I am finally home, which should not be something considered entirely pleasant. I have been progressively changing to smaller and smaller garments since my return home and now i am only worrying that the pleather chair in which i am sitting will not be comfortable against bare skin. Despite the heat, and the fact that i am peeling my leg up with a spatula (SMACK!!!), it is nice to be home.
I mean...
I am calling this home, something that i had not considered until i was gone for a weekend away. Before, i think i may have dreaded coming back here. I mean.... not that i don't like the people i am here with, but being exposed to someone's company so consistently allows you to fall into habits of interaction. Now, when i walked through the door and ran across the house to accost Rachel Kreis with a hug, pouting about my absence, i can't help feeling, for the hundredth time, that i am at home.
My absence started with a bike ride. Saturday morning i woke planning to complete a poster for the project i am doing at the experiment station, but i have managed, until today, to procrastinate. I had honestly thought i had rid myself of the horrible habit, but, by the time i needed to leave, i had only managed to buy a mango, make my bed, and sweep the floor of my room.
The fifty mile ride had an endpoint at the apartment of my oh-so-referenced and revered friend Carly from the station. I walked through the door, wobble-kneed, cracked-lipped, and sun-burnt to a smiling hostess that could not be dissuaded from pouring cup after cup of icy water. Eventually, after deciding that we "would" take wine, we started up the hilly terrain of the Cornell Campus towards the Ithaca Shakespeare companies rendition of "A Mid-Summer's Night Dream". The architecture was amazing, and, I can understand why Martha Broderick got red with excitement about my internship here. Everyone looked strangely awkward, though the fit tight-knitly with eachother. I could not describe all the people running around, playing frisbee, But there was something off-putting, as though my own style of intentional awkward dress and a nonchalance for fashion, was the norm there. While i was pulled every where by curiosity, my energetic companion urged me forward and i happily followed. The play was in a grove of trees with the sun behind the stage. When the actors spoke, even in quite supplications, their spit was visible as mist that always drifted onto the bespoken. My exhaustion got the better of me, so that all i can remember with interest is a small girl Carly pointed out, laughing uncontrollably in the front row. I am sure watching her being so happy in her little red dress, leaning forward and screaming with such a jubilation that she may have been trying to collapse the stage, gave me a small burst of energy that permitted me to rise at the end of the play.
Between that and now alot has happened. My poster is finished, I have returned home, and I am so relieved by a break in my monotonous schedule that i could kiss someone.
And now, as i finish, it is starting to rain for the first time in weeks, and though i am not a farmer or a plant, i don't know if much else could make me happier. tomorrow might be as easy and wonderful as these last few days in Ithaca. They have, at least, left me much better than i was before, and that seems a good way to gauge something
Better=Better
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