I'm not quite sure what is going on. There are so many parts of my life that I feel totally out of control, and others where--even though I am in control--I wish would speed up a little bit. I don't really know what I'm talking about. I couldn't give you the specifics even if I wanted to, since i'm not quite sure what I'm talking about. I just feel so confused sometimes. It's totally a "where do I go" kind of phenomenon.
But more on this later...
JCM
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Feeling "Home" at Home.
...I have been compiling such a list this summer. More than last year, I know I'm going to miss so many things from Philadelphia this summer. Last year, though, was different, I rested assured that I would have the comfort of returning to Philadelphia and all those things on the list when the summer was over. This year, I rest a little less assured. I know for certain that I will not be returning to Philadelphia when the summer is over. Now, pity and don't at the same time. As you know, I will be in Rome next year instead of Philadelphia. This is a phenomenal experience, many of my friends and family are jealous, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. However, I might trade it if what was behind door number two was living in Philadelphia.
Philadelphia is so much farther from home than I ever though I'd be. I'll admit, I am a bit of a momma's boy and do like being home. Well, until I moved to Philadelphia. Now, the only thing at home is the emptiness in my heart reserved for those things that only Philadelphia can give. I know at least one of you who reads this understands--things like the fresher food at Reading Terminal, tattoos and piercings and debauchery on South Street, history and art in Old(e) City.
I am sitting right now in the hospital waiting for my father's surgery to be done (rather routine, nothing to fear) and creating an even bigger list of things to add to the already long list. Ah, me...what to do. I think I have found home.
We read a short story by Hemingway, Soldier's Home, which is about a soldier several years after he has left the service and has returned home to his small-town rural American town and how he feels about it. And he just doesn't feel right, he just doesn't feel home. He's not sure why which makes him act wierd and his acting wierd makes those around him act wierd which turns into a whole Catch-22 issue (remind me, that's a book I want to read). My AP English teacher said to us, "Baby Boos, you may not get this now, but in just a few months you will. You may not feel it when you come home for Thanksgiving, but certainly once you come home for Christmas the first time, you will." And now, I do. I know exactly how he felt. I just don't feel home at home. But I feel home in Philadelphia. And I'm giving it up to go to Rome for a year...poor me, I know, but it is quite a big deal for me. But I'll be back--I hope. Of course, every tells me that once I'm there for a year, I'll end up giving everything up to live in Rome. Maybe I well, maybe I will live in Bella Roma. Of course, only if my friends come to live with me in Rome.
Happiness for y'all, if only for now....
JCM
Philadelphia is so much farther from home than I ever though I'd be. I'll admit, I am a bit of a momma's boy and do like being home. Well, until I moved to Philadelphia. Now, the only thing at home is the emptiness in my heart reserved for those things that only Philadelphia can give. I know at least one of you who reads this understands--things like the fresher food at Reading Terminal, tattoos and piercings and debauchery on South Street, history and art in Old(e) City.
I am sitting right now in the hospital waiting for my father's surgery to be done (rather routine, nothing to fear) and creating an even bigger list of things to add to the already long list. Ah, me...what to do. I think I have found home.
We read a short story by Hemingway, Soldier's Home, which is about a soldier several years after he has left the service and has returned home to his small-town rural American town and how he feels about it. And he just doesn't feel right, he just doesn't feel home. He's not sure why which makes him act wierd and his acting wierd makes those around him act wierd which turns into a whole Catch-22 issue (remind me, that's a book I want to read). My AP English teacher said to us, "Baby Boos, you may not get this now, but in just a few months you will. You may not feel it when you come home for Thanksgiving, but certainly once you come home for Christmas the first time, you will." And now, I do. I know exactly how he felt. I just don't feel home at home. But I feel home in Philadelphia. And I'm giving it up to go to Rome for a year...poor me, I know, but it is quite a big deal for me. But I'll be back--I hope. Of course, every tells me that once I'm there for a year, I'll end up giving everything up to live in Rome. Maybe I well, maybe I will live in Bella Roma. Of course, only if my friends come to live with me in Rome.
Happiness for y'all, if only for now....
JCM
Thursday, June 14, 2007
I Have the Hands of a Laborer...
So, for those of you who do not know, my non-school year job is housekeeping at a hospital. I really didn't need any experience, and the pay is quite good, and the hours are EXTREMELY flexible. I have fun being on the "inside" of things, my id badge works just about everywhere and I have always loved feeling like I'm special because I can get where others cannot without questions.
But there is a downside, my hands--mind you, never all that soft or lovely--have become the hands of a laborer. Where once I had a callous (sp?) from my pencil, and a few paper cuts from reading and proofing...I now have pruned fingers, dry skin (incurably dry), cuts, scrapes, and a bruise where I smashed my hand into the door of the trash chute.
That's not to mention the aches, pains, and general "grossness" I feel all over at the end of the day. But like I said, the pay is great and so is the schedule so for now I muddle through.
But I am incurably tired now, going to bed around 9 where once I went to bed around 1. Ah well, the sacrifices we make for growing up and living in the real-world. And my "Cappuccinos at the Cafe in Roma Fund" is quite low so I better just muddle through.
JCM
But there is a downside, my hands--mind you, never all that soft or lovely--have become the hands of a laborer. Where once I had a callous (sp?) from my pencil, and a few paper cuts from reading and proofing...I now have pruned fingers, dry skin (incurably dry), cuts, scrapes, and a bruise where I smashed my hand into the door of the trash chute.
That's not to mention the aches, pains, and general "grossness" I feel all over at the end of the day. But like I said, the pay is great and so is the schedule so for now I muddle through.
But I am incurably tired now, going to bed around 9 where once I went to bed around 1. Ah well, the sacrifices we make for growing up and living in the real-world. And my "Cappuccinos at the Cafe in Roma Fund" is quite low so I better just muddle through.
JCM
Saturday, June 02, 2007
The Bungee Cord Effect...
So, no matter how many steps forward I think I've made into my future, away from high school (two full years out now)...every year, on the first Friday in June, I find myself negating every one of those steps with one gigantic slide backwards.
My friends and I call it the Bungee Cord Effect.
My high school is small, under 600 students. I graduated with only 125 other people. It is drilled into our heads that "Our Upstanding Alumni" are extremely important to our survival. So, without fail, a shit-load of us come back every year to sing for graduation (the same music that has been sung at graduation for 42 years). Some of us go to Graduation Mass in the morning (my friends and I are among them).
My friends and I have it all planned, well in advanced: go to Mass, get together for lunch with other friends who don't sing and therefore don't go to Mass, hang out all day, go to Graduation, bullshit for the night. It's our own little reunion. But it started to get awkward last night. Last year, graduation was fun because it was many of our friends (Juniors when we were Seniors), and there was definitely the "I did this last year." "Been there, done that, got the T-Shirt." kind of feeling. But this year was, "Why haven't I moved on." Yet I know that my friends and I will again be in that sweltering choir loft again next year (only slightly more intoxicated given that we will all be legal).
One last thing about graduation, just to get it off of my chest. Two of my favorite teachers (on Calculus, that other my mentor/inspiration) are retiring this year. And what did the school do about this at graduation, given that the one (mentor/inspiration) is an alumna herself, her three children are alumni, her husband is an alumnus, and she has taught there fore over 40 years; and the other has been one of the most beloved teachers for all of the 15 years he has taught there? Shit. No mention of their dedication to our school, not snippet in the program, nothing. It would be understandable, that the administration did not want to draw attention away from the graduates, commendable on their part, really. But, no, we had to hear about and pray for (I went to a Catholic school) two teachers and an alum who are "really, very sick." So, it's obvious some people deserve to be recognized (on the the teachers was a real asshole to everyone, the other was our Dean of Student Discipline, and the alum had heart bypass at aged 5_)...but nothing was mentioned about the teachers who are retiring after making generations (my friend, his mother, and her grandmother, in one case) the "Upstanding Alumni" upon whom we depend so much. So much for priorities.
So, my friends and I made a sign and pissed off the prinicipal (what is she going to do, expel us?)...but I say, ah well....at least we got them in their glory days!
Happiness for y'all....and I'll try to keep you abreast of my life here in the armpit of the world: central CT...where we have no public transportation, no good movies, no theatre to seak of, no culture at all, really...and I such a city boy...fuck.
JCM
My friends and I call it the Bungee Cord Effect.
My high school is small, under 600 students. I graduated with only 125 other people. It is drilled into our heads that "Our Upstanding Alumni" are extremely important to our survival. So, without fail, a shit-load of us come back every year to sing for graduation (the same music that has been sung at graduation for 42 years). Some of us go to Graduation Mass in the morning (my friends and I are among them).
My friends and I have it all planned, well in advanced: go to Mass, get together for lunch with other friends who don't sing and therefore don't go to Mass, hang out all day, go to Graduation, bullshit for the night. It's our own little reunion. But it started to get awkward last night. Last year, graduation was fun because it was many of our friends (Juniors when we were Seniors), and there was definitely the "I did this last year." "Been there, done that, got the T-Shirt." kind of feeling. But this year was, "Why haven't I moved on." Yet I know that my friends and I will again be in that sweltering choir loft again next year (only slightly more intoxicated given that we will all be legal).
One last thing about graduation, just to get it off of my chest. Two of my favorite teachers (on Calculus, that other my mentor/inspiration) are retiring this year. And what did the school do about this at graduation, given that the one (mentor/inspiration) is an alumna herself, her three children are alumni, her husband is an alumnus, and she has taught there fore over 40 years; and the other has been one of the most beloved teachers for all of the 15 years he has taught there? Shit. No mention of their dedication to our school, not snippet in the program, nothing. It would be understandable, that the administration did not want to draw attention away from the graduates, commendable on their part, really. But, no, we had to hear about and pray for (I went to a Catholic school) two teachers and an alum who are "really, very sick." So, it's obvious some people deserve to be recognized (on the the teachers was a real asshole to everyone, the other was our Dean of Student Discipline, and the alum had heart bypass at aged 5_)...but nothing was mentioned about the teachers who are retiring after making generations (my friend, his mother, and her grandmother, in one case) the "Upstanding Alumni" upon whom we depend so much. So much for priorities.
So, my friends and I made a sign and pissed off the prinicipal (what is she going to do, expel us?)...but I say, ah well....at least we got them in their glory days!
Happiness for y'all....and I'll try to keep you abreast of my life here in the armpit of the world: central CT...where we have no public transportation, no good movies, no theatre to seak of, no culture at all, really...and I such a city boy...fuck.
JCM
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