself of that. I'm doing a really good job of keeping myself on task, a really good job of getting what I need done, but this won't be easy. This semester will be a challenge.

I can do anything for four months.

I don't know what the weather is like in everyone else's part of the world, but these hurricane remnants are insane. I woke up at 9 this morning and it has. not. stopped. raining. since. Now, I'm not complaining - I do realize that the weather we're getting in Michigan is essentially nothing. But I can't pretend like I don't notice. Because this shit is insane. Seriously.



Speaking of insane: I tried on bridesmaid dresses today! I met up with the bride (who, as I'm sure you'll recall, I barely know) to try on the dress she's seriously considering. It's okay. I didn't jump for joy but I didn't cry. It did not make me feel overly gorgeous or overly dowdy. It will do. (Unless she changes her mind. I don't think she's entirely convinced.)

On the topic of dresses: keep your eyes open for something cute and fun and flirty for me to wear for my birthday. And then let me know where you found it.

About my birthday: have I written about it? Am fairly excited, actually. Will be just like every other night we go out in my town - time spent at the bar bookended by eating and drinking at my house - but this will be for my birthday and thus, like, way more exciting.

Have you guys been waiting for me to FREAK THE FUCK OUT about the Michigan football team? Keep waiting, 'cause the situation is so pathetic that I can barely bring myself to care.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Babbling like a damn fool

So sleepy.

It will be - without a doubt - December before I know it. My birthday will speed by. Thanksgiving will be a blur. It will be December before I know it. And I will be able to say that I made it through this semester. And that I made it through a year without Colin.

One year down. 65 to go.

Maybe I will see him at soccer tonight. Maybe I will continue to not care.
After all, I have other things to worry about.
-School, without a doubt.
-My birthday party, which will be held in conjunction with Darren's birthday, which will be held in conjunction with MOST AWESOME TIME EVER.
-My mom's heart, which refuses to behave.
-Meg, because I never don't worry about her.
-My friendship with Colleen, which is rocky.
-What I will buy Emma for her 18th birthday.
-Scholarship applications.
-Internship applications.
-Learning how to cope with less sleep and more stress.

I will make it through. Playing soccer with Colin in the vicinity. This semester. Life with a little less sleep.

I can adapt.

I may need reminders about my capability. But I can adapt.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Twins

Lucy and I were talking about Darren.

I don't remember what she asked. But my answer? That I remember.

"He's hard to read," I said. "I can't quite figure him out. He's pretty private, I guess. Doesn't give you much to work with."

Lucy lifted an eyebrow.

"Looks like you've met your match."

We laughed. Uproariously.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

A little typical, a little political, a little crazy

Hurrah: Grey's Anatomy on DVD. Obviously!

Boo: My mom had a student fall ill in class. If you're going to get sick in class, it is probably pretty good luck to do it in a nursing class. Anyway, she came up to my mom and was talking about how she felt awful. "I am not the type of person to get anxious like this!" By the end of class, she was all folded over in pain. It wasn't anxiety. Eventually, my mom decided that she needed to go to the hospital. An ambulance was called.

The student cried. "I can't go," she said. "I can't. I don't have insurance."

Because that is what she worried about. Not her pain. Not what her pain could mean. But how much it was going to cost her.

That's so fucked up.

Unable to Rank: There's this psychic that everyone at work tells me is amazing. I don't know that I even believe in that stuff. But Ashley is having a hard time. And I am curious. And we have a coupon good for 20% off of readings in the month of September.

Like I told Ashley today: I am a sucker for a good deal. Even if it's a bargain on a swindle.

Monday, September 08, 2008

Seasons of love

Rent closed on Broadway last night.

To being an us for once, instead of a them.

I have never seen Rent on Broadway. Nevertheless, I am very sad to see it go.

Actual Reality. Act up. Fight AIDS!

The first time I saw Rent was in Toronto. I was a high schooler on a trip to Toronto with my family. We saw it. We loved it. Especially my cousin Paul, a sixth-grader who was a big fan of Mimi’s pleather outfits and her choreographed gyrations.

Measure in love.

As a musical, Rent was a feast. The stage, the costuming, the music. I remember leaving the theater in a haze. We ate dinner at Wayne Gretzky’s restaurant. I couldn’t get the music out of my head. It was not a specific song. It was a mangled melody of all of the songs, pounding away with my heartbeat. I felt like I could see the world differently.

The opposite of war isn't peace, it’s creation.

Maybe that is a grandiose way of looking at what is, at the minimum, a stage production. Fiction.

Give in to love or live in fear.

Or maybe it shaped the way I see my world.

There's only us, there's only this. Forget, regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way. No day but today.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

This semester calls for a theme

I don't know if they do it at other schools, but at Michigan the athletic department puts out what they call the season ticket t-shirt - a shirt (in maize, of course) just for that season. The schedule is on the back. Some bad-ass design is emblazoned across the front. And, even though you have 121 UM t-shirts, you buy another.

I'm thinking that I need a special t-shirt to commemorate my fall semester. And I am thinking that you all will want one, too. Because - if I make it out alive - it will be a victory for all of us. I will have successfully taken three classes while working full time. You will have read four months of whining without destroying your computer or poking your eyes out.

Mom and I talked about it for a long time on Friday night. I was (okay - am) having all sorts of anxiety about committing to three courses. And she was willing to call bullshit on all of my fears. She does that. Academically, she will push me. And she did. Somewhat gently.

"Well, if I do take that third class..." I mused aloud, though we had already talked through it. Determined that I was capable. Supposedly moved on.
"If you do? You are. We just decided."

So I guess we decided. And I suppose I'll be taking three classes.

Which is why I need a t-shirt.

And a theme. To go across the front of the shirt. And on all promotional materials.

Can She Do It? Fall '08.


The shirts will be in maize. Obviously.

I am annoyed

Lucy and I were invited out for Colleen's friend's birthday.

And I am fairly certain it was for two reasons:
a. so we could drive them down to Detroit.
b. so we could plan everything.

Not in that order, I suppose.

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Success

I did it.

When I saw Colin's car in the parking lot, I called Ashley in a panic. She talked me down. And I went in - did what I was there to do, played well, had fun and didn't think much about the fact that we were in the same building.

After our game was over, I had to see him. Had to pay my bill. I looked him in the eye. I was short. Maybe a little bitchy. I think he was nervous.

I don't fucking care.

It is over. All of those months of anticipation. I saw him and the world did not crumble around me.

I'm fairly certain that he is still a douchebag.

Friday, September 05, 2008

Today could be a really big day

I have soccer tonight. For the first time since May, I am willingly putting myself into a situation where I am going to run into Colin. No guarantees – but more likely than not.

And while right now I don’t – honestly – give a hot shit about seeing him, at 10:00 pm when I am walking into that building it is going to feel a hell of a lot different.

My feeling of intense anxiety is identical to the feeling I get when I am intensely nervous. My stomach flips and flops. My jaw sets. My hands get shaky. My eyes stay trained downward.

It is how I will feel.

I need to remind myself that I am no longer angry. I cannot confuse those emotions. I am not angry. I have moved on. I bat my eyes at other boys. I don’t wake up in the middle of the night and check my phone to see if he’s called – like I did for the first three months after he disappeared. I had an amazing summer and it did not feel empty because he wasn’t in it.

I am nervous, not angry.
I am only nervous.

I don’t want to be that angry girl. I don’t want to risk giving him the satisfaction of believing that I am still pissed or hurt about what he did to me. I cannot bear the idea of him knowing that I still cannot bring myself to make eye contact with him.

I don’t want to be that angry girl.
I am NOT that angry girl.

I pray that he isn’t there. As miraculous as it will be to walk in there and remind him, immediately and wordlessly, of what he chose to throw away, it would be equally miraculous to walk in there and do my thing and play my game and see my friends without seeing the stupid boy who never gave a damn about me.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

“Shine your tailbone to the sky”

I took my 6:30 am yoga class for the first time since spring.

Not bad. My body appreciates the yoga workout. I always feel better leaving the class than I did when I walked in.

[Insert new devotion to yoga here.]
[Also new devotion to swimming for fitness.]
[And for keeping on track for my online classes.]
[I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I am obsessive about keeping a busy schedule.]

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

I don’t like it: I will do it

School starts today. Oh, hurrah, hurrah. I couldn’t be more thrilled.

I’m really not all that annoyed, actually. August treated me very well, but a little more structure in my life wouldn’t kill me. I like a routine – skating on Sunday morning, hockey on Sunday night, work until my soul has been obliterated, soccer on Friday nights, yoga on Tuesday mornings. Class will fit somewhere in there, once I decide on the courses that I’m taking.

I can’t believe that, a year ago, I got that unexpected and very last minute phone call that resulted me in starting class. That night.

Because I’m now a year into my education, I have my courses for the remainder of my program all mapped out. It is a requirement of the program, actually, so I met with my advisor and decided on the courses that would best benefit me.

Small complication: the one class that screams my concentration is, of course, only offered in the middle of the day on a Thursday. The only time that it will be offered before I graduate is this fall semester. So I sort of need to replace it with something on my plan of work.

Continuing the complication: I registered for a replacement class that I am not quite sure my advisor is going to want me to take. It isn’t exactly tailored for my concentration. But it is an area of the profession that I’m really interested in.

Complicating the complications: I can’t get in touch with my stupid advisor. He isn’t answering my email. And the program doesn’t have advising hours until after the second week of classes.

I am pretty much screwed.

So I’m registered for three classes.
Class #1: This required class that is only offered online. I am so, so afraid of online classes. I have also heard quite a few people bitch about this class, so I’m slightly afraid of it because of the content, too.

Class #2: This is the class that I want to take but am not sure if I’ll be permitted to add it to my plan of work. This class? Also online. Oh, how I loathe even the idea of taking a class online. You know what else I loathe? The thought that my advisor won’t okay me taking this class and so I’ll end up taking it for nothing but my own fun and amusement.

Class #3: Another required class. Fun. It is on Saturday (oh, goodie) – but in the afternoon instead of at 9 am, which I think it sort of nice. I have a feeling that the workload for this class has the potential to suck.

I don’t know what I am going to do and I don’t like it.

Monday, September 01, 2008

Summer

As far as seasons go, summer is over hyped. I feel like everyone goes roaring into summer with oodles of expectations that cannot possibly be met. Get a wicked tan. Fall in love. Successfully sneak out of work every day and go to the beach.

I cannot recall ever having an amazing summer. The fact that I am physically unable to tan and that I have never had a summertime fling probably has a lot to do with it. Also: hot weather? Not really a fan.

This last month has probably as close as I have come to living the summertime ideal. Sun dresses, memorable nights, a little crush and a lot of time with the people who I love. (Am still ghostly pale.)

The calendar reads September.
School starts tomorrow.
This run of fun can't last forever.

I wonder what next year will be like. How will the end of summer feel? Maybe I'll be a better person. Maybe I'll be more content. Perhaps there will be a man in my life. A new best friend. A different job. A house that I own. A baby in the family. A wedding on the horizon.

Or maybe there will be a tan.

Faux, of course.
 
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