i saw love go by my door, it's never been this close before
this is the week i am housesitting for the rooneys, the family i usually babysit for multiple times a week and for this i am highly overpaid. john is 6, eliza 4, their mother julie inexplicably youthful and radiant in looks and character, their father patrick who never appears to wear the same shirt or drink a glass of wine from the same bottle twice. john is typically masculine, enjoying books about dinosaurs and dogs, planes and trucks, and his favorite spiderman pajamas. eliza is typically feminine, enjoying tea parties, pretend salon makeovers, and our famed "girl time" sitting on the tire swing and discussing our favorite colors and foods in the backyard while john is at school, patrick at work, and julie off purchasing unpasteurized orange juice at wegmans, $8.99 a gallon. the day i ended my pittsford central school district education, they all went to a beach on the eastern seaboard and to pittsburgh to visit their relatives for two weeks. i miss them at little yet not at all in a way, for i am not surprised in the least that they have asked me to stay in their house and clean out their refridgerator while i keep an eye on their uncoordinated sheepdog callie, their affectionate cats sunny and cloudy, and their wide and expensive variety of flowers and houseplants.
so far, it is interesting living alone and unguarded in a house not my own with animals who know me as the equivalent of an acquaintance. it is a disconcerting feeling to sleep in a bed hugged by ralph lauren sheets and drink freshly brewed cinnamon cardamom tea in the morning as i read a whole issue times for the first time. finally, a place that matches the plush terry cotton bathrobe my mother gave me for christmas, the robe that embarasses me because of its pristine white opulence and large tommy hilfiger tag. despite all my wishes to live like these people, i can't help but feel simple in their eyes through striving to be a sophisticated, charming, and intelligent young woman.
this is the day i was woken by the dog at 4:08 am, her touching of her cold nose to the warm sole of my foot enough of an alarm to know to roll out of bed and let her out into the yard to relieve herself. i faced a similar situation at closer to 9, and while i wandered the house half asleep and barefoot, i jumped in surprise to hear my phone ringing upstairs. it was my mother calling to tell me that the guys who came to clean our windows had arrived and could not reach my window above the clutter i like to keep piled beneath it. she asked me to return home as soon as possible, if only for awhile, to clean up or at least move parts of my mess elsewhere, saving her the embarassment she created for herself in thinking the window cleaners must be saying what a terrible mother she is for having a messy daugther. and so it began...i started picking up, dusting off, throwing out, and vaccuming away all the messes of my past to make space to clean windows and the new messes an older version of myself would inevitably create in time.
i tell my friends that i have not been upset about graduating until now, and this is more or less correct now that i have started going to parties and thinking that i may not see some people who i pass in and out of the door again. after graduation parties of my closest friends, i cry in the car on the way home thinking that even though we will stay in touch, we may never share the closeness we share now. after graduation parties of acquaintances, i still cry thinking of all the times i was judgemental and thought something bad of certain groups of people whose parties i never expected to be invited to. in short, i am just a teary mess with wet computer paper all around me to console myself, stained by my eyeliner and acting substitute in the abscence of tissues. i can't count the number of faces i've looked at in the past few weeks that i've wanted to grab and say "listen, i love you, and i will never say this to you again." it makes me well with genuine sadness to see people giving speeches at their parties, unable to find the right words and not understanding that such sadness corresponds to no known words. and all this, around me there are large men moving frames and screens away from windows to powerwash them and give them a new life. the setting in which i compose this journal entry for all eyes in a way, so they can know what one senior out of thousands of other current graduates feels about what her own graduation means to her.
as i prepared shopping bags full of garbage and other old shopping bags, i sifted through the piles creating more of my own: what comes to college with me, what stays at home, and what permanently leaves my sight. i teared up and laughed at many old printed im conversations (back when we printed the good ones), saved some old notes from classes i have surely not seen the last of, and held onto some momentos that at times i treat as though they mean nothing but are truly priceless. as i sat on the room of my floor in tears from the dust and the memories with grimy window cleaning men yelling to eachother across my house, i had never felt in such a rush to grow up. they were working down the hall in my parent's room and my mother had warned i had only 10 minutes to finish cleaning up or force them to wait. i quickly pushed old papers into garbage bags and shoved everything i couldn't bear to part with onto my bed, taking a final moment to savor reading the words of love meant only for my eyes written by those who i barely know now. i was sad and confused as the workers came in and glanced around my room at the pictures and paintings and letters dotting it, wondering what they were thinking as my life cornered them in from four sides. "is that all the seniors from your graduating class?" they asked, "is that your yearbook? are those your friends? your family?" yes they are, yes it is. "oh" they mumbled, as they got to work snapping the frames out of the glass and removing the screen. 17 and a half years of "oh."
the one man who inquired about my yearbook excuses himself to ask my mother for a glass of water as the other sighs deeply, finishing the project and moving to the room next to mine. i am free to move the mess back if i like, but i do not, leaving the clutter on my bed and knowing that eventually i have to comb through it again and refine it to only what i love and wish to keep until the next time i clean my room. my mother later notices a shoebox full of my most special notes and informs me that if i wish to take it to college that i will have a tough time fitting in a suitcase or a bag. i sarcastically thank her for her observation and open it, reading at random the words that are evidence to my past. i think about the graduation parties i have still yet to attend, the presents i haven't thought about purchasing, the tears i haven't yet cried as i hug my friends even though they claim we will hang out over the summer. and to think, all the meanwhile i really am enjoying myself, gorging out at parties and glowing in the company of my friends.
i guess the point of this entry is, i will miss you if i don't already, even if i am going to case with you, even if i have never met you, even if i think you're annoying or you, me. it's odd but very satisfying to feel so together and so alone in such a moment in time with others just like me, where i am neither a public school student nor a private university student. please take wishes for a good life on my behalf wherever you go, and never forget the web address to this journal so you can always read this entry if you need to know you're loved. good luck and congratulations, class of 2005, you have the potential for everything within you all.
so far, it is interesting living alone and unguarded in a house not my own with animals who know me as the equivalent of an acquaintance. it is a disconcerting feeling to sleep in a bed hugged by ralph lauren sheets and drink freshly brewed cinnamon cardamom tea in the morning as i read a whole issue times for the first time. finally, a place that matches the plush terry cotton bathrobe my mother gave me for christmas, the robe that embarasses me because of its pristine white opulence and large tommy hilfiger tag. despite all my wishes to live like these people, i can't help but feel simple in their eyes through striving to be a sophisticated, charming, and intelligent young woman.
this is the day i was woken by the dog at 4:08 am, her touching of her cold nose to the warm sole of my foot enough of an alarm to know to roll out of bed and let her out into the yard to relieve herself. i faced a similar situation at closer to 9, and while i wandered the house half asleep and barefoot, i jumped in surprise to hear my phone ringing upstairs. it was my mother calling to tell me that the guys who came to clean our windows had arrived and could not reach my window above the clutter i like to keep piled beneath it. she asked me to return home as soon as possible, if only for awhile, to clean up or at least move parts of my mess elsewhere, saving her the embarassment she created for herself in thinking the window cleaners must be saying what a terrible mother she is for having a messy daugther. and so it began...i started picking up, dusting off, throwing out, and vaccuming away all the messes of my past to make space to clean windows and the new messes an older version of myself would inevitably create in time.
i tell my friends that i have not been upset about graduating until now, and this is more or less correct now that i have started going to parties and thinking that i may not see some people who i pass in and out of the door again. after graduation parties of my closest friends, i cry in the car on the way home thinking that even though we will stay in touch, we may never share the closeness we share now. after graduation parties of acquaintances, i still cry thinking of all the times i was judgemental and thought something bad of certain groups of people whose parties i never expected to be invited to. in short, i am just a teary mess with wet computer paper all around me to console myself, stained by my eyeliner and acting substitute in the abscence of tissues. i can't count the number of faces i've looked at in the past few weeks that i've wanted to grab and say "listen, i love you, and i will never say this to you again." it makes me well with genuine sadness to see people giving speeches at their parties, unable to find the right words and not understanding that such sadness corresponds to no known words. and all this, around me there are large men moving frames and screens away from windows to powerwash them and give them a new life. the setting in which i compose this journal entry for all eyes in a way, so they can know what one senior out of thousands of other current graduates feels about what her own graduation means to her.
as i prepared shopping bags full of garbage and other old shopping bags, i sifted through the piles creating more of my own: what comes to college with me, what stays at home, and what permanently leaves my sight. i teared up and laughed at many old printed im conversations (back when we printed the good ones), saved some old notes from classes i have surely not seen the last of, and held onto some momentos that at times i treat as though they mean nothing but are truly priceless. as i sat on the room of my floor in tears from the dust and the memories with grimy window cleaning men yelling to eachother across my house, i had never felt in such a rush to grow up. they were working down the hall in my parent's room and my mother had warned i had only 10 minutes to finish cleaning up or force them to wait. i quickly pushed old papers into garbage bags and shoved everything i couldn't bear to part with onto my bed, taking a final moment to savor reading the words of love meant only for my eyes written by those who i barely know now. i was sad and confused as the workers came in and glanced around my room at the pictures and paintings and letters dotting it, wondering what they were thinking as my life cornered them in from four sides. "is that all the seniors from your graduating class?" they asked, "is that your yearbook? are those your friends? your family?" yes they are, yes it is. "oh" they mumbled, as they got to work snapping the frames out of the glass and removing the screen. 17 and a half years of "oh."
the one man who inquired about my yearbook excuses himself to ask my mother for a glass of water as the other sighs deeply, finishing the project and moving to the room next to mine. i am free to move the mess back if i like, but i do not, leaving the clutter on my bed and knowing that eventually i have to comb through it again and refine it to only what i love and wish to keep until the next time i clean my room. my mother later notices a shoebox full of my most special notes and informs me that if i wish to take it to college that i will have a tough time fitting in a suitcase or a bag. i sarcastically thank her for her observation and open it, reading at random the words that are evidence to my past. i think about the graduation parties i have still yet to attend, the presents i haven't thought about purchasing, the tears i haven't yet cried as i hug my friends even though they claim we will hang out over the summer. and to think, all the meanwhile i really am enjoying myself, gorging out at parties and glowing in the company of my friends.
i guess the point of this entry is, i will miss you if i don't already, even if i am going to case with you, even if i have never met you, even if i think you're annoying or you, me. it's odd but very satisfying to feel so together and so alone in such a moment in time with others just like me, where i am neither a public school student nor a private university student. please take wishes for a good life on my behalf wherever you go, and never forget the web address to this journal so you can always read this entry if you need to know you're loved. good luck and congratulations, class of 2005, you have the potential for everything within you all.