(no subject)
As I squirted ketchup onto the tray I considered how long it's been since I've eaten inside a Jack in the Box. (Eating food purchased from JITB via drive-through in the car is a different category.)
I positioned myself at a table where I could see the drive-through customers and hear what they ordered at the same time via the person working the window. It's a great exercise in people-watching with a bonus: Find out who likes which kinds of food!
I had worked an hour overtime, then walked 20 minutes in the bitterly ice COLD wind to eat a very late lunch (at 4 pm) before J picked me up. I hadn't had lunch at the normal time because I woke up too late (5 am) to make one for either me or J, too tired because of staying up until 10 pm the night before at a jazz group rehearsal for the prime timers banquet. (I have since heard that the "special music" at the banquet was a smashing success and in the words of one dear older lady, "I felt like jumping up to dance.")
A year ago, no, two years ago, it would have been a Wednesday night. I would have arrived first and studied neuroanatomy or nutrition notes until S walked in, motorcycle helmet under one arm and gloves in hand. We would talk about vehicle problems, the prospect of a new vehicle, my class notes, his classes, anything we had heard at school that was interesting, etc., until A and crew arrived. Food would be ordered and E or D appointed as receipt-keeper and food-getter. If A's braces had been adjusted recently (it seemed they were always being tightened) then he would gum down two regular tacos (why he tolerated a crunchy shell is beyond me.) G would come last, right after her chiropractor's appointment, and sometimes we would share a salad.
After Bible study I would drive the 45 minutes back home and study/talk online some before going to bed.
So much has changed.
I have essentially forgotten about midterms and finals and don't keep track of schools either starting or stopping. It's all far enough away that I can say with all sincerity, "I MISS studying." And I'm as astonished as you are.
I've piled oh so many new things on top of the old. Getting married. Being married. Paying a mortgage. Working a full-time job with benefits and paid holidays and vacation and a retirement plan. Becoming a church member. Going to small-group Bible studies. Planning weekends instead of just crashing into and through them. Having a schedule that is actually somewhat set in stone. One of the best changes is the lack of guilt I have now when I read for fun. (No more self-beratement for not reading for class or studying.)
Then and now. Of course I prefer now, but I probably wouldn't have, back then. How could anything have been better than laughing until your sides ached, with close friends and family, nearly every Wednesday out of the year? But I'm glamorizing it because there was junk. There's always junk to deal with even now.
All this to say that french fries taste so much better when one can dip them individually in a pool of stationary ketchup, instead of eating them while driving with one's knees and at the same time sqirting ketchup out of the packet in the general direction of the french fry, hoping to make some sort of contact. With the ketchup and french fry, not with the semi to your right or the SUV that's tailgating you.
I positioned myself at a table where I could see the drive-through customers and hear what they ordered at the same time via the person working the window. It's a great exercise in people-watching with a bonus: Find out who likes which kinds of food!
I had worked an hour overtime, then walked 20 minutes in the bitterly ice COLD wind to eat a very late lunch (at 4 pm) before J picked me up. I hadn't had lunch at the normal time because I woke up too late (5 am) to make one for either me or J, too tired because of staying up until 10 pm the night before at a jazz group rehearsal for the prime timers banquet. (I have since heard that the "special music" at the banquet was a smashing success and in the words of one dear older lady, "I felt like jumping up to dance.")
A year ago, no, two years ago, it would have been a Wednesday night. I would have arrived first and studied neuroanatomy or nutrition notes until S walked in, motorcycle helmet under one arm and gloves in hand. We would talk about vehicle problems, the prospect of a new vehicle, my class notes, his classes, anything we had heard at school that was interesting, etc., until A and crew arrived. Food would be ordered and E or D appointed as receipt-keeper and food-getter. If A's braces had been adjusted recently (it seemed they were always being tightened) then he would gum down two regular tacos (why he tolerated a crunchy shell is beyond me.) G would come last, right after her chiropractor's appointment, and sometimes we would share a salad.
After Bible study I would drive the 45 minutes back home and study/talk online some before going to bed.
So much has changed.
I have essentially forgotten about midterms and finals and don't keep track of schools either starting or stopping. It's all far enough away that I can say with all sincerity, "I MISS studying." And I'm as astonished as you are.
I've piled oh so many new things on top of the old. Getting married. Being married. Paying a mortgage. Working a full-time job with benefits and paid holidays and vacation and a retirement plan. Becoming a church member. Going to small-group Bible studies. Planning weekends instead of just crashing into and through them. Having a schedule that is actually somewhat set in stone. One of the best changes is the lack of guilt I have now when I read for fun. (No more self-beratement for not reading for class or studying.)
Then and now. Of course I prefer now, but I probably wouldn't have, back then. How could anything have been better than laughing until your sides ached, with close friends and family, nearly every Wednesday out of the year? But I'm glamorizing it because there was junk. There's always junk to deal with even now.
All this to say that french fries taste so much better when one can dip them individually in a pool of stationary ketchup, instead of eating them while driving with one's knees and at the same time sqirting ketchup out of the packet in the general direction of the french fry, hoping to make some sort of contact. With the ketchup and french fry, not with the semi to your right or the SUV that's tailgating you.