Last week the big excitement was the having of the J.D. This week, it's all about the need to have a job in which to use the J.D. I just moved back into my parents' basement, which is not an exciting concept at the age of 27. Hopefully it won't be for long, because I can already feel it sucking my will to live. This basement is deadly.
Anyway, my sister and her friend came to New York to pick me up. They came in my parents' minivan, circa 1995, and we loaded it down in my little alleyway until it was four inches off the ground in the back, with various things strapped on top, and chugged our way through the Holland Tunnel, across New Jersey and part of Pennsylvania. We slept in an Econolodge in Drums, PA. My sister and her friend looked around and asked, "Are we really staying HERE?" but I didn't answer because I was already falling asleep. (What do they expect, a luxury hotel? I am a jobless J.D. in over $100,000 of debt. Take what you can get. They are lucky I didn't make them drive through the night again, like they did on the way there.)
A and J just finished their freshman year of college at the very same place I went. While we drove, they read a pre-teen book that they both loved eight years ago out loud to each other in funny voices, with -izzle on every word, and in the breathy tones of an explicit novel. In gas stations, they were doubled over laughing in front of the drink case. And things were funny. I laughed until my stomach hurt. I used to laugh that way a lot, back in high school and college. I wonder where it went? When did the world get so serious? I was hoping never to really be an adult, but I seem to have turned into one by accident. In March, when T and I drove from Chicago to Detroit, we stopped at the same sort of gas stations and truck stops, but we didn't laugh uncontrollably like we would have in college. I kind of miss that.
So I'm home, in the grand state of Michigan. There are compensations. Last night my sister invited me to breakfast in our very own kitchen for 10:30 this morning. At 10:30 this morning, she came into my room and said, "Let's do this later, whenever you wake up. Come wake me up when you want to eat." Having worked on a job application until all hours of the night, I was happy to keep sleeping until 11:30, when I crawled into her bed and started whining about being hungry. She had gotten cinnamon rolls as big as my head from the cafe down the road, and we warmed them and made coffee (her) and tea (me) and sat at the island in the kitchen eating them far too quickly. By the last few bites, we looked at each other and said, "I think I might throw up. I might have to wait to eat the rest." But two minutes later, we were both finishing them. Then she lay down on the floor in the dining room and said, "I have to spread myself out so this cinnamon roll will fit."
Unfortunately, she's leaving me tomorrow for ColoRADO. Who does that? Then I'm just the jobless J.D. in my parents' basement without even the distraction of my sometimes-annoying yet always-amazing sister.
I have a list of things to do as big as my arm, but I find it incredibly hard to get things done while living at my parents. I mean, when I lived here there was hardly email. I forget that the world keeps going while I'm in this little corner of it.
Anyway, my sister and her friend came to New York to pick me up. They came in my parents' minivan, circa 1995, and we loaded it down in my little alleyway until it was four inches off the ground in the back, with various things strapped on top, and chugged our way through the Holland Tunnel, across New Jersey and part of Pennsylvania. We slept in an Econolodge in Drums, PA. My sister and her friend looked around and asked, "Are we really staying HERE?" but I didn't answer because I was already falling asleep. (What do they expect, a luxury hotel? I am a jobless J.D. in over $100,000 of debt. Take what you can get. They are lucky I didn't make them drive through the night again, like they did on the way there.)
A and J just finished their freshman year of college at the very same place I went. While we drove, they read a pre-teen book that they both loved eight years ago out loud to each other in funny voices, with -izzle on every word, and in the breathy tones of an explicit novel. In gas stations, they were doubled over laughing in front of the drink case. And things were funny. I laughed until my stomach hurt. I used to laugh that way a lot, back in high school and college. I wonder where it went? When did the world get so serious? I was hoping never to really be an adult, but I seem to have turned into one by accident. In March, when T and I drove from Chicago to Detroit, we stopped at the same sort of gas stations and truck stops, but we didn't laugh uncontrollably like we would have in college. I kind of miss that.
So I'm home, in the grand state of Michigan. There are compensations. Last night my sister invited me to breakfast in our very own kitchen for 10:30 this morning. At 10:30 this morning, she came into my room and said, "Let's do this later, whenever you wake up. Come wake me up when you want to eat." Having worked on a job application until all hours of the night, I was happy to keep sleeping until 11:30, when I crawled into her bed and started whining about being hungry. She had gotten cinnamon rolls as big as my head from the cafe down the road, and we warmed them and made coffee (her) and tea (me) and sat at the island in the kitchen eating them far too quickly. By the last few bites, we looked at each other and said, "I think I might throw up. I might have to wait to eat the rest." But two minutes later, we were both finishing them. Then she lay down on the floor in the dining room and said, "I have to spread myself out so this cinnamon roll will fit."
Unfortunately, she's leaving me tomorrow for ColoRADO. Who does that? Then I'm just the jobless J.D. in my parents' basement without even the distraction of my sometimes-annoying yet always-amazing sister.
I have a list of things to do as big as my arm, but I find it incredibly hard to get things done while living at my parents. I mean, when I lived here there was hardly email. I forget that the world keeps going while I'm in this little corner of it.
1 comment:
Hi, I was looking for your email address on your blog to send you a note. Can you please send an email to rhemy1(at)hotmail.com? I will like to get in touch with you regarding your trip to Africa. I live in Brooklyn, and will be going to MI in 2 weeks for a training and then might be going to Africa this summer. Many thanks.
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