i guess i made dean's list

Speeding towards the classroom, with mere seconds away from being late, I saw him making a beeline right towards me. He was my student last semester in my school’s tutoring center, and because he reminded me of my brother, I had a bit more tolerance than I normally would have when he sat too close and wrote sentences about his lack of a girlfriend.

I thought that I would never see him again, but he somehow managed to bump into me randomly on campus. And he has a class right before mine in the same classroom. If I mismanaged my arrival time, he intercepted me and monopolized my time talking about music (he plays piano) and one of my friends, who is very pretty and a better pianist than he is. Fortunately, today, because I was late, I managed to say, “HiBorisIhavetogotoclass,” in response to his “ELIZABETH: WHAT ARE YOUR SUMMER PLA—“ and slip past him. There was no loophole for him—my professor was already at her desk taking attendance. I relaxed over my close call.

Immediately after class, I fled downstairs to exit in the front of the building. With our last newspaper issue on stands Monday, the staff was celebrating the end of the year with a picnic. It had been raining in the morning, so I wasn’t sure if we were still going to be outside, but I went to check just in case. Then I saw him again, coming in through the doors. I quickly changed directions to exit through another set of doors, but he saw my maneuvering and he intercepted me. “ELIZABETH,” he said, keeping pace with me as I sped up through the doors and down the steps. “WHAT ARE YOUR SUMMER PLANS?”

“Oh, this and that,” I said.

“YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE?”

“No,” I said, trying to move around him as I surveyed the lawn in front of the building. I saw no one I recognized. I would have hung out for a little while to see if anyone showed up, but Boris was not going away. He was talking about his summer plans, and something about the Dean’s List – I abruptly sped up and charged in the direction of the newspaper office. At this point, my only thought was escape.

“DID YOU GO TO THE CEREMONY?”

“What ceremony?” I asked, not making eye contact.

“THE DEAN’S LIST CEREMONY.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t think I made the dean’s list.”

“OH, YOU DID,” he informed me.

“Hm, I didn’t get a letter or anything.” I was close to the gate. There was the stop light. It was changing—I was plunging across the street, and Boris was still walking with me. He was saying something about how he didn’t go to the dean’s party because he’d wanted to practice so he could be a better piano player than my friend, and I said something vague about it being unlikely. He finally turned back, after making it to the middle of the street with me. I made it across the street and couldn’t stop laughing.

------

Every time I go to work, I see her, and I say hi and how are you doing? She says she's fine, but there's something going on with Matt/Bob/Nick/Joe/Mike/Tim.

Matt is the guy she met online.

Bob was also from online.

Nick was the guy at the doctor's office who took care of her when she was sick.

Her bartender, Joe, walked her home one night but now he doesn't talk to her.

She met Mike in the bar and he seemed really sweet so they went on a date, but she isn't sure about him.

Tim showed up over spring break and they've been dating for three weeks but he won't kiss her. Or is the kissing nice? I can't remember.

She gives up on guys about every other day, and I think that maybe that's a good idea because I can't keep track anymore.

"Is Nick the one that gained weight?" I ask.

"No, that's Mike," she explains.

"Who sent you that funny text?"

"Tim. I like Tim."

But I can tell that she's looking for any excuse to not like Tim, and today she found it. Something about a really weird Facebook message. But I forget to ask for details, then I have to work, and I wonder what it was exactly that made her not like Tim anymore.

i just can't quit for good

I'm an overthinker.

As an overthinker, I'm back.

-----

I'm writing a final, hybrid paper about my education, using an autobiography format and looking critically at Rodriguez and Obama. The focus is on how my sister and I, in identical situations, managed to turn out so differently from each other. To help me understand, I pulled out my painfully embarrassing high school journals -- the books I kept with me during school and wrote in at every possible moment. It's like getting slices of brain shaved off to read this stuff, but it definitely provides a good window into my soul. My soul then was about 100 times more insecure than my soul now, if possible. Additionally, I was then about 40 times more boy crazy than I am now. If I continue on this current trajectory, then my highly scientific deductions conclude that in about 20 years, I will be roughly negative 1,000 times insecure and negative 400 times boy crazy, making me some sort of mental super hero.

High school was an incredibly weird experience, and since I write mainly about my strong emotional reactions to things that happened, I cannot determine if there was a legitimate reason for me to be upset, or if it were all only in my head.

Here's a gem. It's dated 3/29/03, and is part of my first, very long entry:

And I knew that if indeed she asked me about our 'friendship,' I would smile and say that everything was fine. What an accomplished liar I am. For she's a liar too. I asked her a couple months ago if anything was wrong. She told me no, then proceded [sic] to tell me that she considered me a friend-- not a best friend. I told her I didn't expect her to be anything other than a friend.
I cried.
I realized that all those obvious hints she was dropping were saying "leave me alone."
She hurt me, through various instances. I realize that some of it she couldn't avoid (like the fact her mother didn't want her to go shopping after a peculair [sic] Sunday), but there were things she could have done (like ask for a # I could be reached @ on Sun. so she could tell me before I traveled out of my way to get to her church (just to learn that she couldn't go), or NOT go out to eat afterwards--after telling me that she + Esther couldn't go anywhere, but when to a restaurant anyway). So just little things.

I can't believe that all this was five years ago. It's really not that long ago, but enough events have been crammed in between to make it feel like a lifetime: my sister had three kids; I went out to California and back; my parents divorced; I moved to Brooklyn. Through all of that, I somehow discovered what I didn't know in high school: how to be a friend and how to keep friends. (Also how to spell. Or at least, use a spell checker.) My experience with that girl was one of the strangest experiences I've ever had, and I don't understand it completely to this day. What I do know is that I was an outsider, and she didn't want to be one.

-----

(Last Tuesday)

I wanted a bottle of water, and I had enough time before my next class to find a drink machine. I was dressed up, wearing high heeled boots that were rubbing large pieces of skin off, because I was the proud recipient of a short story award. I'd hesitantly entered the contest some weeks before with a story that I'd written based off a dream. It was a futuristic drama, exploring what people would care about if they had nothing. It was an unnerving dream, but not a frightening one, with vivid colors and clear characters. With a few creative tweaks and the help of a friend to edit, the story won. I felt I needed to dress up for the ceremony, but no one else did. English majors are artists and artists need to dress in ways that do not inhibit them.

In my heels, I hobbled down the stairs in search of a drink machine, finding one on the third floor. There was a girl at the machine right next to mine, trying to buy a pack of regular MMs. I inserted my money ($1.25), pressed the water button, and watched as two bottles blopped into the dispensing tray. I retrieved the bottles, and then, as I precariously straightened out, $1.25 in quarters spit themselves out of the machine. Good luck! I thought. Two bottles of water for free! What a good day.

Looking for someone to share my happiness with, I turned to the girl at the other machine. Her MMs were hanging from the row she'd selected, in a blatant move of definance. She was from two of my classes, including the one I had next, so, in a generous mood, I offered her one of the bottles. There, good deed accomplished for the day. She took it, a bit awkwardly, as I explained what had happened to me. She in turn explained her situation, and asked if she should try again. "We could shove it," I suggested, but I didn't move toward the machine to try. People were stirring around us now, with the change in classes, and I realized how ridiculous I would have looked, throwing my body into a snack machine for the sake of a bag of MMs. I mentioned something about snack machine deaths, caused by drunk individuals rocking the machines until the machines fell over, crushing the unfortunate creature. "Yeah," she said, staring at her bag of MMs. "Should I try again?"

"Sure," I said, offering the use of my coins. After all, I'd gotten two bottles of water for free, and in the spirit of that young chap in Dickens' novel Bleak House, that meant I was credited $1.25, and must now spend it as quickly as possible. "Oh no," she said. "I have money."

Failure, again. One bag of MMs fell, but one bag remained in limbo, clinging to freedom.

We gasped in horror.

"Shall I try again?" She said, after stabbing the machine half heartedly with her umbrella. By this point, I wanted to get to class, but I had inserted myself into her problem, and I felt responsible to seeing her to the bitter end. I again offered the use of my coins, which she declined again. After inserting another dollar, both bags of MMs fell, leaving her with a total of three bags. She offered one to me, and I half-heartedly declined. She insisted, asking rhetorically when she would eat three bags of MMs. I saw her logic, thanked her, and we headed up to class.

happy Easter

Mwaahahaha. That blogging every day thing didn't work out ... nor will it. I think I am making my exit from blogging. Although my writing has improved immensely during the past two years, my needs have changed. I'll figure something out! For now, I'm in another state, staying indoors away from the cold, because my skin is ten degrees lower in temperature compared to a normal person's.

The April Project: Day Two: Clever

I'm on page eight of David Sedaris' book, Naked, and I love it already. He's odd, it's true, but his very oddity blends with his fabulous writing style to create a delicious story.

I might be on page 15 of the book, or even 20, if it weren't for a little mishap I created this morning. For some reason, noon was implanted in my head as a Very Important Time. I have a tutor meeting today (we are forced to come to school on a Friday [a Friday!!] every month just for these things), and I did not want to be late. I was ready by 11 and out the door by 11:18. Yet, as the time inched closer to 11:30, and I, standing at the bus stop with no bus in sight, was becoming nervous about being late, my brain suddenly decided to kick into gear.

My meeting was at 1 p.m.

This minor detail was verified by a quick phone call to another tutor (who'd been up late the night before, drinking, and revealed through the tone in her voice that she did not care for the interruption), and I shifted my weight from side to side as I tried to figure out what to do. Home was an eight minute walk away, and leaving is always depressing, so that option was nixed. A friend with three adorable children lived about five minutes away, but she never answers her phone, and thus another possibility was quickly terminated.

Had I mentioned it was raining? And that I'd caught something itchy in my throat that'd been held at bay by random doses of Airborne?

Nevertheless, I decided to walk five avenues. In the rain. Fighting a cold. It gave me enough time to text a friend about spring break possibilities (next week. PRAISE THE LORD.), think about random things, and even buy a birthday card for that tutor I called. Her birthday is this weekend and her party is tonight, but I'm not going. Something about getting smashed and making out with complete strangers does not appeal to me. But perhaps kids these days do other things at parties. Like eat food. Or watch movies. I haven't the slightest idea.

I beat the bus I was waiting for. I saw it pull up as I went into the store. Then, as I was leaving the store, another bus pulled up just as I walked to the bus stop. Funny.

But not as funny as David Sedaris, who I will never be as clever as. Especially if I can't even remember when a work meeting is supposed to start.

I had some wine

It's been forever and a day since the last time I posted, and it's always my luck that I leave something on an awkward note. I feel like awkward has charactered my life for the past-- hmm, 11 years or so, and instead of developing more confidence, I only develop more awkwardness.

Life continues, nevertheless, and plenty has happened and will continue to happen. I only hope that my writing will continue to improve. Since the beginning of March, I've done badly on papers and tests, grown frustrated with students who don't do their preparation work, been a bridesmaid, turned down a request from a guy who 'wanted to get to know me better,' moved to another apartment, experienced the occasional freak out over my future, experienced the successful publication of at least three college newspaper issues, started to write more stories, and thought wistfully about drawing more.

I am going to try to post every day this month -- going to try to see if I can discipline myself -- and force myself to practice writing. I wish I weren't as horribly insecure as I am, because then I could just say, this is how I am, deal with it biotches, but I know I can always improve.

Anyway, I'm not even sure if any of this made any sense at all, but the month of April for me isn't about making sense but trying to enforce discipline.

I'm not sure how far I'll get because Spring Break starts next week, my sisters are coming to visit me, and although I have all sorts of grandiose plans for doing homework and organizing my life, I'm sure none of it will get done.

"Dear dad"

I get moments where flashes of inspiration come to me, and I spend the next few minutes-hours-days trying to get all my ideas out of my head. I've always said that my muse was my family, but I think now that my muse is pain.

Over the weekend, I realized that I want to draw and write part of a graphic novel for my Contemporary American Life Writing's final project, and I wanted to write it about my father. I thought that jotting some ideas down before going to bed would be a good way to relax. I was wrong. I spent most of the night trying to breathe and slow down my heart as memories flooded my brain. I should have gotten up and tried to organize everything, but I kept hoping I would fall asleep because I had plans to get up early the next morning and do homework. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke up about fifteen minutes before my alarm went off with my heart in the same state of duress.

Equal to my father's failures loomed memories of my own. I had my methods of dealing with how screwed up my family was, which included locking everyone out, including my littlest siblings, who needed me. And I realize what looms over that is God's grace, which for some reason remains a constant in my life.

If I can pull off this small section of a graphic novel, then my theme is: "Dear dad: I am different despite you, not because of you."

Dear Dude,

I'd forgotten about you. You came for tutoring some weeks ago, and hit on me like there was no tomorrow. As usual, I grew flustered and shared more information than I should have, including the fact that my mother's dating and that I don't like that she is.

The next day, I asked my friends if it was okay to lie about having a boyfriend, and the responses I received were all in the positive. Yes, lie. YOU'RE PROTECTING YOURSELF. And I also decided that the next time I have money, I'm going to buy some sort of ring to wear. I usually decide to do this at least once month, and then no one hits on me for awhile, so I forget.

But then you showed up again. And I thought man, I really wish I had a 4.5 size ring right now on my left ring finger. You hung out for about ten minutes, chatting away, and you were as bold as you were last time. You took even less time to get to the point, asking me how my dating was going. I said it was okay. Then I added I had a boyfriend.

It was admirable how well you held your expression together, and how quickly you thought through that new bit of information. You asked if dating was seeing a few people at the same time, and having a boyfriend was still dating, but seeing only one person. And I said, perhaps you're right. I took that moment to get the spotlight off me and I asked you how your dating was going.

The next few moments were some of the best acting I've seen in a while. You broke eye contact, looked off to the distance, laughed, rubbed your head. Then you informed me that you're taking a break; it's not going so well. I don't really care how well it's going, but I asked why anyway, because I'm very interested in keeping in charge of the conversation. You explained that you're looking to settle down.

I thought, wow, that's brilliant. That must be one of the best flirting methods ever. Tell a girl that you're not dating because you want to date someone seriously -- you want to settle down.

Then you waited to see the response.

Unfortunately, I knew what your game was, so I didn't give you a response. And that's where things got tricky -- the conversation flipped from flirtation to therapy.

I'm in the wrong field. I should have become a psychiatrist.

Soon after that, someone from the front desk asked if I could tutor someone that hour, and you left, but not without a wink.

Until next time.