Wrap Up

At once an eventful and seemingly slow-paced weekend. Saturday, A., J., and I went to lunch at a Greek restaurant in South Hadley. (A. has been craving Greek food and so we decided to make a trip.) The restaurant was the best sort of horrible: dining room was dead silent, but for the low-volume lite rock soundtrack; decor was a cross between a strip club and a funeral parlor (highlights: mirrored Venetian blinds, wallpaper border that alternated images of the Parthenon and the Bud Lite logo, white/gold Naugahyde booths). Our waitress was helpful, the food was terrible, and the immediately recognizable scent of resin wafted from the kitchen at uneven intervals. After we left, A. told us that she'd read that the place had roaches. Niiiice.

Our Superbowl gathering was low-key: just four of us with Midwestern delicacies aplenty. I wasn't rooting for one team or the other, especially, though my sympathies lay with the Cardinals (based on their supposed underdog status). It's strange: I never used to enjoy watching sports - pro or otherwise - but this trend has reversed itself in the past two years. I do appreciate the social aspect of spectation, but also the knowledge of the athletes' skill: how much training has led to each performance. Yes, I feel (strongly) that pro athletes are paid waaaaay too much, but thinking of the physical perseverance required of said athletes is kind of awesome. (Instant replay only increases my appreciation - seeing some of those collisions in slow-mo makes me cringe, and makes me glad that I'm not a pro football player.) Perhaps my own rekindled interest in physical fitness has inspired this more abstract appreciation of athleticism? Who knows.

A crazy week ahead/in progress. Meetings, appointments, thesis work (the end is near). Last week, fueled by nostalgia and consistent doses of Tylenol Cold, started writing a story I've been thinking about for years. I'm not sure if I'm pleased with the partial draft or not: pleased with the voice, not necessarily with the mvmt. Will keep at it.

Last night, I dreamed that I was in college again, this time at UMass. I kept taking on responsibilities - working at the circulation desk at the library, helping clean the horse barns (for free?), joining flag team. And I was really stressed out because I'd obviously overcommitted myself, and then I woke up.

How else do I spend my time when there's real work to be done?

Not really feelin' the semester: not just yet. Perhaps this owes to the non-transition from winter break to now; the shatty weather; the cold of death which is slowly but steadily taking over my respiratory system, keeping me awake nights with its phlegm-producing capabilities (gross, I know: I am sorry); or the fact that Januaries are always the least fun month of the year, in my experience [my experience beginning Junior year of high school, that is, prior to which January was just another month - a cold month, it is true, but a month just the same]. Before I get too whiny - which I feel I have been lately, and for which I apologize - I should mention some random, awesome, and awesomely random things about myself, my environs, and etc.:

1) About 100 pages into This is Not It and it's sort of hit-or-miss, but in the best sense. The sense that some passages/narratives are a little "meh," but others just floor me. Like this one, for instance:

"It is the night of the world. Life is dark and hidden from me. The animals cannot sleep. The mountains are complacent and stalwart. The caves are shy, without light. The plains don't want to be flat. The desert is listless, waiting. I have been sitting here a very long time listening to the wind as it races past. It is howling and wailing, it is crying. It pules. It shakes the glass in the windowpanes. I stare out into the dark night. I am completely alone, my hand caresses my neck. The beauty of the world stretches away from me" (57).

How could a person not be moved by this? I wondered as I sat in the grad lounge this afternoon, listening to the water tick in the radiator, eating a soggying sandwich. These gorgeous, declarative sentences.

2. Today, the career counselor advised I buy a suit for interview purposes. (This means I need to be interviewed, right? Heh.) I was excited by this suggestion: how many times have I fondly looked through the "suiting" section of J.Crew, only to flip to something more relevant to my lifestyle, like flip flops? Well, friends, now that I have the permission of someone trained to advise such things, I will no longer feel ashamed when lingering over those previously-forbidden pages. (Aside: for the record, I'm not going to buy a J.Crew suit: not that any of you thought I would. I don't have that kind of $$$! I'm looking for a real job! But, I will consider Banana.)

3. I am obsessed with "Crocodile Rock."

4. Not normally the type to daydream about vacations, I keep punishing myself by conjuring images of Tahiti/Cancun/Pensacola/California/THE EQUATOR/anywhere else that doesn't have snow. I'm baffled by this fantasizing; after all, I grew up in MN, which is a lot colder than where I am now. And my apartment is adequately warm, and I just bought onehellofa coat. What gives?

5. E. and I went to brunch this past weekend for the first time in a long time, and it was the nicest. I wore a zip hoodie and had three cups of coffee.

6. The trotting animal can restore red hearts to red.

7. I don't know about you, but I'm getting excited for the Superbowl, if only for the culinary opportunities it affords.