Come home. Snoopy, Come home.
tDo you ever get the feeling that there is a giant "no Dogs allowed sign" posted all over your life. And you think "that's Odd, I wonder what they have against dogs". But every time you try and enter a new building or traverse some crossroad, the constant bellows of "back up bitch" leave a creeping sensation that the dog of which they speak, the one that's "not allowed", just maybe, possibly, could in fact be none other than you.
......Yeah. me either.......
The boards have me holed away in the mezzanine of one ivy league grad library--sinai was kind enough to spring for month long library passes to compensate for the endless construction taking place at our local study spaces. I used to wonder what it would have been like wandering these ivy coated halls. I think the dream dissipated over a number of years and gave way to a profound appreciation for my lucky entrance into medical school and successful endeavors to break the fuck away from the midwest (ah Mich, I miss you so). But now, as I slip passed the trigger happy guards (and by trigger, I mean pointer finger....towards the door) and into an otherwise gated community, I am like the tin can cooking, caboose car hopping transient peeking into the plate glass windows of societies upper crustiest.
And...
It's everything I imagined.
It is no exaggeration to say: I am more bitter than two year old cheese drippings crusted to the bottom of an easy bake oven. I am, as I type this, crafting time machine scenarios in which I bribe, blackmail, and maim to work my way into this my coveted institution. (In one of the scenarios I worked hard, got great grades and didn't show up 30 minutes late to interviews, but that scenario just seemed unreasonable). Of course, even then, with my school emblemed t-shirts and pearly smile (all ivy leaguers have flawless teeth), even then, in my own daydream, I find myself standing at the lion guarded gate and staring down the writing on the wall: "keep out, YOU"
Fine, sign. I catch your subtle hint. I guess there's something to be said for living on the outside of that plate glass window, where the grass has a scent and the breeze a tangibility. So, I return to the weather worn comfort of my second hand, triple patched, jimmy-rigged, duct tape smattered life. Where the brick has no ivy and the writing on the wall is actually graffiti. But the sprayed on lettering reads just right: "Welcome".
posted by that girl at 9:42 AM
4 Comments:
Just think...all of that so-called "underacheiving" that kept you out of Columbia afforded you a life. A real life, with pit-falls, triumphs and other underachievers, such as myself.
When you look at it that way, you really are the winner.
Especially considering you had all that fun and are still enjoying the library... filled with leather bound books...which smells of rich mohogany...(I had to).
HAHAHAHAindeed.It's true. But just so that they feel welcome in my cubby hole, I'm definitely gonna spray paint Columbia and Sinai 2 eva....or at least scratch it into a few tables with a sharpened paperclip.
it's an expression of love.
.....wow....clearly 4 eva.
wow. someone has displaced(?) feelings of under-achievement. reading this almost made me reconsider my current plan of eternal under-achievement... but then i remembered how much fun it is playing video games in class while everyone else is "paying attention"... you need to chill the fuck out.
and talk to me more often.
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