December 1, 1997 Monday
An old writing convention of mine, but a goody. Let’s go.
The alarm buzzed at 6:30. I, the ultimate non-morning person, had to get up early to get a design project, well, started. Drowsy, I dressed and began my began my solitary walk across campus, being the only one conscious at the time, across campus to Garwood, the arts building. Design went slowly, because when I am not drawing I don’t have much confidence in my work. Oh well, only two more assignments until the class is over.
I’ve been almost scared to go to History class, after I forgot and never turned in a paper. You see, long about several weeks ago, I walked into a class I was very much enjoying–and there, on everyone’s desk, was a typed, stapled paper. I couldn’t believe that the assignment had slipped past me. Don’t miss class, kids. Anyway, I didn’t feel a part of the class after that, and too embarrassed to do much of anything. I felt horrible about it. So, now I regularly have a three hour break on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, until my next class. I guess it’s the best feature of my day. Lucky me.
I checked my email, hoping for a response from Sidney about this weekend, but nothing and yet come. English, over in Simpkins Hall, is my most high school-like class. We sit around in a large circle and discuss our feelings about a poem or something. I try to contribute something once an hour, but sometimes I don’t. With the day over, I retired back to my nice, warm bed. Before going up with the 19th floor with everyone for dinner I stole away to the computer lab, on the ground floor of our residence just off of the lobby. Sidney had written, and she said she was excited about coming, but didn’t know about transportation. Hopefully she can come for a couple of days. On December 12th she is taking a train out to Washington State, to visit her new boyfriend Neville, also going to Knox. What surprised me was that she was going to be spending Christmas out there.
The rest of the night I have been hanging up Christmas lights around the our room, and continuing to unpack. I had brought back with me a string of green lights Mom and Dad will not miss, and D had gotten a string of red tonight for his side. Our room is… festive. I feel good that I am reasonably caught up in my work. Now, as I write this, Jake in on D’s bed, reading past volumes of this journal. He wants to be mentioned, but part of the entries, more often, he tells me. I’m sure he will be. He is one of the floor’s biggest news-makers (I tried to phrase that in a good way). For the rest of the night I think I’ll listen to some Beatles, read my book, watch a little football, drink some cran-grape juice, and do anything else that comes to mind (in case you were interested).
My mind is now on this weekend. It’s going to be surreal, bringing a part of my old life into my new one. They have always been clearly separate, and I can’t imagine it otherwise. It life in Macomb wore me down, I could come home. And if Elmwood gets tedious, I can return to my primary life. Sometimes I see Ray Browning around Thompson, like I did today. It seems like some kind of time paradox to see him, something very familiar amid all this newness. It is exciting–if not a little weird–that I will bridge this gap between the old and new selves by bringing this one person.
Finally, I am going to enjoy this next month as Christmas nears. At heart, I am as much a kid as ever. Without a doubt I will be the one going sleepless on Christmas, as always. This is the best time of the year.