Friends, I am having a Crisis. I should surely have gone through this a decade ago, but if you know me at all by now, you know that I am a bit of a procrastinator, and also a late bloomer. The crisis I'm having is the realization of how extremely short life is and that I'm going to have to die at some point, and see, I don't want to. It makes me so crazy and angry that I'm going to die that I want to have the mother of all temper tantrums; one that would put any self-respecting two-year old to shame. I want to weep and scream and throw things and writhe violently on the ground in anger and sadness that I won't go on forever. I also feel I'm not doing enough with the life I've been given, but I don't know what I Should do with it, and very little seems important enough, given the shortness of life and the certainty of death. This is a pretty inconvenient time to have this kind of crisis, especially since I have to get on a plane on Friday and I hate to fly. I always think the plane will crash anyway, and with my current rage about being required to die, the flying is not going to be pretty. I will need all my patience and bravery, or some valium. I'm not sure which would be easier to get.
But I'm trying not to think about The Crisis, because why go mad for no reason? The AtomicFriends have helped a lot today, with their wisdom cloaked in talk of asteroids hitting the earth and car washing and Andrew Shue and nihilism and beach vacations. God bless them, every one. Leftover pot roast helped too.
The office smells like juicy fruit gum, due to the cleaning solution the custodians use being juicy fruit aromaed. This has no bearing on anything, but I just thought I'd mention it, because it's a weird smell when affiliated with hygiene and not with gum.
We took the bins of aid award letters over to Admissions this morning--I love doing that because it gives me closure. The closure is an illusion, since we'll have an intense month of people calling us to dispute the letters we're sending, but still. We walked the bins over, since our buildings are adjacent, though it's still a bit of a distance due to the landscaping and etc Admissions gets. There were a group of students sitting outside Admissions, waiting for a tour or something, and they looked at our procession of bins with curiosity and respect. If only we'd had an armed escort, that would've made it perfectly dramatic.
This weekend I didn't do as much as I needed to. I did my Target errand on Saturday and had to stop myself from being an Effing A-hole every ten seconds to all the people who mindlessly trundle their carts into the paths of others, and etc. I am happy to report I didn't scream at or kill anyone, or even glare. Sunday Francisco and I went for a walk in the woods, in the same area we went to a couple weeks ago, except we found some trails off those main paths, and one of them was great--pretty long, and culminating in picturesque pond with beaver-gnawed trees and water snakes. I filled up the camera's memory card with best quality pictures (meaning, it filled up fast) and they didn't even turn out that great; it was a weirdly lit day. I'm going to see if turning them into black & whites helps any.
In closing I would like to paste in a story Francisco's sister told about her daughter, Lou. Lou is potty trained, and here's a story Twyla related, last week at AtomicTonic: "She was sitting on her little potty seat the other day and she tooted a loud and strange-sounding toot. She looked up with shock and glee and said, "My bum said 'Ernie'!" (Okay. It could be that this is only funny if she's your child....and you're smitten with her, but it pleases me.....a lot.)" Oh, it pleases me a lot, too. I'm finding that my brain, at random times, is popping in to tell me, "My bum said Ernie!" And thank goodness, for my brain needs some comic relief.
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