Sometimes I think a predominant part of the reason I enjoy hanging out with boys who are younger (in mind or reality) than I am is because they make me feel wise. I feel nothing but maternal as I get the urge to turn and say, �Honey, we don�t know one another well enough for me to be the other woman.� Kids these days. Sometimes though, I think it is (I know it is) because I enjoy something in that simplicity. I can�t play video games to save my life, but I miss listening to other people talking about them sometimes. Boyish enthusiasm - you are infectious; we beat your equivalent out of most girls by the time they hit this age, it's no fair but I revel in yours anyway.
I saw the first South Park episode I've ever actually found funny the other night. There are parts of me which are growing more and more immature the longer I stay at college. Or, perhaps those parts are growing more mature, just in a very convoluted way. I am now mature enough to find humor in the grossly exaggerated offensive � I am secure enough in my beliefs and myself as a good person that I can differentiate between that which is in good taste and that which is in bad taste and laugh when it�s intelligent without self-condemnation.
I don�t even know if �self-condemnation� is a real phrase which means anything. My anthropology class this semester encourages the making-up-of-words.
I think the boy who looks like a Daniel Clowes illustration is somewhere here in this sprawling dungeon of a library. I guess he�s not so much a boy as a man being as he is at least four years older than I am, if not more. Definitely more than four. More than six? Is he older than Ginny? I don�t think so, though I can never remember � he�s actually a friend of her friend�s; I like the big kid connection. That may have been a flagrant misuse of the semi-colon, I�ve never really understood the semi-colon, when it comes down to it. I ramble, I speak in commas and dashes and run-on-sentances. I sign in run-ons, if you can believe that there are run-ons in sign language (a language with no real written equivalent). I get marked down on tests for my run-on-signing. But then again, I also get marked down on my tests for, you know, sucking massive amounts of ass at sign language.
The activities I do which people tend to find most interesting are the ones I actually have massive inferiority complexes about: sign language and bus driving; I excel at neither. I really, really, really excel at neither.
You know what�s going to suck? When I get the first C of my life on a report card (or whatever the hell they are in college) and it�s in American Sign Language � that�s going to suck.
Things I have not told my parents which will probably upset them when I do:
1. I�m probably getting a C in ASL class.
2. My ipod, in a freak accident, ended up falling out of the closed doors of a bus, and is lost forever.
3. I have no idea if I�m coming home at all this summer. Ever. I mean, I guess I will � but it will probably only be for a few days or a weekend or something.
4. I often really wish I had taken this year off of college.
Previous | Next