Time Keeps On.

I sometimes wish I had a timeturner, or a magical bed-knob, or even one of those root cellars that transports people back to the civil war era.

Time is such a fickle beast.

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One moment it seems like a minute will never pass and sixty seconds are an interminable era, but then you blink and your life is half past. I still love my life; I don’t pine for any days gone by or wish myself back to some glowing moment I have already experienced.  But some days? Some days time feels like a taskmaster, and the weariness of trudging the linear timeline seeps in.

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What a constraining dimension this is.

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Housing Adventures: A Look Back

This was written one day in 2008-2009, while living at my first ever post-college apartment – 22 Prospect St, Beverly, MA. 

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The neighbors are hammering. This is not to be confused with the ever-popular activity of getting hammered. Oh no. Those are the next-door neighbors. Their drunk quote of the week, as heard on Sunday at 1am while I was trying to sleep: “You CAN’T vote for McCain. OH my gosh I won’t even talk to you again. You don’t even get it. Obama is so much better. I mean, a vote for McCain is a vote against Obama.” Brilliant. I wonder who explained that one to her. (And people say I’m never mean.) But at least I never wonder what craftiness they’re up to. Loud drunk girls are nothing if not straightforward and can be eliminated by the one-time purchase of a white noise machine. Hammering on the other hand. . .

The sky-bors in the second floor apartment are, evidently, of the artsy persuasion. All I know is that they are girls who are students at Montserrat, the local art college. I can only imagine they are majoring in carpentry, as I have now heard a hammer, drill, and saw on a regular basis. I can’t quite understand why they aren’t out on the Beverly Common smoking a joint with the rest of the freshmen, but maybe my imagination is inhibited due to sleep deprivation. I can feel the pounding of the hammer in my chest as I try to fall asleep. No, we’re not talking that pound-pound-okay-the-nail-is-in-so-hang-up-the-damn-picture kind of pounding. This is hammering with a vengeance; hammering with intent.

I almost wonder (as I hear the loud clatter of a hammer being dropped and the rhythmic friction of a saw) if this is my own personal set-up for a scary movie. Saw 6: Murder on Prospect Hill or something. How cliché. The recent college graduate in her first apartment, eking out a living to the odd surround sounds of the upstairs-dwellers until one fateful day . . .

And if I am to escape the saga unscathed, my curiosity may not survive it. What they could possibly be building? It’s not as if they can remodel. Yet the wall next to my bed is actually shaking with the increasing rhythmic pumping of the saw and the windows vibrate with each piece of wood that hits their floor (my ceiling). Maybe I will never find out. Maybe it will become my very own Pandora’s Box. Or maybe. . . as it has been suggested. . . nothing is being built and the upstairs-ers are just into kinky carpentry sex.

Ah situational humour. My life is rife with it. I could be my very own sitcom. In fact, I’m flashing back to the Friends episode with old man with the broom. Those of you that care know which one I mean. I’d probably make a killing and the real clincher of the series popularity would be the neighbor issues. Like Desperate Housewives. Only instead it’s more like Degenerate Housemates. Or maybe just Poor Desperate Inconsiderate Young Adults. But maybe not. I wouldn’t watch that one.

Oh I almost did not mention our NEW housemate. It would appear that the Kafka protagonist that has taken up residence in the bathroom. Think less social commentary and more big-assed bug. The near-two-inch, chubby bugger of a bug scuttled its way into our awareness on Monday night and then, after a memorable interlude, slid out through a crack in the wall. So far, no calls, but we have a feeling that she (we call her Roxy) will be back. And when she does. . . well, we’re not sure we’re ready for it.

So now that you’ve heard a titch about al the housemates and neighbors, I hope it makes you thank your lucky stars you don’t have centipedes-on-steroids that rule the bathroom. But take everything I say with much humour, because, when all is said and done, that is definitely what I have done. This particular protagonist of Saw 6 is acting as a scary-movie protagonist should: happy where she is and blissfully unaware of anything unfortunate that might (hopefully won’t) be in the cards.

Dear Tonsils,

I know we’ve been in this together for a while now, but I just feel like this isn’t working anymore.

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The truth is, we’ve both made mistakes. I spent too much time at work with my students and threw all of my other efforts into grad school instead of our relationship upkeep. That neglect is really what lead to my ill-advised fling with Mono a few years back. . . And I think our doctor is right, maybe its the residual Mono issues coming between us. Regardless, though, it just doesn’t seem like we’re gonna make it much further together. It’s time to go our seperate ways. Don’t feel bad. We’ve had a good run,  you and I, but we just can’t seem to move beyond this toxic stage of our relationship. I thought when we started going to the Doctor that things were going to get better, but it seems like whatever quick fixes people throw at us, we don’t seem to be able to pull through without one of us still hurting.

It seemed like what works for you is always the opposite of what works for me, you know? You loved the sulfa treatment, but they just made me feel like I couldn’t breath. That’s no way to live. I thought we might be able to make it through, in sickness like we did in health, but when I found out you spent all of those months with Strep, it was the straw the broke the camel’s back. How could you spend all of that time together and try to keep it off my radar? Like I wouldn’t notice?!  But whoever is to blame, I think it’s time to make things official, Tonsils.  I’m not saying it won’t hurt, because that would just be naive; I haven’t gone through this with tonsils before, and we’ve been together a long time. Ultimately, though, we’re going to be better off without eachother; healthier.  Please try to understand.

Best,

Your Person

p.s. I would really appreciate it if you could cool it with the passive aggressive attacks on my health between now and our appointment. April 9th is not so far that we can’t be civil, and I don’t think I can handle any more of the pain you keep bringing.

What I Love Today:

#1: I want to be cool enough to have made this video first: I’m obsessed! 

#2: I seriously laughed out loud at these salient questions concerning Disney’s Beauty and the Beast

http://www.buzzfeed.com/donnad/questions-disney-forgot-to-answer-about-beauty-and-the-be

(Seriously, read them.)

#3: While giving me a routine cleaning, my dental hygienist told me “I’m not stalking you, but I drove by your school recently.” She also offered to be on call if I need anything when I get my tonsils out in two weeks. My healthcare professionals are the bomb.

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#4: This morning, I learned that Lemmings NEVER actually were in the habit of jumping of cliffs to commit mass suicide – a lie which was, in fact, initiated and perpetuated by none other than Walt Disney! Don’t believe me? Google it.

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#5: Today I overheard a student telling another student about me, and they said: “She’s pretty cooky, but she’s not insane!”

Firth of All:

I know I am not alone in my perpetual crushing on Colin Firth, despite our huge age differential. The man successfully interprets such gorgeous sensitive men on screen, it’s hard not to believe he’s a little bit like that off-screen. Don’t agree with me?

Let’s look at the evidence:

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#1: The Importance of Being Earnest?

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#2: What a Girl Wants?

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#3:Pride and Prejudice?

How can you see that last movie and not fall for Mr. Darcy a little?

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#4:  Bridget Jones Diary?

The whole “just the way you are” thing? Gets me every time.

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#5: Or perhaps you’ll at least have seen Love Actually?

Anybody who would learn portuguese to woo the love of his life gets an A+ in the romance department as far as I’m concerned.

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I think I’ve pretty much been in love with him ever since I saw The Secret Garden. And that was based solely off of a very short clip!

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Colin Firth is one dreamy man.