Tuesday, April 24, 2007
pre-apprehension.
i graduate on may 7. or, really, the 10th, but the earlier ceremony is the school-specific one, where laurie anderson is speaking, rather than the giant faceless commencement where no one will know who i am. i may have said this before, but i'm skipping it in favor of the unofficial class trip to coney island. did you know they're taking the rides down? they totally are.
stuff is due. stuff is mildly done, but not wholly. feeling a funny mixture of expected anxiety and sort of ennui-ed out about the whole thing. the next step is planned, confirmed; what happens next happens however well i do my homework, so. i'm not holding my breath, but i'm looking forward to a full exhale.
* * *
david halberstam died. i met him, once, at this thing i went to for famous people and smart kids. we talked for about twenty minutes, and he found me later to tell me one last thing. he said he'd won every award his profession had to give, and that in the end, they weren't satisfying. never do anything for the awards, he said, and you'll be okay.
i've never been very good at it. i like the awards. i like them to be shiny, and to be mine. but i work on it. sort of like the exhaling.
* * *
something must be going right, because i feel like wearing sundresses. i don't often do the dress thing--especially sundresses, where you're expected to be bare-legged which brings up all sorts of sturm und drang for me about shaving and not shaving and self-tanning and self-confidence--but the first warm weather in new york does funny things. i woke up sweaty and remembered that spring here lasts for about ten days; ten days of daffodils and wonderful bare arms before it turns humid and stinky. nice ten days, though.
stuff is due. stuff is mildly done, but not wholly. feeling a funny mixture of expected anxiety and sort of ennui-ed out about the whole thing. the next step is planned, confirmed; what happens next happens however well i do my homework, so. i'm not holding my breath, but i'm looking forward to a full exhale.
* * *
david halberstam died. i met him, once, at this thing i went to for famous people and smart kids. we talked for about twenty minutes, and he found me later to tell me one last thing. he said he'd won every award his profession had to give, and that in the end, they weren't satisfying. never do anything for the awards, he said, and you'll be okay.
i've never been very good at it. i like the awards. i like them to be shiny, and to be mine. but i work on it. sort of like the exhaling.
* * *
something must be going right, because i feel like wearing sundresses. i don't often do the dress thing--especially sundresses, where you're expected to be bare-legged which brings up all sorts of sturm und drang for me about shaving and not shaving and self-tanning and self-confidence--but the first warm weather in new york does funny things. i woke up sweaty and remembered that spring here lasts for about ten days; ten days of daffodils and wonderful bare arms before it turns humid and stinky. nice ten days, though.
