I Feel Like I'm in the Army
This is because I'm leaving for Philly today to start recruiting for the Admissions Office, and whenever I hear the word recruitment, I involuntarily think of the army. This isn't that kind of recruitment, however. I'm rather excited-and a bit nervous-about meeting guidance counselors and students and telling them about Gettysburg. Let's hope that I make it to all my schools on time.
But I'm not overly stressed today because I got to pick up my company car on Friday and it's a red Volkswaggon Jetta!! I have never driven anything so flashy and fancy; none of our family cars even ever had automatic windows or locks. Thus, this is a momentous occasion, and one that should be slowly brooded over in quiet happiness, like the sipping of a fine merlot. Ok, maybe it's not that serious an occasion, but I do confess that I was really giddy yesterday to take the jetta for a testrun. It's only sensible to practice driving the car a bit, after all, so that I have better control over it when it comes time to actually leave. Yes.
In contemplating travel, I do sometimes wish I were in France again; I often dream of Aix-en-Provence, and the dreams that I have are so vivid and tangible that I can still sense the uneven cobblestones pressing into the soles of my shoes as I walk down the Cours Mirabeau, or as my gaze stretches out past the fields of olives and lavender, where, thrust unapologetically heavenward Paul Cézanne's Mont Saint Victoire drapes itself over Aix. Ah, you see? Daydreaming makes me far too conventionally poetic for my own good.
I follow Elizabeth Bennet's advice and "think only of the past as its remembrance gives me pleasure." How sensible indeed!
But I'm not overly stressed today because I got to pick up my company car on Friday and it's a red Volkswaggon Jetta!! I have never driven anything so flashy and fancy; none of our family cars even ever had automatic windows or locks. Thus, this is a momentous occasion, and one that should be slowly brooded over in quiet happiness, like the sipping of a fine merlot. Ok, maybe it's not that serious an occasion, but I do confess that I was really giddy yesterday to take the jetta for a testrun. It's only sensible to practice driving the car a bit, after all, so that I have better control over it when it comes time to actually leave. Yes.
In contemplating travel, I do sometimes wish I were in France again; I often dream of Aix-en-Provence, and the dreams that I have are so vivid and tangible that I can still sense the uneven cobblestones pressing into the soles of my shoes as I walk down the Cours Mirabeau, or as my gaze stretches out past the fields of olives and lavender, where, thrust unapologetically heavenward Paul Cézanne's Mont Saint Victoire drapes itself over Aix. Ah, you see? Daydreaming makes me far too conventionally poetic for my own good.
I follow Elizabeth Bennet's advice and "think only of the past as its remembrance gives me pleasure." How sensible indeed!