For those of you that know me, chances are good you have wondered where in God’s name I have been. But c’mon, did you really think I wouldn’t fall off the map for at least a little while?
For those of you that don’t know me, and read my blog, this post is an update on my life. It is largely insignificant in the blogging world, and probably unimportant– unless you are stalking me, in which case, you may already know this information but could use it to gain some kind of understanding into my psyche.
Where to begin? Working two jobs only proves itself stressful when A) a bike accident has left your knee in a crippled, swollen, sliced up state and B) you’re hungry because working two jobs means you can’t purchase any groceries. For instance, right now I am eating pretzel M&M’s out of the party size bag. This is breakfast. Mostly because I cannot fathom eating another peanut butter sandwich. Thankfully my knee isn’t aching in its typical, sharp-as-a-knife manner– rather, this is more of a dull roar.
Oh god, there is a point where one may have consumed too many M&M’s for breakfast. Someone bring me a glass of water.
Even if I consistently felt shitty (and thankfully my allergies have gone away), this week could not be anything less than fantastic. Shawn went to Alabama and left me with his Border Collie, Hot Sauce. Hot Sauce has been my favorite little buddy. We play with bubbles and frisbees in the back yard, go for long walks, and leave the bulkhead open so we can meander and get fresh air at night. He is as charming as he is sweet. No one cuddles quite so well. I have zero intention of returning him. This dog is mine now.
It’s not that my priorities or goals have fallen by the wayside, but I live to work (and work to live) now. Today is the tenth consecutive day that I have worked either job. It’s hard to find time to write or read or journeys to uncharted territory when you sleep eight hours (back to normal!) and barely fit in showers. (SIDENOTE- I’m not dirty or stinky, but realistically, it’s difficult to squeeze in a shower or two every day.) I do laundry when I have no underwear left, but that is nothing new.
After work, I don’t want to sit down and write four or five pages or expound useless crapola about life into the blogosphere. I want to socialize with the guys I am forbidden too busy to really talk to while at work. I want to play with mallets (pronounced malLAYS) on deserted beaches and swim in icy ocean waters and kick back an adult beverage or two. Or six. But I’m young and I bounce back from shit like that. Mornings aren’t painful, nor should they be. That might mean I am burning the candle at both ends.
I know how that turns out.
When I think, or find myself having the time to think, I think of ways to get in trouble with old friends; seduction tactics; lyrics to Phish songs (the most fitting include “There’s a blank space where my mind should be” and “’bout as faithful as a slot machine, pays off once in a while but then she’ll rob you clean”); how I really should clean my room; how I really should eat something; the direction of my own life compared to the wanderers around me; obscure sandwich ideas; ways to obtain ‘beach waves’ in my hair without actually going to the beach; ways I can get more beach time in per week; babysitting; bathing suits; and anything that qualifies as “Something I would do in my free time, if I had free time.”
Aunts, cousins and friends alike, they ask me when I can visit, when they can visit, when am I free.
If I had an answer, I would tell you. But I don’t have one. For all intensive purposes, I am not free. I am a machine, running around, working like a little bee-eye-tee-see-aich. I am free after eleven and before eight thirty. Are you a night owl? Do you mind sharing a twin sized bed? Are you bringing friends? Any aversions to cold?
I invite you all to visit, but I warn you that I cannot hold your hand and I cannot devote all my attention to you.
Alas, I find time to cook steaks and potatoes and onions on the grill and to share wine and potato chips with friends and roomies. We can sit in the yard and talk about college and moving forward and understanding what it means to capitalize on ones time. We can recount tales of stupid love and stupid times and stupid stupids. I’ll make you dinner, because I like to cook, and I like you, so it seems natural that the two coincide. It’s too bad I can’t drop everything to make this happen– because you know that I would.
Today I am bringing back the fresh white t-shirt. I swear no one ever looked so nice and felt so clean.
-I am so fucked if I hit a pot hole. I wish I had a stinkin’ head light so I could see something.
-Next time I go down Maravista, I am bringing a steak knife with me. This is sketchy.
-Fool. Bring a damn sweatshirt.
-If those idiots steal my bike while I am in the store, shit is gonna blow up.
-How much is a can of spray paint?
-I need more friends with cars.
-I need to get a life.
Filed under: College, Late Night | Tags: complaining, Falmouth, future, happiness, moving out, summer, work
-Do I stay up tonight and feel like shit in the morning, or just go to sleep now? This is a problem I have faced every day for the last five years. Anyone who has ever been my age will understand completely.
-Do I write ‘exempt’ on my tax return and get most of the money I earn, or do I write ’1′ and get a nice hefty tax return next Spring? Today I started my second job. I immediately put down ‘exempt’ on my W-2. Why? Well, the whole point of having a second job is for extra dough. I want to spend this money. But only this money. It is a great way to budget, don’t you think? However, I wasn’t expecting to have to fill out another tax form at my job from last summer (Glass Onion.) I mean, they already have my data on file somewhere. Why would I fill it out again? Alas, Josh approached me with all the paperwork I need for taxes and to return to the payroll. So now I am faced with this dilemma– and I have no idea what to do. While forced savings are nice– there is no doubt in my mind that my tax return was anxiously awaited and thoughtlessly spent this Spring– I would like to be able to see all my earnings from the Summer on September 1st, as opposed to waiting. Which is the better choice? I cannot decide.
-Is this something that my parents would approve of? Well, I find whenever I have to ask myself that question (which is less than even I would expect,) the answer is usually “no, they would not.”
-What do I want to do with my life? Perhaps I will ask myself this very question every week of my life until I am 54, but it seems to pop up every hour at the moment. I finally moved out (finally! I’ve talked about it on my blog for years, and I know that you were all as excited as I was when I finally broke the news) and my roommates are… smart. Ambitious. Destined for unbelievable things. And I, I work at a restaurant and schmuck around beaches and walk on sidewalks. A few years ago, I had wild dreams for myself, but now, I am content with finishing a book, or enjoying a day of laying in bed and watching Instant Netflix, or ranting via skype to my best friend (who is at school in Scotland) about nothing in particular– although we especially love to rant about how we don’t envision the same things our parents that had/have in mind for us. I confessed to my roommates that I once had ambition and drive, just like them, but my summers in Falmouth were likely the cause of my sudden… lack of any kind of motivation. They laughed. The only two desires I am certain of are publishing a novel and being happy. Nonetheless, I still don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I am confident that coming to Falmouth for the summer is at least a step in the right direction for the latter goal…
-Am I dying? Sometimes I think that I am. Thankfully, people like Chicken remind me that even Wayne Campbell thought he had mono, and it turned out he was just really bored. I did get one decent beach day in last week, as I meandered Falmouth, seeking entertainment of any kind, and wondering when in God’s name I would finally go back to work again. Ironically enough, once the sun finally came out (though for only a day), I got the call to come back to work for Saturday night. I’ve worked two G.O. shifts and I have doubts about if I would like to work all summer or not… Perhaps this is due to some strife with friends (yup, give me a week, and I will make you hate me. It’s easy,) but at the same time, I question how fabulous it will really be… And I swear, this has nothing to do with the fact that I am picking the spores of portabella mushrooms out from underneath my finger nails.
-What the fuck is in the corner? Well, last week, this question was more along the lines of ‘what the fuck is that sound?’ This house creaks and howls in the wind and makes terrible sounds… all the time. Especially at night. But yesterday I moved from my cozy, awesome upstairs bugalow (which was a little small), to the fantastically spacious, though chilly and slightly frightening basement bedroom. But I have a huge closet, a tv, and plenty of space for chairs and guests and maybe even another mattress for friends to stay. Reed has suggested I enter and exit strictly via bulkhead. Once it’s warm and sunny, I may actually do that. To be honest, that’s the fastest way to the fridge in the kitchen, anyway.
-What will happen if the Bruin’s lose? Possible answers: Rachel’s Dad has a heart attack, swaths of fans riot in the streets of Boston, I cut off my finger with a kitchen knife because I made the mistake of listening to the game on the radio while cooking. (Thankfully, they won Game 2 tonight.)
Filed under: College, Uncategorized | Tags: changes, college, moving out, summer, transitions
In three weeks, I will be moving into my own apartment.
There will be no more three AM fire alarms, leading to an evacuation mission of one hundred and thirty seven, nor will there be a friendly little Asian woman who I greet in the morning as she cleans the community bathroom and empties the trash.
It will be a significant day for many reasons. For those of you who know me, you know that I have been waiting for this day for a long time. Years, really. Maybe it was initially an act of pure defiance. Then again, I am stubborn and young and have a hell of a mind of my own. But it has evolved into a more positively-motivated endeavor. It is my best attempt to get what I want while also looking for a way to improve my relationship with my family. Hopefully, moving into my own place will signify a new chapter in my black sheep role–perhaps I will move back toward the grey sheep. It will also signify that I made it through my first year of college. Something which still shocks me.
This year has gone from bad to worse to Ok, I can handle this. It’s been two or three moments of blissful happiness, accompanied by endless sleepless nights of discontent, long afternoon naps alone in my twin sized bed, and phone calls home begging for a taste of happiness. Yet somehow, I’ve managed.
In fact, I have come to a point where I am relatively content with my existence here. It is a little less monotonous, though very oriented toward academics, trying to find time to sleep, and eating meals alone. But I am okay with that. Sometimes that is the hardest part about adjusting to anything–of course it’s not what I am really looking for– but I have to shut up and take it.
It could be a lot worse.
Forrest Gump was wrong. Life is not a box of chocolates. Life is a pantry full of random ingredients, and life is what you make of it. At the beginning of the year, I would argue the meal was none other than ‘mystery mush.’ Thankfully, my culinary skill has improved enough to serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You get sick of them day after day, but every once in a while, it is so much more delicious than you were expecting.
So what will this apartment/living on my own experience bring me? Well, it might get lonesome. I anticipate that, but I am very good at dealing with an excessive amount of solitude. I am sure there will be days when I am angry about having to pay rent, or listen to my roommate have sex in the room next door, or that I have no more food left to eat for the week… and it’s Tuesday. But I think there will also be a lot of good. I am sure I will love being able to traipse in and out without warning, permission or expectations. I will love my short walk to the Falmouth Heights Beach. I will love that the Dairy Queen is an even shorter, arguably more tempting, walk around the corner. I will love that I can live in my own filth and no one will bitch that I need to clean my room (although something tells me I will clean it on my own, more often than before.) I can’t wait to bake constantly. Let’s be honest–I just can’t get enough of it.
With no real certainty can I predict what will go down living in my own apartment. But I really like that there is no sneak preview.
We will see what happens, and hopefully things turn out well. (Is there any reason for them not to?) I know I have the ingredients to make a cake in this pantry, and I have made cakes before (although not one’s with crazy liquers and a dash of cinnamon like this recipe calls for)… So it should be okay. I’m a baker. I will figure it out.
In three weeks, I will have fulfilled 90% of the credentials of a full fledged adult. It’s scary, in theory, but I am really excited. Bring me my wooden spoon!
Filed under: Serendipity, Uncategorized | Tags: clothes, happiness, moving out
Best feeling in the world: Realizing your favorite shorts from last summer still fit.
And that's not the only way today has been ironic.
Jesus Christ.
In all honesty, I am six seconds from losing it.
Ironically, I am watching The Shining, too.
Go to college, listen to me, clean your room, don’t work at the cape, work at the cape, kiss my ass, feed the dog, wash the sheets, it goes on and on and on and on and I am about to explode like coke and mentos. It’s gonna get messy, ladies and gentlemen.
Fuck it.
Lloyd, you set em up and I’ll knock em back.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Boston College, Boston University, choices, college, drinking, friends, George Washington, happiness, ice cream, Massachusetts, money, moving out, Northeastern University, Villanova
Scenario: You hear the ting ting song of the ice cream man coming down the street. You race to find a dollar, alert your sister, and bolt outside. The creeper stops the truck and greets you. And then you are faced with the toughest decision you may make all day, if not all week: what the hell am I going to get?
And this, my friends, is the exact dilemma I face with finally picking a college.
Like the ice cream man, price is important. What can I get with a dollar? (Nothing.) And so is perception. What will my friends think if I get this? (Loser.) You have to enjoy what you order. Am I going to like how this tastes? (You better.) Ice cream needs to have the right bells and whistles. No gum balls in this one? (You’re fucked.)
So while in some aspects, I have my choices limited down to ten (because those are the schools I applied to,) that’s still ten fucking choices!
Right now, I have been accepted into 8.5 out of 9 schools, and I am still waiting to hear back from NYU. Which means I can decide from:
- University of Vermont
- Boston College (1/2)
- Boston University
- Northeastern University
- UMASS, Amherst
- Fordham University
- Villanova University
- George Washington University
- Hawai’i Pacific University
(Those were organized North to South, by the way.)
Let’s eliminate a few.
Hawai’i – you are too damn far away and I have never been to Hawai’i. Plus your dorms are 30 minutes away from the main campus.
ZooMass – Fuck you. All my friends go there, and while tuition may be free for me, I would rather die than live in captivity with the other animals in the middle of a cow pasture.
UVM – I don’t want to become a habitual pot-smoker. And god DAMN is it cold.
Fordham – I could go here, I guess, but I never really gave it a lot of thought. And it’s small. I need a bigger school. I mean, I suppose we could get along just fine, but if I really wanted you, I would have made more of an effort.
Ha. Reread Fordham. What a break up letter.
So what am I down to?
- Boston College
- Boston University
- Northeastern
- Villanova
- George Washington
These are the heavy hitters.
For sanity’s sake, let’s eliminate NYU.
NYU – you intimidate me a little. And WTF no sports? Idiots. Get some damn athletes.
Okay.
Now here is the analysis as to why I would like to go to all these other schools:
Boston College – You are the alma mater of BOTH my parents. You have harbored my childhood with memories of football games, losing matchbox cars, and eating chocolate chip cookies at tailgates in Shea Field. I already know I’ll be happy here, because I am A) moderately preppy B) white C) Catholic D) a football fan and E) already familiar with what your school has to offer. And have been aware for years. I mean, really. My best, most favorite sweatshirt is that maroon BC juggernaut of a thing.
BUT, what’s up with the waitlist? To me, that is a sign that it isn’t meant to be. That means God, or something or someone out there, is telling me not to do it. And I listen to signs like that. Most of the time.
Boston University – I love your city streets. I love Boston. I love the lights, sounds, and smells. I love your hockey team, your diversity, your culture. I love the idea of having the option to minor in communications. I hear you’re renown for that. I know I could and would be happy in your arms. Simple as that.
BUT are there enough events on campus that my social life will be satisfied? Are you geared closely enough to your students? Because I know you have a lot of them. And on a scale of one to ten, how necessary will it be for me to get a fake id? Is there much else to do but go to the bars and clubs? (Not that I’m complaining, but I would rather start my inevitable romp to alcoholism after my senior year…)
Northeastern – You gave me a scholarship. I will definitely have a job when I leave college. You have athletics, a campus, amenities, and students. You fit the bill. I can’t really complain. I really can’t.
BUT am I going to be happy giving up my traditional summers to take classes and/or work for my co-op requirements? Uh, unless I can fulfill them all in Woods Hole, I’m not so sure how happy I will be with that….
*Perk to all the Boston area schools: close to skiing, boy, and my sports teams.
Villanova – Well, I never expected to get in. And your business school is top notch. As aforementioned, I am moderately preppy, white, and Catholic. When I first walked on your campus, I was shocked by how much I fell in love with each step. You’ve got sports, and you’ve got smarts. People have been telling me I should go here. College is my golden opportunity to travel to a new place. You’re close enough to Philly that I can find a new city to learn and love… There are people from all over the east coast here… I could go on for hours about why I should go here. And I want to finally try a cheese-steak.
BUT I don’t want to leave the people who mean a lot to me back in Massachusetts. That’s important to me.
George Washington – You have a climate that I could get used to. The people are nice. The buildings are quaint. The city is alive and new and something I have never quite experienced ever. I would love to get a chance to intern on capitol hill. I would love to wear shorts in November and March. I think we could be a good fit.
BUT it’s a little close to the Mason-Dixon line for my liking… And something in my gut is telling me no. I don’t know why.
(*Note: All these schools cost roughly about the same. A shit ton.)
I’m not quite sure which schools would equal what novelty ice creams. I think BC may be the ice cream sandwich though- safe, familiar, tasty, but not necessarily the best pick. Either way, the ice cream man is waiting to snatch my dollar and the clock is ticking. I still have no idea exactly where I should be, what to choose. Then again, it is ice cream, so how wrong can it really be?
Christ, I love ice cream.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: friends, moving out, weirdnerd, Westfordia
Since Thanksgiving, I have slowly but surely started to become a Townie.
I frequent WHOP against my better judgement.
I know where all the cops sit.
I have taken the time to discover new roads to drive around.
I have made friends with the owner of the Mobil station at four corners, Alex.
I am taking a class on its history.
Dare I say it, but a part of me has kind of grown to like the place. Yikes.
Westfordia is boring and it is rural and it is pretty lame.. But I have been bonding with it. I have been hanging out in my town, and meeting lots of new people, and actually enjoying myself (to a certain degree.)
I have to wonder if I have contracted syphilis. This isn’t Katie. This isn’t normal. It doesn’t sound okay.
I don’t believe in regret, but that is the only word that comes to mind when I think of how I have treated my town for all these years. Westfordia has provided me with so much, most of which I have criticized, if I haven’t taken it completely for granted. There is something great about it here, even if I can’t quite name what that something is.
I hope my last few months here are positive. I hope I leave with a good feeling, as opposed to hatred or anger. I can’t discount the past fourteen years of my life- they were here, in Westfordia, in all its pride, shame and glory. I know, regardless of how great I may feel in May about Westford, I am getting on out, but I hope I have fond memories of my senior year and the town I lived in.
Things are looking that way. But I still hope they get a little brighter.
Westfordia
—
Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over. – F. Scott Fitzgerald
