Some people write their novels with paper and a fountain pen

A week in New Orleans.  Great stuff.  Today we went to church at St. Mark’s and it was good to see familiar faces.  Back in January, we went there for about a month straight, so I was lucky enough to begin forming relationships.  I met Mary and Barbara, two women who I’m pretty sure are homeless.  I learned back in January that Barbara had to stop living in her FEMA trailer because it was poisoning her, and Mary didn’t have a home.  The two of them were there this morning, and we spent a while talking with them.  Barbara kept spewing out all sorts of conspiracy theories about the US government, and I think she might have gotten some of her historical facts mixed up.  Apparently, Operation Desert Storm is what brought syphillus to America; the Mormons are vaccinating their babies and giving them cancer; incest is okay because it’s been happening since the beginning of time; and something in there about water mocassins.

It’s good to be back.  Today we were standing in line at a place on Chef Highway famous for their overstuffed po’boys.  I had taken the last of the ketchup, and as the next man in line went for the ketchup dispenser I warned him that it was out but he could have some of mine.  He laughed and just asked the woman working there for more ketchup.  Then, he looked me up and down and said, “Do you play basketball?”  “No, sir, I’m just tall!”  He laughed, a deep, hearty laugh as Jenn stepped forward and declared her short-statured-self a basketball player.  The conversation took off from there and as we waited for our crawfish and shrimp to be deep-fried and stuffed between two thick halves of French bread, we learned about the second line that we could experience in Uptown that afternoon.  His name was Larry, and he said we’d better bring ourselves some alcohol because–”Now I’m not sayin’, but I’m just thinkin’, 90% of yall white folks can’t dance!”  True enough.  He told us how the parade went for three miles, and you were jam-packed in there with at least a thousand people, all overtaken by the voodooistic spirit of the music.  Something happens, he said, and the music and the crowd just take you and the only bad thing about the day is that you get to the end and wonder where the fuck am I?  We all got our sandwiches and went our separate ways, but he made sure to let us know he expected to see us out there sometime dancing our asses off and confused as fuck about where we were.

And tomorrow’s our first official day of real work.  We’ll each be working with a construction manager and riding around to different sites with them.  More on that later, when I get a feel for what exactly it’s like.  Oh, and we’re living in the office.  Turns out we don’t have the house that was promised to us, so we’re roughing it in the rarely-used construction office on the first floor of this office building.  At least we can roll out of bed and be at work in no time.  The commute could kill us.

Anyway.  Yay summer.

Like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free

I’ve felt a great deal like a college student this past week.  With the success of my last portfolio being done at midnight, nine hours ahead of its due date, I rallied the troops and we drank ourselves silly.  And we were silly.  We mixed our drinks, making the best of what remained in the fridge and sat down to watch the Office.  There were rules, of course, but we were each responsible for remembering a couple.  I had to encourage people to drink whenever Ryan expressed hatred for his job or any time Michael impersonated someone.  And then we ended up outside every hour, watching the night sky change eventually to morning and fell asleep as the birds began chirping.

And yes, i did wake up and get myself over to Vulg in time to turn it in.  I can’t say that the elevator ride to the fourth floor was particularly satisfying, but I made it.  And then Tuesday night came around and we found more fun for ourselves.  And so the week wore on, a clusterfuck of bad decisions that were wholly entertaining and fun.  It’s weird spending senior week here with people who will be gone tomorrow.  They’ll walk across the stage sometime as I’m driving into Kentucky, and we’ll all go from there.  Pittsburgh, Michigan, Louisiana.  Hell, I thought Idaho last year was far…but we make it.  We keep the connections that matter and sever the ties that have strangled us all year.  I’m ready for this year to be over, though of course I’m not ready to say goodbye to those I love.

Oh, and on packing: I really don’t like having to compartmentalize my life, but that’s all I’ve been doing for the past twelve hours straight.  And now I’m ready to take a shower, brush my teeth, put on my last unpacked set of clean clothes and get some rest before the morning.  Tonight, Albion.  Tomorrow, Alabama.  And Sunday, finally, New Orleans.

Goodnight, incoherent moon.

Nothin’ you can do can make me untrue to my guy

Study.  Revise.  Study.  Revise.  Study.  Revise.  And all of this at the 50s-style diner at the Denny’s in Marshall.  We walked in around 8pm and nuzzled our way to the non-smoking section past a gang of Harley Davidson riders heckling a group of Kawasaki cool kids.  It was a funny show of male-dominance in a setting smelling like home-cooked meals and cigarette smoke.  We got seated and settled, staring down the menus though I knew all along what I wanted: two eggs over-easy, extra crispy hash browns with cheddar, and an English muffin.

And our favorite waitress was back, after a five week hiatus due to a broken wrist from an ATV accident.  Haven greeted us with a huge smile, and it felt more like family than the Olive Garden ever does!  She always hooks us up, charges us for half of what we get.  She knows we’ll split the difference for her tip.  After we cleared our plates, we dug into our textbooks, catching up on reading that should have been done all semester.  I read about the feminine mystique and deconstructed Larry Levis as Simon and Garfunkel assured me that it’s okay, because “I have my books and my poetry to protect me.”

The Diet Coke kept flowing, and four hours later, after diligent studying, we rewarded ourselves with hand-dipped milkshakes.  It reminded me of the time Tina broke down crying and my roommate questioned how small-breasted women get mammograms.  And that, of course, reminded me of the time that we sat in the same corner table, four of us on the brink of a quarter-life crisis.  We lamented the loss of our innocence, regretted becoming the cynical bitches we are, and celebrated where we were going.  And then our past selves walked in, all happily clad in bright Albion sweatshirts, grins plastered to their faces and the inevitable joy of being with sisters, with friends.  They wore the cheerful colors, I wore a “Fuck Columbus and the ship he sailed in on” shirt, and we all wore our hearts on our sleeves.  Where we’ve gone has been glorious, traumatic, trying, and triumphant (as indicated by gratuitous alliteration, apparently).  And where we’ll be come August seems more promising to me than ever before.

So when the two of us packed up our stuff, paid our bills, and passed off the tip, I said goodbye to Haven.  I had a “see you in September” moment with the Denny’s waitress, for God’s sake.  I’m getting emotional in my old age, but the song title seemed fitting in the throw-back diner, and the sentiment of holding out for the promise of a time yet to come is what keeps me going.

This too shall pass.