(no subject)
You know what's a bit sad? Is that I was really looking forward to recounting my events of the day. But, then I told my friend about it one the phone and it took some of the excitement out of the journal considering she's reallythe only one who reads it... And it is also a bit sad that it's Friday night and I'm perfectly content staying at home and writing in my on line journal.
I didn't miss the train. I somehow got up at five in the morning and arrived 20 minutes early. I got out of my roommates car, said goodbye to her sleepy eyed, half smiling face and stood under the railway overpass that seemed like it would shield me from the rain. In reality it just caught the smaller drops from the sky and concentrated them together to make larger drops that unfortunately were somehow attracted to my cheeks and melted off my freshly applied face. I cozied up to the wall to avoid any more disfiguration. I got a seat on the train, and was interrupted from my involvement in my book at the moment by the conductor man who after he collected my money said, while turning to the next passenger, "Geeze honey, what'd you get all over your coat?" I turned and realized that as I cozied up to the wall I apparently had smeared white, water based paint all over the back of my light brown jacket. It was in a kind of sponge print--like someone started texturing the garment for sale at one of those retro-teenie bopper mall stores--and it looked absolutely horrible. I took it off and tried to avoid getting any on the rest of my outfit.
I arrived and spent the whole day looking over my shoulder at beautifully toned men in little white hats. It was just great. Matthew, the friend that was graduating from boot camp, was receiving some very honorary award so we got to sit right up front with the proud parents of the other smart kids. They all stood up during wrong parts of the ceremony craning their necks and sticking their arms way up in the air dangling video cameras and digi photo cams from their finger tips. They squeal, hit the person sitting next to them on the arm, point, stand up, aim at nothing they can see, click, flash. They retract their cameras and look down at the viewing screen and frown because they had just mangled their son's first important accomplishment. But I'm one to talk because the whole ceremony I was upset because my digi camera wouldn't zoom quite far enough in to see the bulges in their button-up britches.
It was a good day. It was a romantic day. It was romantic mainly because I felt like I was in one of those heroic war movies where lots of people die and the weathered, tried men come back from battle and greet their loving wives and children. And you want to cry because you know the wives are just so grateful they didn't have to do it all alone. People in Matthew’s platoon had wives and children...and it was a bit shocking...but apparently normal in the Midwest for 20 year olds to be fathering and supporting a family of four. I'm twenty come November and I'm no way near even thinking about popping out another project that takes my life as I know it completely away, replacing it with a helpless inconvenience and a never ending source of love and accomplishment. No way.
Anyways...Matthew also let me hold his hat and hang onto his elbow when we were walking around everyone. So I got to pretend to some strangers for a few moments that one of these men was mine but at the same time waving my re-applied waterproof mascara and flashing them coy smiles. And I've just been thinking that getting to hang on to matthew wasn't nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be.
So I gave Matthew the burnt cookies and a copy of 1984, and waited at the train station again to ride back home. (Bummed 1 1/2 cigarettes off an Asian from San Francisco named Joseph J.)
I didn't miss the train. I somehow got up at five in the morning and arrived 20 minutes early. I got out of my roommates car, said goodbye to her sleepy eyed, half smiling face and stood under the railway overpass that seemed like it would shield me from the rain. In reality it just caught the smaller drops from the sky and concentrated them together to make larger drops that unfortunately were somehow attracted to my cheeks and melted off my freshly applied face. I cozied up to the wall to avoid any more disfiguration. I got a seat on the train, and was interrupted from my involvement in my book at the moment by the conductor man who after he collected my money said, while turning to the next passenger, "Geeze honey, what'd you get all over your coat?" I turned and realized that as I cozied up to the wall I apparently had smeared white, water based paint all over the back of my light brown jacket. It was in a kind of sponge print--like someone started texturing the garment for sale at one of those retro-teenie bopper mall stores--and it looked absolutely horrible. I took it off and tried to avoid getting any on the rest of my outfit.
I arrived and spent the whole day looking over my shoulder at beautifully toned men in little white hats. It was just great. Matthew, the friend that was graduating from boot camp, was receiving some very honorary award so we got to sit right up front with the proud parents of the other smart kids. They all stood up during wrong parts of the ceremony craning their necks and sticking their arms way up in the air dangling video cameras and digi photo cams from their finger tips. They squeal, hit the person sitting next to them on the arm, point, stand up, aim at nothing they can see, click, flash. They retract their cameras and look down at the viewing screen and frown because they had just mangled their son's first important accomplishment. But I'm one to talk because the whole ceremony I was upset because my digi camera wouldn't zoom quite far enough in to see the bulges in their button-up britches.
It was a good day. It was a romantic day. It was romantic mainly because I felt like I was in one of those heroic war movies where lots of people die and the weathered, tried men come back from battle and greet their loving wives and children. And you want to cry because you know the wives are just so grateful they didn't have to do it all alone. People in Matthew’s platoon had wives and children...and it was a bit shocking...but apparently normal in the Midwest for 20 year olds to be fathering and supporting a family of four. I'm twenty come November and I'm no way near even thinking about popping out another project that takes my life as I know it completely away, replacing it with a helpless inconvenience and a never ending source of love and accomplishment. No way.
Anyways...Matthew also let me hold his hat and hang onto his elbow when we were walking around everyone. So I got to pretend to some strangers for a few moments that one of these men was mine but at the same time waving my re-applied waterproof mascara and flashing them coy smiles. And I've just been thinking that getting to hang on to matthew wasn't nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be.
So I gave Matthew the burnt cookies and a copy of 1984, and waited at the train station again to ride back home. (Bummed 1 1/2 cigarettes off an Asian from San Francisco named Joseph J.)