(no subject)
I worked this morning. Five hours. Just shelving. An uneventful shift, passed entirely by placing books on a shelf, one after the other, with the occasional phone call or customer thrown in. I was left entirely alone, and the freedom seemed to make the time go by faster. I was surprised when noon came and I found myself leaving.
I called my dad and stepmother. With my early shift today, my day off tomorrow, and only one class on Monday, I had high hopes of going home this weekend. On my second attempt, Dad answered the phone. I explained to him what my schedule was, apologized for the late notice, and asked if I could come home. I didn't tell him that I had already packed my bags, early this morning, and that they were in my car and ready to go. He told me he needed to ask Sarah what their plans were, and asked if he could call me back. I told him that he could, and he hung up.
Leaving work, I met a friend for lunch. A new friend, in a part of town I've never been to, at a restaurant I had not tried. A trinity of new experiences. The area reminded me eerily of Lockport, the food was good, and the conversation was great.
During the meal, I heard the "sunshine" melody ring from my pocket more than once. I ignored all my calls, until I saw "Dad" on the display. Expecting to receive clearance for my visit, I flipped open my phone, only to find out that I was, in fact, not invited home this weekend. Dad and Sarah were celebrating their birthdays, and basically wanted to be alone. This was fine, until Dad told me that Sarah mentioned the idea of a "private bubble bath" to him. This, this is too much information. Once the initial shock passed, and I forced the image of my 49-year-old father pouring Mr. Bubble into the bathtub from my head, I realized that I had gambled my entire weekend on seeing my family. Disappointed, I returned to the apartment.
After notifying my family that I would not be going home so that Dad can play with his rubber duckie, I decided to go for a walk. Changing into shorts and a t-shirt, and sliding on my comfortable old shoes, something just felt different about today. I silenced my phone, armed my MP3 player with a battery, and headed for the door.
I walked. From my apartment, down the road, through a neighborhood right next to me that I just discovered yesterday. I stepped on what I thought was wet concrete. I walked, literally, as far as the sidewalk went, and back again, taking exactly one hour.
As I finished my walk, I noticed the sun was beginning to set. It was so beautiful, watching the sun set behind the clouds approaching in the distance. I walked directly to my car, and whipped down to the Kroger at the end of the street. I bought some frozen food, a case of beer for Michael, and forgot the batteries I needed. I raced home, grabbed one of Michael's beers from the fridge [Beer! I drank beer!] and went out on the deck.
I sat in the cooling air, soft music playing in my ears, playing with bottle like an inquisitive young child might do with his. I realized that where I was sitting was obstructing my view of the sunset, so I stood, at the edge of my deck, and watched the sun set behind the abandoned fields. It was a strange mixture of old and new, the aging, empty chicken coops sitting in the middle of the vast field, but across the four lanes of traffic below me. I stared through a large evergreen at the fading sun, listening to bits and bytes being fed into my ears.
I reached for my phone. During the walk, I had set it to vibrate, as I can hardly hear it ring without headphones. I disabled silent mode, reconsidered, and turned it back on. I didn't want my "moment" ruined by the tropical steel drums of an incoming call. Better to let it vibrate; besides, I couldn't hear it anyway.
I stepped inside just long enough to grab a sweater and another beer, and returned to my position to watch the remaining sunlight withdraw from the sky. Yellows turned to golds, then to oranges, reds, and finally blue, as the cars below me began driving by with their headlights on. I saw what I thought was my first star of the night, but, as its light flickered, debated with myself as to whether or not I was seeing an airplane. Satisfied that it was indeed a star, I realized that the sun had set, that evening had given away to night.
What dawned on me, more than anything else while I was out there, was the thought that, today, I did exactly what I wanted to do. No more. No less. I went where I wanted, when I wanted. I made myself--I allowed myself the opportunity to expand my horizons. I learned something, taught someone something, but most of all, I enjoyed myself.
I had a good day. Did you hear me? A good day.
Look back through my journal. When's the last time I said that?
And as I went inside, I found myself believing, or at least hoping, that tomorrow would be just as good.
I tell you all this for a reason.
Today was the first time in a long time--a long time--that I have felt like a 22-year-old college student. It's hard to put into words, but those who know me even moderately well know that I have a problem with allowing myself to do what I want. Which sounds so simple here, but is so harder out there. Today, I felt normal, if there even is such a thing. I feel like I lived today as well as I could, and made the most out of this Saturday. These are new feelings for me, and I am not quite sure how to deal with them. But today, today was like the brochure for UGA, and college in general. Nothing but good times.
As I sit here, having just woken up from a nap induced by beer, food, and lack of TV quality, I wonder what tomorrow might bring. The Doppler radar feed I'm looking at is not promising for my walk; a huge line of showers is expected overnight, and we will likely see no sun at all tomorrow. But, somehow, that doesn't bother me. Perhaps I'll check out a cafe I've never been to. Maybe I'll read something. Maybe I'll write something.
Who knows?