Weekends

Last weekend (it seems so far away even though it's only Tuesday), I went on a camping trip with a group of fellow engineers (and other people, who were mainly engineers' girlfriends/boyfriends). We left on what must be one of the most awful days to leave for a camping trip: it was rainy and cold. But luckily, we had plenty of firewood (and people bought even more after they got drunk), lots of food, and enough alcohol to put a liquor store to shame (we had plenty of cases of all sorts of beer, and other things people brought like rum and gin and vodka, and our coordinator brought boxes of wine).

I was probably one of the few (if not only) people who did not drink, but the food was really good. Our coordinator made chili, and we roasted spider weenies over the fire (and accidentally dropped what was probably an entire pack of hot dogs into the fire) and made s'mores until we ran out of chocolate and biscuits. Someone even roasted a pepper (and said, "It smells really good!" so everyone took turns smelling it).

I had way too much food for the night (I think maybe 4 or 5 hot dogs plus a ton of marshmallows and a tub of chili), but it was so good I couldn't stop eating. I probably burned all of the excess calories off during the night though, when I was freezing so badly I had a blanket wrapped around me, a down jacket on, and was still shivering through much of the night.

We talked about a bunch of silly things, like previous trips the other people had gone on, air force experience (a lot of people in our group had been in the army in some way), and generally Islandtown and other places. Then people started making up really dirty limericks and singing lewd songs, and cigars got passed around. I didn't like the smoke, plus I had drank too much lemonade, so I joined the bathroom excursion.

We hiked down the road, through many, many puddles (my boots are all disgusting now), and arrived at the bathrooms. When we got out, we saw that there was a playground nearby, so our temporarily appointed VP Acquisitions (we had VPs for almost everything, from VP Fire to VP Innuendo) decided it was a great idea to steal two of the kiddie cars in the playground (apparently the goal of VP Acquisitions was to get a golf cart, but that was too difficult), so two of the girls hauled the cars to our campfire.

I spent the rest of the night warming myself by the fire and stopping myself from eating more food. So obviously when I got up in the morning I went right back to the fire and, as the bacon was the only thing ready, I ate bacon. We had all forgotten to turn off the propane stove the night before, so we only had a little bit of propane left. Someone suggested we cook bacon over the fire, so we did that (in a pan and not on a stick, sadly). There was also instant oatmeal made in such huge batches that it looked almost homemade.

I must have ate 8 strips of bacon. So. Much. Food.

Then the group of girls I shared a tent with (and one of their friends and her boyfriend) decided to take a walk to the lake, and when we got there we wanted to walk around the lake. So we hiked through mountains of trash and sand and long reeds, and got to see the lake from all angles. When we got back, there was spaghetti cooking on the fire (food was definitely one of our themes), and it was delicious too. Too bad we had to leave soon after, but not before we finished the rest of the marshmallows, all of the beer, and someone roasted a banana.

On our way back, we talked about more trips (including a skiing trip that I'd love to go on), deteriorating bridges ("please don't stop under the bridge!"), and people who drank too much beer and needed to go to the bathroom (one guy was almost desperate enough to emulate Mario). If it were any warmer and drier I would have wished it lasted longer. As it were though, I was plenty glad to return to my warm, cozy room and actually sleep on a proper bed.

. . .

Next weekend I am going on another trip, except this time I am going to Beavertown (I had bought the tickets last weekend, and I am so excited). I already have my outfits planned out, because, obviously, this is the most important part. Well, also because Yuma said he would be in charge of planning the events, so that does not leave me with much left to plan for.

I told this to a guy I had met online a couple weeks ago (who knew about my situation with Yuma), and he said, "Bring pepper spray."

I hope I won't ever have to use that.

That aside, I am really, really excited. I'm hoping I will finish all of my homework before Friday, and then maybe skip out of my last class on Friday so I don't need to be at the bus station at 12 in the morning (although that is also a feasible option, if I had to), and then I'll skip my Tuesday tutorial so I can have three and a half days (and four nights!) in Beavertown.

But that means I have to work now, so off I'll be.

Busy, Busy Days

I went to the tech fair this week, and talked to several companies about internships and such. I had printed out 15 CVs, because Yuma had told me to print 40, and I think I still have 6 or 7 left. Thank goodness I didn't print 40. I would probably need a few more for the volunteering/exchange expo this weekend, if that, but otherwise I wouldn't need them until winter, and by then I hope to add a few more things on there.

I still need to research these internships I've learned about though. Maybe tonight, or tomorrow, if I get the chance.

Tomorrow I am going to buy tickets to Beavertown, unless my dad plans a spontaneous visit, which I hope he won't, and if he does I can always say that I will be out that weekend with friends. Which is technically true, if you discard the notion that Beavertown is so far away. Then I'll take the metro to the expo, because it is apparently along the route, and then I'll come back to Fish Wings to go on a camping trip sponsored by my department that will last half the weekend. Apparently this is the first time our department has done anything like this, and we're going to a place that even the coordinators have never heard of before they organized the trip.

In Yuma's words (sort of), if anyone died they would never host something like this again.

Yesterday I went to the SWE-like-group's committee meeting, and we agreed on a potluck dinner/drinks/karaoke night some time next month. And today I got a nomination form for class rep (I need 25 people to back me up), and signed up to take notes for other people in my class. I also emailed a group about being a math tutor, and another group about participating in their robot team.

Jessica, who has also signed up for all of these things (well, in the sense of plenty, not the sense of exactly the same), was wondering if she wanted to take on any more or if it would be too much for her to handle.

It does seem like there aren't enough hours in the day, although my classes are still going by as slow as ever. I can't believe a month has passed and I really can't believe how little I learned in linear algebra.

But there is linear algebra homework due on Sunday, and a debate I need to research for on Monday, so I will need to get most of it done before I go on the camping trip tomorrow. Less blogging, more working.

Some Old Things In Drafts

"I know there's something in the wake of your smile, I get a notion from the look in your eyes, yeah."—Listen to Your Heart, Roxette


Molly Lambert has an interesting way of writing. She starts out with something ordinary, like telephone lines against a sunset, and expands it into something seemingly unrelated, like Hamlet, and then wraps it up with a post title and a link title that are completely different. And the pictures too. They make every post something special, something worth reading (it helps too that the pictures break up the dense text).

I wanted to clear out my drafts because the number of total posts was misleading (some of them will probably never, ever see the light of day) and also because I reread this the other day and remembered Molly. She is something special. She has since left "This Recording," but she was the reason I read through all of those wordy posts even though I knew I had assignments of my own due the next day.

There are days I wish I could write like her. But that takes skill. That takes discipline, tremendous amounts of it. And with my brain addled with lack of sleep and the instantaneous skimming I have acquired by reading through my collection of food blogs, I don't have that quite yet.

It is the difference between the good writers and the great writers, although I am not either yet, and perhaps at this rate never will be.

I still remember this particular post. Telephone lines breaking up the sky. Some sort of strange irony that they are not at odds but instead harmonious. I stared at two pigeons today in the middle of campus, watched them squeeze under the wrought-iron fence, their heads bobbing. I did not know pigeons bobbed their heads before "Pooch Café." Even though I must have seen a hundred pigeons before, if not more.

What else have I never known?

Yuma asked me today if I had read Tea's latest blog post, and of course I have. I am subscribed to her in my RSS feed, I cannot escape it. He said it reminded him of me. What were his exact words? Something about being angsty, and it not being the point that I refuted him with the concrete fact that I was not hurt.

But he is more often right than I am. Yesterday a boy in my English class (for engineers) walked with me to my next classroom, and told me he was going to go to the engineering library. He had taken the long way by walking with me, but he said the shortcut was closed. Yuma said he was "hitting on me," but he has been saying that about almost every boy I have talked with. Is he really right, or is he being insecure?

We are reading The Tale of Despereaux right now. Or rather, Yuma is reading it to me, chapter by chapter, on nights when we can both fulfill our promises. We are on the chapter where Despereaux's mother says, "Adieu." It is a sad chapter. There are more sad chapters following it.

I told him, "When we get to the happily ever after we will be able to live happily ever after as well."

His answer was, "We'll see." It is his answer for the future, for our future. He is living it day by day, that is his way of coping. I am living it by focusing on the end. That is my way of coping.

I told Nyx today that I might be visiting Beavertown during my Thanksgiving, and that if I do I would like to see her before I go back. She asked, "Are you going to see Yuma?"

And then said, "I heard you guys broke it off."

Have we?

Yuma introduced me last night to his going-to-forbidden-places-and-physics buddy as "my ex." He signed off one of his chats to me today as "my lovely." Maybe this is his double life, his way of separating what he feels and what he wants to feel. But I am assuming now. I am taking a literary book off the shelf and remarking on its symbolism without going inside the head of the author.

When he read my blog the other night Yuma said, "I always get nervous when you write about me. I don't know what you are going to say."

Maybe that is part of the problem. There is a part of me I do not speak of, a part I only write of. No matter how much we talk and how much he asks me, he will never know my true impression of him. Sometimes I do not know either. The words come out and they are just right, they hint at something I otherwise would never have guessed. Or they are not right, and I erase them, and try again and again.

One of my other drafts was about an airport terminal. Maybe I will post it some day when I have the chance. It is silly now, because I have fulfilled my flying dream, I have seen the vast blue sky at an altitude above the meanest rain cloud.

Here is an excerpt of it, of one of the very last paragraphs I wrote before I got distracted by something else:


I have not been imagining things for a very long time now. It is because of content—when I am happy, I tend not to want to escape through my mind. At least I thought I was happy. In many ways, I am. I love being able to lean back and knowing that someone will catch me before I fall. I love skipping down the halls and not being alone. I have had one too many solitary hopscotch games.


But there is a part of me that is the loner in the rain, the one who is perfectly happy to be cold and drenched and with no one else to reach out with a hand. The one who can watch snow drift for hours and be at peace, because there is not a soul to take this away. Not a soul to break the news of reality.

It is silly to mention this now. Yuma says there are boys here who will make me happy. Who I can cuddle with and not feel lonely. I always stop listening before he goes on.

Tea said I should only chase after him if I am absolutely, 100% dedicated. And I see why now. It is extremely frustrating to reach out every time and be rebuffed, to want to be upset but knowing it would only weaken my stance. On the bright side I will probably be much better at sales pitches by the end of this.

I am all out of milk now, although not yet out of cereal. I was going to buy milk this morning, or maybe Tuesday morning, but when you go to bed in the not-so-early morning you wake up in the almost-not-morning morning. And other things happen. Like today I went to a roundtable discussion with several other engineers from other years and with some company reps from this oil and gas company, and they have all been mentioning internships and Jessica and I are left with wondering what we should do.

"My GPA will be so good this semester," Jessica said. "I am going to get straight As because the classes are so easy."

I am going to get straight As too, or at least I have to, or else I will not have the 3.7 GPA I need to keep my scholarship. It is a scary proposition, but I have heard it is do-able. At least for this semester, which means I will at least have the money for next semester, and maybe I can live it out that way, or maybe I can just learn to the best I can and not worry about grades, because those things come naturally after learning.

And lots and lots of work. Which means lots and lots of time.

Yuma has repeatedly mentioned that I should just do the things I want to do and not worry about conforming to his schedule. But I cannot do that. Because if he is unwilling to compromise then the only way I will get to talk with him is by compromising myself. It is silly, it is hard, and it is taking its toll on my preferred bedtime.

I suppose that is inevitable.