(no subject)
Today is a very sullen day in good ol' Moncton. I woke up 20 minutes late, with the sun shining, and I got dressed quickly in the heat, and still made it to work on time. But now, as far as I can tell from the small scope of the window located 15 feet away from my grey cubicle, it has clouded over. No, not clouded. A grey blanket now hangs above what I can only imagine is the entire city (because my small scope from the window located 15 feet away from my grey cubicle has limited my imagination that the world, anywhere else, looks like anything other than this.)
I have done the math. After my employment term has ended this summer, I will have spent a total of 449 hours on my ass. Looking at these same grey walls, with my stark desk that only has a phone, a computer, a coffee mug(in which I drink water from), and my iPod. No, wait, a granola bar wrapper, too. And an unfinished joice box. No wonder I'm tired by the end of the day.
When I look back on the past two years that I spent in Halifax, and think about the different rooms I existed in, I can't quite come to a concrete conclusion about how I feel. It all depends on the context of my memory, for example:
Waking up on Thursday mornings at 7:30 AM, early enough to feel like I'm going to get something out of the day, and opening my bedroom door. I can still hear that familiar sound that you would only know if you lived in our house. Both Caro, Moira and Sarah's doors all had a distinct sound. Caro's sounded like a spring had just popped, Moira's never closed so it was always a sharp slam muffled only slightly by whatever piece of clothing was lodged in the doorframe, and Sarah's sounded like shards of glass being shaved off a mirror. Tip-toeing across the cold and dirty floor to the bathroom, always scared I was going to step on a jagged piece of glass leftover from the last time we (usually I) broke something. Getting dressed and walking down the stairs (treading lightly on that third step), realizing we didn't lock the door last night, and walking onto the porch, ignorantly stepping over at least 5 issues of The Daily News, and observing the sun through the trees of the cemetary. Going to class all day, having made at least 2 trips home already, and coming back just in time for The OC (before it switched to 10.)
OR
Waking up on Saturday mornings, in a sweat, not having realized that I have already slept 6 hours and wondering why my mouth feels wired shut and tastes like someone has died in it. Getting up, only to realize that I really can't, and coming to the conclusion that it's going to be one of those days where even turning over from one side to the other in bed will likely cause a trip to the bathroom, accompanied by running water to disguise the sound of sickness. Thinking a shower will help, then having to return to bed with wet hair, looking like hell (not that it matters). Feeling better and getting up, joining the room-mates and other visitors in the dirty living room, then feeling worse and being condemned back to the blue-hazed room, tinted by my curtains. Having my grandmother call me, wanting to chat, oblivious to the fact that I am suspended between life and death, and at this point I would rather die. Not being able to eat crackers or drink water until 12:30 that night. Feeling guilty for drinking that much, not really sure if I have been sleeping for the last few minutes, because every minute feels like an hour. Promising myself I will NEVER do this again.
I've always said that something I seem to understand very well is space. Not like, outer space, but what we exist in, the areas that we inhabit. I'm a really good packer, and I know what will fit into where and what preserves the most space. I understand furniture in a room and where it can and can't go. I understand the limitations of space and where to fill in space where it's needed.
I have trained my mind into compartmentalizing everything, arranging my entire life into little boxes in my brain, that are all the same size and color coded so they can fit together nicely, accessible to me at any time. Good memories, bad memories, happy memories, sad memories, song lyrics, course requirements, favorite foods.
That really sucks. Because allowing myself to think this way creates all kinds of misconceptions of how the future is going to fit into this space grid. Which means that I'm often disappointed and not very welcoming to unexpected things.
I'm trying to learn my lesson and let things just happen naturally. I guess not everything has to fit into those boxes. I could always make room for a "Miscellaneous" box. I'm trying really hard not to have any expectations for next year. Last year, I hyped up my 2nd year so much, thinking that it was going to be the best year of my life, but it definitely wasn't. I can't do that anymore.
Either that, or I have to give up Plath. And I CAN'T do that.
-Katie.
Sidenote # 1: The crickets behind my fridge are getting more aggressive. They come out in daylight and chill, but when they see me coming, they seriously roll over and play dead. Like I look straight at them, all up in their gross little faces, and they looked dead. I hate those fuckers, but I can't bring myself to kill them.
Sidenote # 2: I've either become really good at handling ackward conversations or I just don't care about ackwardness anymore. (My boss is the most ackward man on the planet.)
I have done the math. After my employment term has ended this summer, I will have spent a total of 449 hours on my ass. Looking at these same grey walls, with my stark desk that only has a phone, a computer, a coffee mug(in which I drink water from), and my iPod. No, wait, a granola bar wrapper, too. And an unfinished joice box. No wonder I'm tired by the end of the day.
When I look back on the past two years that I spent in Halifax, and think about the different rooms I existed in, I can't quite come to a concrete conclusion about how I feel. It all depends on the context of my memory, for example:
Waking up on Thursday mornings at 7:30 AM, early enough to feel like I'm going to get something out of the day, and opening my bedroom door. I can still hear that familiar sound that you would only know if you lived in our house. Both Caro, Moira and Sarah's doors all had a distinct sound. Caro's sounded like a spring had just popped, Moira's never closed so it was always a sharp slam muffled only slightly by whatever piece of clothing was lodged in the doorframe, and Sarah's sounded like shards of glass being shaved off a mirror. Tip-toeing across the cold and dirty floor to the bathroom, always scared I was going to step on a jagged piece of glass leftover from the last time we (usually I) broke something. Getting dressed and walking down the stairs (treading lightly on that third step), realizing we didn't lock the door last night, and walking onto the porch, ignorantly stepping over at least 5 issues of The Daily News, and observing the sun through the trees of the cemetary. Going to class all day, having made at least 2 trips home already, and coming back just in time for The OC (before it switched to 10.)
OR
Waking up on Saturday mornings, in a sweat, not having realized that I have already slept 6 hours and wondering why my mouth feels wired shut and tastes like someone has died in it. Getting up, only to realize that I really can't, and coming to the conclusion that it's going to be one of those days where even turning over from one side to the other in bed will likely cause a trip to the bathroom, accompanied by running water to disguise the sound of sickness. Thinking a shower will help, then having to return to bed with wet hair, looking like hell (not that it matters). Feeling better and getting up, joining the room-mates and other visitors in the dirty living room, then feeling worse and being condemned back to the blue-hazed room, tinted by my curtains. Having my grandmother call me, wanting to chat, oblivious to the fact that I am suspended between life and death, and at this point I would rather die. Not being able to eat crackers or drink water until 12:30 that night. Feeling guilty for drinking that much, not really sure if I have been sleeping for the last few minutes, because every minute feels like an hour. Promising myself I will NEVER do this again.
I've always said that something I seem to understand very well is space. Not like, outer space, but what we exist in, the areas that we inhabit. I'm a really good packer, and I know what will fit into where and what preserves the most space. I understand furniture in a room and where it can and can't go. I understand the limitations of space and where to fill in space where it's needed.
I have trained my mind into compartmentalizing everything, arranging my entire life into little boxes in my brain, that are all the same size and color coded so they can fit together nicely, accessible to me at any time. Good memories, bad memories, happy memories, sad memories, song lyrics, course requirements, favorite foods.
That really sucks. Because allowing myself to think this way creates all kinds of misconceptions of how the future is going to fit into this space grid. Which means that I'm often disappointed and not very welcoming to unexpected things.
I'm trying to learn my lesson and let things just happen naturally. I guess not everything has to fit into those boxes. I could always make room for a "Miscellaneous" box. I'm trying really hard not to have any expectations for next year. Last year, I hyped up my 2nd year so much, thinking that it was going to be the best year of my life, but it definitely wasn't. I can't do that anymore.
Either that, or I have to give up Plath. And I CAN'T do that.
-Katie.
Sidenote # 1: The crickets behind my fridge are getting more aggressive. They come out in daylight and chill, but when they see me coming, they seriously roll over and play dead. Like I look straight at them, all up in their gross little faces, and they looked dead. I hate those fuckers, but I can't bring myself to kill them.
Sidenote # 2: I've either become really good at handling ackward conversations or I just don't care about ackwardness anymore. (My boss is the most ackward man on the planet.)