walkingshadow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
walkingshadow) wrote2005-03-01 02:32 am
walkingshadow) wrote2005-03-01 02:32 am
I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find
Umm. Sunday I slept in and mooched around in my pajamas and tried to go off to the gym for class at 6:15, but I'd forgotten they've closed for the break. It was dusk, and windy, and I took my time walking back. For dinner Jules and I headed to the deserted wasteland that is downtown Gainesville this week for sushi at Dragonfly; our waiter brought us miso soup on the house and said "my pleasure" to our thank yous as though refilling our water glasses really self-actualized him. When we got home there was an orgy of in-house music transfers, and I was up until four-thirty, reading fic and puttering around.
I woke up to voices in the apartment and blinked for a minute, wondering if I needed to drag myself out of bed and call the police, until I realized it was the custodial staff here to clean the bathrooms. It must have been some time around nine; I slipped back asleep and woke up again at two-thirty in the afternoon.
Jules slipped a card under my door before she left for New York early this morning; among other things, she exhorted me to eat cake. "Aye-aye!" I say. All afternoon I wandered around the apartment, read fic, opened and closed Photoshop, and got down to the serious business of finding a way home; it was more problematic than I'd anticipated. Most people have left town already if they're leaving, the bus services don't run during the week as I'd somehow thought they did during Spring Break, and flying is too dear to be worth it. My dad said he would come and get me—leave tomorrow morning, have lunch up here, turn around and head south again in the afternoon. I feel like . . . hmm. Like I signed up to take tennis lessons on the other side of town, my parents slogging out to pick me up after practice every week. For $113 and nine hours on the highway, I'm taking the Greyhound down tomorrow. I've armed myself with a dozen CDs, two books, and Wired. Maybe I'll sleep. When I get home they're only going to ask me what I'm doing after graduation, and I have nothing to tell them. But there should at least be cake.
I woke up to voices in the apartment and blinked for a minute, wondering if I needed to drag myself out of bed and call the police, until I realized it was the custodial staff here to clean the bathrooms. It must have been some time around nine; I slipped back asleep and woke up again at two-thirty in the afternoon.
Jules slipped a card under my door before she left for New York early this morning; among other things, she exhorted me to eat cake. "Aye-aye!" I say. All afternoon I wandered around the apartment, read fic, opened and closed Photoshop, and got down to the serious business of finding a way home; it was more problematic than I'd anticipated. Most people have left town already if they're leaving, the bus services don't run during the week as I'd somehow thought they did during Spring Break, and flying is too dear to be worth it. My dad said he would come and get me—leave tomorrow morning, have lunch up here, turn around and head south again in the afternoon. I feel like . . . hmm. Like I signed up to take tennis lessons on the other side of town, my parents slogging out to pick me up after practice every week. For $113 and nine hours on the highway, I'm taking the Greyhound down tomorrow. I've armed myself with a dozen CDs, two books, and Wired. Maybe I'll sleep. When I get home they're only going to ask me what I'm doing after graduation, and I have nothing to tell them. But there should at least be cake.