Saturday, March 29, 2003
I woke up this morning remembering how once, not very long ago, I used to walk across a bridge every day where the Thames was murking below and disappear into the cobblestone mess of Covent Garden or maybe just the Pret-a-Manger on the corner of the Strand for a tomato, basil and mozzarella sandwich (that's tom-ahh-toe, baah-sil, and mozzarella).
It seems like such a long time ago that I'd wander around Oxford Circus on a practically daily basis (never good for the credit card, but oh, I miss the Saturday afternoons when getting lost in the giant Top Shop was my number one priority).
I'm not even sure I was ever really there now, or maybe it was just a really nice dream.
I need to go back. I need to navigate my way through a crowd at Waterloo and look up at the London Eye every day on my way home, checking the time and temperature on the National Theatre's scrolling marquee. As soon as I figure out a schedule for the summer, I'm booking tickets and heading off for at least a few days, which will never be enough.
When things are going well, I always have to stop and remind myself a little sadly that the bad (and good) thing about being at this point in my life is that nothing ever lasts for more than a few months really.
[11:37 AM EST] [6]
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
It was sometime between midnight and one o'clock in the morning; there was ice cream — Ben and Jerry's Half Baked, to be exact — to be purchased. So we were in line, waiting to pay.
On the conveyer belt, just before our lone pint of ice cream, were sprawled the items of two tame, on-the-dorky-side college boys, attempting not to look anyone directly in the eye.
Items as follows: one box of sushi (12 pieces), 12 glo-sticks (red, white and blue) and one large box of condoms (Trojan, lubricated).
I'm not very good at not giggling at crucial moments.
[04:03 PM EST] [5]
Tuesday, March 25, 2003
I was going to write this somewhere else, but it seems like that's all I ever do these days. This site has become like the forgotten stuffed animal from my childhood that just sits on my bed, collecting dust and making me feel a little sad that I neglect it so much every time I see it, but not necessarily inspiring me to do anything about it.
So here I go:
I feel like I'm treading water a lot these days — granted, to abuse the metaphor: it's probably warm, Caribbean water but — it's a lot of effort keeping myself up.
I write myself long to-do lists several times a week. Sometimes I even slot out each hour: how it'll be spent, what needs to be accomplished by when, mapping out how it'll all get done. On a good day, I get about halfway through the list.
More often than not, it's the sleep that gives. And the school work, which might seem kind of ironic since I routinely write "student" on forms that ask my profession, but when there are other things that demand time, well, what I'm least interested in — currently one half of my courseload — is the first to go. Whoops. Sorry about that.
But then the other things start slipping here and there: I'm feeling uninspired and I don't know. I just. Don't. Know.
It's late March and beautiful out. I don't see my friends as often as I'd like, but I know they're there. I don't have a job for the summer yet and it's been a while since I've heard any news on that front, but I'm lining up back-up plans that I think could be ok. I'm still not sure exactly where things stand with significant others, but at the same time — it's good.
All I really fear is some big wave coming and washing away this equilibrium I've created for myself. I tell myself I'll just wait it out a few more weeks. Then summer will come, I'll find a new pond to keep from drowning in, but I think it'll be ok.
[04:51 PM EST] [reply?]