Packing Tape, Running, and the Vat of Pudding
*Rip*
*snap*
*riiip*
*snap*
This packing tape is starting to stick to my fingers. Outside, I hear loud cheers and Bob Marley. I look out the window--and I see the vat of pudding.
This afternoon is the 2nd annual Willard Luau. Last year, it was freezing cold, and no one partook in the festivities--especially the Pudding Mud Wrestle.
This year, however, things are a little different.
It's bigger, messier and a lot louder. I can barely hear my Jump music over the Richard Cheese rendition of "Nookie." While I often enjoy some Vegas-style parodies of bad metal songs, sometimes, especially recently, I just want some peace and quiet.
I often wonder why I took up running as a means of exercise two years ago. I think it was because, when you do something monotonous as running, you can really clear your head and think. You can't contemplate life while swinging a golf club. Or while throwing a baseball. Or while pinning someone in a pool of chocolate Jello.
This year has accumulated a lot of memories. Between the ripping and the snapping, I found greeing cards, papers, my Newswriting articles, and phots from Fall Formal. I've felt happy, sad, elated, loved, betrayed, frustrated, stressed, disappointed, and confused--and it all comes rushing back when I pack these past items into a box.
I don't think I'm ready to leave, but then again, I don't know if I'd want to stay another week. It's the kindest and cruelest part of life--the necessary element of change.
Now I REALLY can't hear my music, for the luau is pumping that Night at the Roxbury song from the first floor Lost Horizons. Part of me wants to join the party, but there's that other part of me that just wants to clear my head.
I think I'll go running now--once I get this packing tape off my hands.
*snap*
*riiip*
*snap*
This packing tape is starting to stick to my fingers. Outside, I hear loud cheers and Bob Marley. I look out the window--and I see the vat of pudding.
This afternoon is the 2nd annual Willard Luau. Last year, it was freezing cold, and no one partook in the festivities--especially the Pudding Mud Wrestle.
This year, however, things are a little different.
It's bigger, messier and a lot louder. I can barely hear my Jump music over the Richard Cheese rendition of "Nookie." While I often enjoy some Vegas-style parodies of bad metal songs, sometimes, especially recently, I just want some peace and quiet.
I often wonder why I took up running as a means of exercise two years ago. I think it was because, when you do something monotonous as running, you can really clear your head and think. You can't contemplate life while swinging a golf club. Or while throwing a baseball. Or while pinning someone in a pool of chocolate Jello.
This year has accumulated a lot of memories. Between the ripping and the snapping, I found greeing cards, papers, my Newswriting articles, and phots from Fall Formal. I've felt happy, sad, elated, loved, betrayed, frustrated, stressed, disappointed, and confused--and it all comes rushing back when I pack these past items into a box.
I don't think I'm ready to leave, but then again, I don't know if I'd want to stay another week. It's the kindest and cruelest part of life--the necessary element of change.
Now I REALLY can't hear my music, for the luau is pumping that Night at the Roxbury song from the first floor Lost Horizons. Part of me wants to join the party, but there's that other part of me that just wants to clear my head.
I think I'll go running now--once I get this packing tape off my hands.