I exist.
Summertime.
Summer nights.
Summer squash.
It all just sounds so beautiful. And every day before three and every night after nine, and on those sporadic Tuesdays when I don't work, I gather evidence for my thesis that money *can* buy happiness. If I could marry rich and spend my 12 waking hours outside, eating a juicy watermelon wedge or inside, watching "Freaks and Geeks" with the A/C cranked up to explosive status, I would die an obese, content woman.
At the same time, it's rather depressing that these next few months will nearly definitely be the most relaxing period of my life until I hit 85 and enter a nursing home, where my most pressing issue will be trying to catch Gladys cheating redhanded on Bingo night. Even now, lying here on my parent's bed in a 60 degree room, a few of Sisyphus' stones are lodged in my brain. I still have to send in the paperwork for ROTC, I haven't filled out my health forms for Northwestern, I have a stack of blank thank you notes in my room, I need to run an 8 minute mile by August 10. It's always something, and I'm reverting to my old habit of ignoring pressing issues until the last centisecond. Blah, it's too hot to run, anyway.
I'm officially a graduate, and I'm trying to ignore the million regrets that are pecking away at my sanity. Not necessarily any important ones, but I do wish that I had taught my parents how to use a camera *before* prom so that there's be more closeups of Liam and me, rather than the Jacobson's foliage with our heads barely visible in the corner, and that I had left my house a half hour earlier on Graduation Day so I wouldn't be stuck in a traffic jam worse than that scene when everyone's trying to escape the aliens in "Independence Day," and have to resort to screaming at the traffic officer "I'M GOING TO MISS MY GRADUATION IF YOU DON'T LET MY DAMN CAR GO," and then have to hitch a ride up the hill in some random car that turned out to be driven by Josh May's grandparents. I guess that I just built up these idealized versions of these age-old monumental landmarks, and never imagined that I'd receive my diploma drenched in rain and perspiration.
Oh, poo, Nicole. Everything was fantastic, if not fairy tale perfect. Prom was basically everything I had envisioned, and was definitely worth the outrageous amounts of Junction money that I shelled out to get myself glammed. Liam looked beautiful in his tux because Liam Gluck is a beautiful person, and he was essentially the perfect date, staying within a 10 foot radius of me during my killah dance moves that were mostly inspired by the Richard Simmons workout videos that my mom and I worked out to together when I was 8. Afterprom wasn't too hot, mainly because Liam had to leave by 12:30 to get sleep for school, thus dwindling the amount of non-drinkers to two. Bleuuurgh. I'll probably have to get drunk at least once before college to complete the requisite ritual that millions of my forebearers have partaken in, but I'll probably slap myself because intoxicated people annoy me. You're not funny, the world doesn't hate you, and Danny's not impressed by your ability to drool all over his shoulder.
People seemed to like my Class Day speech- relief! I had actually employed half of my English class to laugh uproariously during any potential awkward silences, few of which ended up occuring. I'll be posting the speech soon so HANNAH FREEMAN WILL THEN BE INSPIRED TO PUT UP HER OWN FANTASTIC GRADUATION SPEECH.
So right now I'm "chillin,'" and I hate that term but there's no other way to describe my lethargic quest today. I need to write more often, peace out.
Summer nights.
Summer squash.
It all just sounds so beautiful. And every day before three and every night after nine, and on those sporadic Tuesdays when I don't work, I gather evidence for my thesis that money *can* buy happiness. If I could marry rich and spend my 12 waking hours outside, eating a juicy watermelon wedge or inside, watching "Freaks and Geeks" with the A/C cranked up to explosive status, I would die an obese, content woman.
At the same time, it's rather depressing that these next few months will nearly definitely be the most relaxing period of my life until I hit 85 and enter a nursing home, where my most pressing issue will be trying to catch Gladys cheating redhanded on Bingo night. Even now, lying here on my parent's bed in a 60 degree room, a few of Sisyphus' stones are lodged in my brain. I still have to send in the paperwork for ROTC, I haven't filled out my health forms for Northwestern, I have a stack of blank thank you notes in my room, I need to run an 8 minute mile by August 10. It's always something, and I'm reverting to my old habit of ignoring pressing issues until the last centisecond. Blah, it's too hot to run, anyway.
I'm officially a graduate, and I'm trying to ignore the million regrets that are pecking away at my sanity. Not necessarily any important ones, but I do wish that I had taught my parents how to use a camera *before* prom so that there's be more closeups of Liam and me, rather than the Jacobson's foliage with our heads barely visible in the corner, and that I had left my house a half hour earlier on Graduation Day so I wouldn't be stuck in a traffic jam worse than that scene when everyone's trying to escape the aliens in "Independence Day," and have to resort to screaming at the traffic officer "I'M GOING TO MISS MY GRADUATION IF YOU DON'T LET MY DAMN CAR GO," and then have to hitch a ride up the hill in some random car that turned out to be driven by Josh May's grandparents. I guess that I just built up these idealized versions of these age-old monumental landmarks, and never imagined that I'd receive my diploma drenched in rain and perspiration.
Oh, poo, Nicole. Everything was fantastic, if not fairy tale perfect. Prom was basically everything I had envisioned, and was definitely worth the outrageous amounts of Junction money that I shelled out to get myself glammed. Liam looked beautiful in his tux because Liam Gluck is a beautiful person, and he was essentially the perfect date, staying within a 10 foot radius of me during my killah dance moves that were mostly inspired by the Richard Simmons workout videos that my mom and I worked out to together when I was 8. Afterprom wasn't too hot, mainly because Liam had to leave by 12:30 to get sleep for school, thus dwindling the amount of non-drinkers to two. Bleuuurgh. I'll probably have to get drunk at least once before college to complete the requisite ritual that millions of my forebearers have partaken in, but I'll probably slap myself because intoxicated people annoy me. You're not funny, the world doesn't hate you, and Danny's not impressed by your ability to drool all over his shoulder.
People seemed to like my Class Day speech- relief! I had actually employed half of my English class to laugh uproariously during any potential awkward silences, few of which ended up occuring. I'll be posting the speech soon so HANNAH FREEMAN WILL THEN BE INSPIRED TO PUT UP HER OWN FANTASTIC GRADUATION SPEECH.
So right now I'm "chillin,'" and I hate that term but there's no other way to describe my lethargic quest today. I need to write more often, peace out.