parentheses and semi-colons abound
sorry i haven't been in touch, readers. i love you but i just don't want to be with you. plus i'm busy and up to my ears in coffee and the occasional drrrrrrama.
in experiencing my first post-collegiate summer, i keep unconsciously comparing it to past collegiate summers, particularly that glorious one between sophomore and junior year where i lived in my beat-up little house on parcell street with three dudes i couldn't get enough of. we'd drink 40s on the back porch and talk about literary theory (back before our brains were so full of that shit that we could easily talk deconstructionism and postmodernism and other literary bullshitism while drunk and high and half-asleep). we'd stay up nights trying to beat prince of persia, and then push each other to the max when we realized it was due back at blockbuster at midnight and we have 15 MINUTES LEFT AND OMG WE'RE SO CLOSE TO BEATING THE BOSS COME ON SARAH WE HAVE TO SEE HOW THIS ENDS! taco nights were the best nights; holy shit we ate so many tacos. that summer was the apex of hanging out pretty good. i knew what was coming up at the end of it--no surprises, back to school.
this summer i live in a house that looks a lot like that beat up house on parcell street, except the walls are painted and taylor doesn't live in the living room. and here, we have an ant problem instead of a rodentia infestation. i once again live with three dudes i can't get enough of, except one of them is a cat. my other three dudes have scattered along the coast; my best and his loveable sidekick have been enveloped by brooklyn, and my favorite roommate ever has slipped quietly down south, possibly to the beach. i'm still here, in the little black dot of fredericksburg somewhere in the middle stretch of I-95, with my dudes and my ants and my cat and my high-falutin' barista job (which, i was told yesterday, is on the list of 100 bullshit jobs. i'm hardly surprised). i'm leaving this little house soon for a different little house that i'll share with one of my favorite ladies and hopefully no ants. i have no idea what to expect from the end of the summer except more of the same. i don't have to go back to school, ever, but unfortunately without that i seem to have no direction. i don't know what i want to do. ask me what makes me happy; i can't give you an answer. i'm not depressed, i'm just sadly complacent. i haven't written anything in months, and i think i have lots of things to write about. i just have no motivation to do anything except go through the motions at work, come home and pour beer down my throat, watch a lot of vh1, and sometimes cry. that's embarrassing. i wake up every morning alone with a phlegmy sore throat and a bitter taste on my tongue. ew.
i need to unpack my boxes in my own house and go from there. go... somewhere? goddammit.
also, i had a motherfucking root canal. that cost me over a grand because i don't have health insurance. i'm an adult.
in experiencing my first post-collegiate summer, i keep unconsciously comparing it to past collegiate summers, particularly that glorious one between sophomore and junior year where i lived in my beat-up little house on parcell street with three dudes i couldn't get enough of. we'd drink 40s on the back porch and talk about literary theory (back before our brains were so full of that shit that we could easily talk deconstructionism and postmodernism and other literary bullshitism while drunk and high and half-asleep). we'd stay up nights trying to beat prince of persia, and then push each other to the max when we realized it was due back at blockbuster at midnight and we have 15 MINUTES LEFT AND OMG WE'RE SO CLOSE TO BEATING THE BOSS COME ON SARAH WE HAVE TO SEE HOW THIS ENDS! taco nights were the best nights; holy shit we ate so many tacos. that summer was the apex of hanging out pretty good. i knew what was coming up at the end of it--no surprises, back to school.
this summer i live in a house that looks a lot like that beat up house on parcell street, except the walls are painted and taylor doesn't live in the living room. and here, we have an ant problem instead of a rodentia infestation. i once again live with three dudes i can't get enough of, except one of them is a cat. my other three dudes have scattered along the coast; my best and his loveable sidekick have been enveloped by brooklyn, and my favorite roommate ever has slipped quietly down south, possibly to the beach. i'm still here, in the little black dot of fredericksburg somewhere in the middle stretch of I-95, with my dudes and my ants and my cat and my high-falutin' barista job (which, i was told yesterday, is on the list of 100 bullshit jobs. i'm hardly surprised). i'm leaving this little house soon for a different little house that i'll share with one of my favorite ladies and hopefully no ants. i have no idea what to expect from the end of the summer except more of the same. i don't have to go back to school, ever, but unfortunately without that i seem to have no direction. i don't know what i want to do. ask me what makes me happy; i can't give you an answer. i'm not depressed, i'm just sadly complacent. i haven't written anything in months, and i think i have lots of things to write about. i just have no motivation to do anything except go through the motions at work, come home and pour beer down my throat, watch a lot of vh1, and sometimes cry. that's embarrassing. i wake up every morning alone with a phlegmy sore throat and a bitter taste on my tongue. ew.
i need to unpack my boxes in my own house and go from there. go... somewhere? goddammit.
also, i had a motherfucking root canal. that cost me over a grand because i don't have health insurance. i'm an adult.
posted by sarah at 12:14 PM
4 comments
