State of Oxford, Moving Day
Re: My last post: Whoever I did kiss at midnight got me sick for twelve days.
2008 is twelve days old, I'm back in Oxford, and I feel like a little kid in a great big clubhouse. Does anyone else feel blown away by how little we are? When it's sunny out, and the sky's blue, and cars filled with kids who lived their own lives outside of this place for a month come into town from all over the country. I wonder how busy Wal-Mart is right now.
I wonder why I care at all about how busy Wal-Mart is right now.
Emotional changes on Moving Day, 2008--the first real day of the real new year.
I want to stand on top of Oxford and exclaim: "We've made it! We're here! 2008 is here, and we're still here, and the future is now! Welcome to the future, Oxford!"
Tom moved in. He's moving in right now. I took down our New X-mas tree, swept out the bathroom, nailed the College Dropout sign back up (it fell during the windstorms of December, 2007). I'm brushing my teeth with a new toothbrush--it's such a great feeling.
The mailbox was backlogged with New Yorkers and Time Warner bills. Juno is at the Princess. Everyone was at Stadium last night, and drinks were cheap and there was a great blue grass band playing on stage and it made me smile and think of Dad when they played "Friend of the Devil" and I could sing along.
Some of the people were happy last night. Some weren't. The ones who were happy were the same who wanted to be, and vice versa likewise. It seems to me we could all be happy with a little less emphasis on sex.
I have to force add two classes and figure out an extra one credit. Probably a poetry indie study. Maybe.
But I'm going to graduate this semester, and holy shit!--that'll be fun. It's funny, though, telling parents that I have no clue what I'm going to do with my creative writing degree. "Interesting," is the typical response.
That's when the conversations end, because I don't really like telling people my plans. They're not secret, they're just no one's business. It's not like it's interesting conversation, anyway. "Hemingway, huh?"
"Yup."
So Zion and Sam and Tommy and me are home. Mikey J's in hot pursuit.
This is the remnant of my universe. The materialization. Action figures and inaction. This is the State of My Union, 2008, all things being equal, everything is equal, and balanced, and peaceful, and let's get to work having a good time being ourselves, friends.
2008 is twelve days old, I'm back in Oxford, and I feel like a little kid in a great big clubhouse. Does anyone else feel blown away by how little we are? When it's sunny out, and the sky's blue, and cars filled with kids who lived their own lives outside of this place for a month come into town from all over the country. I wonder how busy Wal-Mart is right now.
I wonder why I care at all about how busy Wal-Mart is right now.
Emotional changes on Moving Day, 2008--the first real day of the real new year.
I want to stand on top of Oxford and exclaim: "We've made it! We're here! 2008 is here, and we're still here, and the future is now! Welcome to the future, Oxford!"
Tom moved in. He's moving in right now. I took down our New X-mas tree, swept out the bathroom, nailed the College Dropout sign back up (it fell during the windstorms of December, 2007). I'm brushing my teeth with a new toothbrush--it's such a great feeling.
The mailbox was backlogged with New Yorkers and Time Warner bills. Juno is at the Princess. Everyone was at Stadium last night, and drinks were cheap and there was a great blue grass band playing on stage and it made me smile and think of Dad when they played "Friend of the Devil" and I could sing along.
Some of the people were happy last night. Some weren't. The ones who were happy were the same who wanted to be, and vice versa likewise. It seems to me we could all be happy with a little less emphasis on sex.
I have to force add two classes and figure out an extra one credit. Probably a poetry indie study. Maybe.
But I'm going to graduate this semester, and holy shit!--that'll be fun. It's funny, though, telling parents that I have no clue what I'm going to do with my creative writing degree. "Interesting," is the typical response.
That's when the conversations end, because I don't really like telling people my plans. They're not secret, they're just no one's business. It's not like it's interesting conversation, anyway. "Hemingway, huh?"
"Yup."
So Zion and Sam and Tommy and me are home. Mikey J's in hot pursuit.
This is the remnant of my universe. The materialization. Action figures and inaction. This is the State of My Union, 2008, all things being equal, everything is equal, and balanced, and peaceful, and let's get to work having a good time being ourselves, friends.