Tuesday, June 1, 2010


I chatted with my father today.

He said I needed to get a wooden rod to put in the ledge of my window so that if I opened it at night it would prevent someone from opening it all the way and coming in and killing me. I told him that if someone wanted to kill me that bad then I probably deserved it.

I’m writing this in a word document knowing I will post it to my blog tomorrow morning. The trouble is I don’t get wireless internet in my new room so I cant post this immediately. That’s ok, i don’t really mind. Im ready to slow down the immediacy of information in my life.

In suburban Claremont I write with my bedroom window open, ready for the killer, or just the violins of crickets. I text Taylor telling her I am writing, she says she is proud of me, and I suppose I am too.

The last two nights I have replaced my usual bottle of wine with tall plastic tumblers filled with chocolate milk and I thought, “I am growing up”. I then chuckled at that idea.

Tomorrow I will wake up and have a glass of water, and it wont be an attempted cure for a hangover. I will watch episodes of Seinfeld tonight and think about how Josh has lived this life much longer than I have, and for that I respect him more than I do already.

My father comes in and talks to me about being an RA. I realize again how different we are, but my dad speaks with a genuine tone and there is no mistaking how grateful he is for that time in his life. I am not ready to look at the last four years of my life as “a time”. Not yet.

I sit, cross-legged, on my new bed, a bed that barely has room for one. I at first was disappointed with the lack of space for a companion. I quickly realized I have no companion to fill it, and wont for quite some time. I smiled at this.

There are stacks of my books under an old church pew on the north wall of my room. The pew is from the church my mother grew up in. Somehow it slipped itself into this room a few years back. My books and records sit sheltered beneath this simple wood bench that was once sat upon by faithful parishioners. I have decided to keep it here. Although an agnostic myself, the pew has a charm that I cannot place.

The bright yellow walls of this room say, “Welcome!” a bit too loud. I will paint them a warm light brown soon. I will take the hour and a half bus ride to work everyday and clumsily make my way through “Infinite Jest”, it is time that David Foster Wallace and I become acquainted with one another.

Every night at about 1030 PM this house drifts into quiet. It would be offensive to not take advantage of this gift. So here I sit, cross-legged, wearing gym shorts and t-shirt, hoping that I am taking that advantage.

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