most of the time i would give anything to feel less corporeal. i’d give anything not to feel my clothing sticking to my skin, or the summer sweat trickling down into my shirt to form a little pool in my bra, or my big toe swollen and sore inside my dirty tennis shoe. sometimes my clothes don’t fit quite right, and as i walk i can feel the material stretching across my thighs and stomach, and i wish to god i could feel like a head in a jar.
it is hot. did you know they don’t have air conditioning in the bay state?
today the cheddar in my grilled cheese sandwich was the exact same color as the tank top i was wearing. i don’t know what that means.
it was like a subway system, only with themed riverboats. i was on the elephant boat, watching a demonstration about smoked glass, but i could hear the singing and laughter from the clown boat a ways back. there was a terrible pain coming from my hipbone, and a regular knocking sound coming from somewhere else. the knocking sound turned out to be my father, and the terrible pain from my hipbone turned out to be just that, which is completely inexplicable. i had to limp over to answer the door, groggy. i’ve no idea how long he had to knock.
i’m leaving today for a week in massachusetts, okay? okay.
at the harp tonight, we were eaten mercilessly by swarms of bloodthirsty post-flood mosquitoes, until the citronella arrived, at which point we were burned mercilessly by flying globs of hot wax. throwing it at one another was probably a bad idea. at any rate, there is candle wax all over my shoes, and as i was washing my hands in the restroom, i found a dead mosquito squished between my fingers, soaked in a splatter of my own sucked blood.
it’s fuckin’ great to meet you, bjork.
it should be noted that i am not, technically, single. yesterday’s diatribe was directed at those silly enough to think that a 23-year-old should be actively seeking a husband. thank you.
mentally, i’ve known since february that i am going to london. i’ve been reading books and doing assignments, receiving emails and information packets and letters and phone calls. when people have asked me if i’m nervous or excited, i’ve told them that it’s too soon to tell.
but today, my tickets came.
it was a big fedex packet full of britrail passes, london maps, tickets, program guidelines, and an international student ID card featuring a photo of me from 1996. i had to crop the photo to the size that they specified, so on the card my head is off-center, and you can see the disembodied arm of my dorm suitemate on my shoulder. shortly after the package came, i got a call from a program representative, who gave me an orientation over the phone. he covered the standard things, like money and books and walking in groups and food and health concerns. he covered the strange things, like body piercings and sexually transmitted diseases and please don’t make fun of the students from farms, who will be really, really concerned about hoof and mouth. i asked him questions about roommates and food and, of course, internet access. he seemed very helpful and thorough and friendly, and when i hung up after our conversation, i felt pretty good about things.
the packet also contained, as previously mentioned, my airline tickets. houston to dallas to philadelphia to london gatwick. as i said before, i’ve known about all this intellectually, but it’s different now that i’ve had the opportunity to see my tickets, to hold them in my hand, to panic. what if i hate it there? what if everyone is cooler than me? what if they’re all farm kids and i’m cooler than them but they think i’m a freak? what if i fail the classes?
jesus, i’m really doing this.
