(no subject)
The night before the start of classes, I finally became confident that this year was going to work out. Maria and Megan met for the first time--and got along!--and the three of us sat sprawled out on the floor of Maria's and my suite, sipping red wine out of Ikea flower pots (still awaiting Maria's wine glasses from home), laughing and catching up and watching 8 Women. This time Maria and I decided not to christen the new school year with Bombay Sapphire, instead setting out for a run at about midnight, completing our 4 mile stretch in record time.
Since then I've been maintaining a dual existence. First, as an overcommitted Bryn Mawr senior, busily printing articles in the library and eating bad food with loud friends in the dining hall and earnestly participating in college traditions (I find excuses to go to Taylor just to giddily mount those steps). And then as (for lack of a better word) a grown-up, living in the city with my boyfriend, walking to the farmers' market in the morning, cooking and cleaning up and sitting on the sun porch with the NYTimes. It is, I think, the perfect antidote to the elements of Bryn Mawr that bother me. I find I love this place when I return to it, walking back from the train with a backpack slung across my shoulder and a list of Things To Do in my pocket--a list that is soon unconsciously retitled Things To Do Before I Can Leave Again.
Seems like a lot of ping-ponging, but I really hope I don't tire of it.
Since then I've been maintaining a dual existence. First, as an overcommitted Bryn Mawr senior, busily printing articles in the library and eating bad food with loud friends in the dining hall and earnestly participating in college traditions (I find excuses to go to Taylor just to giddily mount those steps). And then as (for lack of a better word) a grown-up, living in the city with my boyfriend, walking to the farmers' market in the morning, cooking and cleaning up and sitting on the sun porch with the NYTimes. It is, I think, the perfect antidote to the elements of Bryn Mawr that bother me. I find I love this place when I return to it, walking back from the train with a backpack slung across my shoulder and a list of Things To Do in my pocket--a list that is soon unconsciously retitled Things To Do Before I Can Leave Again.
Seems like a lot of ping-ponging, but I really hope I don't tire of it.