grad school

To the Sagster, from the Pink Punk

"In the months since Dad died, I've found myself wishing that my friends, here in this sparkly new life, had some kind of honest understanding of all the years that came before I moved here. I didn't come to Huntsville to try to fit in, and I cheerfully plan to never do so. I came here with plans to make a small piece of this town my own; to find people I could relate to; to start over if I had to; to figure out what I was supposed to do with my life."

It's over, at last

A bit of a break was required after Friday's posting extravaganza.

The house is quiet. The front wooden door is open, leaving just the glass door closed. The cats awakened from their second nap of the day when I came home a few minutes ago. The fans are on, the kitchen's mostly clean, and I'm sitting here, waiting for my friends and Jeff's parents to show up.It is over. It is really, truly over. I saw him graduate with my own eyes—graduate regalia slightly askew, squinting to find his friends and family in the crowd, thousand-watt smile.

I called Andy and Brad on my cell phone while waiting for everyone else to get ready to go home, and said, "It's over. It's really over. It's really really over."

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Note to self: rejoice

In a whimpering, life-goes-on, did-anyone-notice sort of way, it's over. Jeff took his last final as a graduate student last night. Oh, yes, one could say it's not completely over yet. He has to finish up a project delayed by the inability of a professor to get him the information he needed.

But, in the grand scheme of things, it's over. No more leaving for work at 7:30 and coming home twelve hours later and then needing to study. In a week or so, the books on the kitchen table will go away—as, I hope, will the circles under his eyes.Note to self: rejoice.

So why do I feel so curiously enervated? Maybe it hasn't sunk in yet. Maybe I expected more overt celebrating when he arrived at our friends' apartment last night. I think it will take a week or two of being startled when Jeff appears in the living room by 5:30 for it to be real to me.

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A day on the phone: a wrap-up

Today, an oddly complete circle. Geof telling me about his relationship with a friend, a relationship that is rapidly approaching a point that will require him to make some major decisions soon. Brad, flush with a bit of domesticat-esque giddiness over a new girlfriend. John, dealing with his girlfriend's probable upcoming conversion to Catholicism and the effects that will have on their relationship.

But now, it's just me—and my thoughts—again. They won't settle down. I tried to write—but I can't clear my mind into abstraction, the way I need it to be in order for the words to flow properly. The voices, the questions, the comments are all too strong in my head, elbowing for room. There are lots of rhapsodical comments that could be made about seeing both ends of a relationship at once. Forget it, eh—you can come up with those yourself, and you're not interested in hearing me yap about them.

"I ponder the endlessness of the stars,

What mindless chanting will do to you

There was no entry last night.

I wrote many words and decided to post none of them. It was better that way. There's a difference between writing to actually explore what you're feeling, and writing just to hear yourself complain. It took me a few tries last night to realize that I was trying to do the latter, and that my true wish was for the catharsis of scrawling things out with the knowledge that no one would read them.

I have to think that shortly after someone figured out the concept of writing, someone else came along, saw this new invention, and thought: "Aha! Now I can really get a dig or two in on that rat bastard that pissed me off!"Despite the fact that we have the appearance of adults, we often act like the emotional second-graders we are.

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A celebration—of sorts.

Usually, when I'm writing something to be posted here, I have music blaring. Not tonight. Tonight I want to hear the uneven clacking of keys as I hesitantly pound out the thoughts that have stayed with me today. Better, I think, the thoughts get put down—even at this late hour—than to take them to sleep with me.

I am a regular at the new Publix store out in Madison. I think most of the people who work there recognize me now. They greet me with smiles that seem unforced: I would like to think this is because I am cheerful—dare I even say funny?—with them. Several people have noticed that I often come in with Kat, and I think that for a moment or two, some of them presumed that she and I were a couple (judging by the surprise elicited when I mentioned she had a boyfriend and I a husband, neither of whom are ever seen at said grocery store).