All Right, All Right
It's been the kind of month where you collect moments to post about in your head until they're in a pile that's about to topple over, and you shove the door shut and forget about them so that they don't overwhelm you into paralysis. In the past four weeks, I've taken two finals, packed up my stuff, said goodbye to some of the best people I've ever met, flown to Chicago, reunited with my best pal, packed up all the shit in my apartment and stuffed it in her closet, helped her get herself to Washington state, repainted my apartment, cleaned my apartment, scrubbed the paint from the floor of my apartment until my hands were numb, handed over the keys to the new tenant, packed, transported myself and my cat to the airport and then to California, reunited with my fam, and dyed my hair.
Again, but slower this time:
I thought the last week in Greece would drag, but instead flashed by so fast that I'm having a hard time untangling the different days. I remember cutting Quinn's hair into a fauxhawk; Club Stilponous, when we blasted Britney and Kerri taught me how to black-girl dance; playing Spades with Kerri, Carlos, and Ariel (Team ADD (Ariel and I) was triumphant--need you even ask?); tossing leftover food off the balcony and narrowly missing passersby and the dumpster; giving and receiving much-needed back massages; wandering around the Piraeus flea market and buying Eurotrash shirts, earrings, and sunglasses; staying up all night and watching The Princess Diaries and Orange County and then going to the airport with Teddy and Carlos and, surprise, playing more card games with my trusty $1.60 deck with a map of Crete on the back; watching Starsky & Hutch and Something's Gotta Give on the plane; and waiting at the international terminal at O'Hare for three hours while Burcu crisscrossed the airport looking for me.
It was all like that. All ten weeks. Better than I could have ever, ever, imagined.
To be continued...
It's been the kind of month where you collect moments to post about in your head until they're in a pile that's about to topple over, and you shove the door shut and forget about them so that they don't overwhelm you into paralysis. In the past four weeks, I've taken two finals, packed up my stuff, said goodbye to some of the best people I've ever met, flown to Chicago, reunited with my best pal, packed up all the shit in my apartment and stuffed it in her closet, helped her get herself to Washington state, repainted my apartment, cleaned my apartment, scrubbed the paint from the floor of my apartment until my hands were numb, handed over the keys to the new tenant, packed, transported myself and my cat to the airport and then to California, reunited with my fam, and dyed my hair.
Again, but slower this time:
I thought the last week in Greece would drag, but instead flashed by so fast that I'm having a hard time untangling the different days. I remember cutting Quinn's hair into a fauxhawk; Club Stilponous, when we blasted Britney and Kerri taught me how to black-girl dance; playing Spades with Kerri, Carlos, and Ariel (Team ADD (Ariel and I) was triumphant--need you even ask?); tossing leftover food off the balcony and narrowly missing passersby and the dumpster; giving and receiving much-needed back massages; wandering around the Piraeus flea market and buying Eurotrash shirts, earrings, and sunglasses; staying up all night and watching The Princess Diaries and Orange County and then going to the airport with Teddy and Carlos and, surprise, playing more card games with my trusty $1.60 deck with a map of Crete on the back; watching Starsky & Hutch and Something's Gotta Give on the plane; and waiting at the international terminal at O'Hare for three hours while Burcu crisscrossed the airport looking for me.
It was all like that. All ten weeks. Better than I could have ever, ever, imagined.
To be continued...
