english sophistication.

I am alive and so over Shakespeare I could puke. However, I have to put up with 3 more weeks of it. Also, I see James Franco every day, so that makes life a bit more liveable. He smokes cigarettes and wears leather jackets and pretends like he's a good actor. And I think of how I used to have his picture on my wall when I was in eighth grade, and it's all good.

Also, I took a walk through the countryside with Nina the other day. The beauty here is amazing. It's so quiet you can hear the dew drying on the grass and the clouds moving. And it's a very tiny, subtle beauty that I never want to let go of.

synopsis.

there's no way i'm going to europe i can't be going to europe how is it possible that i'm leaving for europe? europe feels an eternity away why can't i just stay here in my comfort zone instead of going to europe? can i bring my cat with me to europe? i refuse to believe i'm going to europe how long did you say my trip to europe is again? two months, oh, yes, that's right how are fewer than sixty hours standing between me and europe? europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe europe i am afraid to leave somewhere i was afraid to come home to

chinatown.

four days before i leave for europe
three words i don't believe in
too many times i find myself wishing we could start fresh and new
one.
sometimes you're all that fills my mind.
and i don't care about the other people that come between us.
i don't care about how cute or funny or beautiful or charming or intelligent those people may be.
they are not you. they are not me.
so maybe one of these days there will be zero space between us and we can forget all of the negatives and just go forward.

bright side.

So my roommates and I are currently looking for a fourth roommate and it is quite frightening. I just know I'm going to be sharing a room with some psychopath next year.

Although I guess if I do, at least I'll have some good stories to tell.

i'll be so good to you.

I was sitting on the couch in my living room today reading my third Shakespeare play in three days when all the sudden I realized that in just 9 days, I would be navigating the Tube in London and making my way to Shakespeare's birthplace with Nina.

And I sat on the couch, my feet propped up, my legs tired from work and my mind tired from Elizabethan English. I could feel the grass under my feet and the rain falling from the sky and the earth rushing past as I sit on a European train speeding from Barcelona to Avignon. I cannot believe how lucky I will be. While I do have moments of mental clarity in my daily life, they will be nothing compared to the next two months.

I'm thinking, however, that my mind will only reinforce the things that I have already discovered in the last 4 weeks. Then again, these things have been obvious to me for six years. I'm just coming around again. Like a merry-go-round. Like always.

do it.

I am currently at a job that I hate in order to pay for two months of European freedom. However, having said job has forced me into a sort of existential crisis.

Today, my boss asked me to come in early. I rushed back from the city as fast as I could because she sounded desperate. Then, wouldn't you know it, when I stepped in, the store was quiet and there was no work to be done. I had missed lunch for this.

On my break, I had to run down to Starbucks to get coffee because the little coffee shop across the street was closed, but I still needed something to raise my blood sugar. This took longer than the prescribed "10 minutes" that I'm given.

I get back to the store, smiling and happy with my mocha raspberry bullshit. My boss smiles back at me. I put my stuff down, say goodbye to my drink as I place it in the fridge, and head back out to what is now my personal hell. I approach the front desk and my boss says - sugary and sweet and condescending - "You know that was a 25-minute break, right?"

Um, excuse me? I don't know when you started timing, lady. Was it the moment I stopped thinking like a machine to go on my break? Was it after I last made money for your store- which, by the way is completely disorganized - with my powers of persuasion and cute shoes? She then proceeds to say (after I have argued with her about how, sorry, that wasn't 25 minutes, you insensitive bitch) "You know, you've been taking longer breaks these days anyway." I swear to God, this woman is monitoring my every move. What I do is I take an extra 2 minutes to go to the bathroom after my 10 minutes are up. I don't consider the bathroom to be a break-worthy activity, so I calculate it separately. Apparently, she does not find this amusing.

Then, she finishes our dispute up (because I refused to be put in the position of the bad guy and argued politely with her for a bit) with "Well, we can both agree that your breaks are longer than ten minutes. No matter how you look at it, that's a burden to business."

So I am now a burden to business. Which I think is hilarious when I have the highest sales in the store right behind the 30 year-old, ahem, sales lead, whose job it is to, ahem x2, lead in sales.

My immediate reaction to all of this was anger. I decided that if she thought I was a burden, I would show her how burdensome I could be. But then I turned to determination. I decided I would shorten my breaks to 6 minutes so she would shut her fat trap about it. Then I realized that doing so would make me a tool. A machine. A nothing. And all this is is a summer job. And I think she takes this whole thing way too seriously.

I would say my conclusion is I should have gone back to Ann Taylor, which was surprisingly much more laid back than its "casual" counterpart. But, really, this leaves me with a question: Do I improve and become the best at everything in this job or do I just forget it and tell her (nonverbally) to fuck off? Would being the best win me anything at all? Would I even be recognized for my efforts? Would telling her to fuck off be giving into my weakness for 12-minute breaks and a life separate from this 4-week part-time job?

I think I just answered my own question.

a long walk.

Today, I drove to Golden Gate Park and spent the day bonding with myself. When I started at the Japanese Tea Gardens, the sun was still almost shining. Quickly, however, San Francisco smothered it with a thick blanket of fog. A security blanket, if you will. Slowly, I made my way over to San Francisco's principal art museum, the De Young, only to find that I hated its updated architecture and that they had started charging visitors $10. I opted out and decided that art was for another day. Art is, after all, simply an imitation of nature. So I circled the lake that sits in the center of the park, laughing in my head when little kids tripped over their shoelaces and when dogs accidentally fell into the water. I took some photographs of ducks and made my way to the Chinese Pavilion. I also spent some time in the Botanical Gardens, but didn't feel like walking all the way to the Conservatory of Flowers (and, besides, who knows what they charge for entry there these days) (although I am kind of sad I missed their exhibit on carnivorous plants). I finished it all off at the Temple of Music, which has always reminded me of a Parisian park. Today, there were tango dancers on stage and you could hear the accordion music from all over the park. I plopped down on a bench and just watched without thinking. If I didn't look around too much, I truly thought I might be in France. Magnifique.

Interestingly, the whole reason why I went to Golden Gate Park today was to see the Shakespeare Garden. I wanted to sit there and read Henry IV. But as soon as I got there, I realized that I had too much on my mind. And I remembered sitting in my English class last quarter studying Marvell. And I thought of his poem "The Garden" and all of the different conceptions that one can have of a garden, the foremost being the garden as a location of contemplation. So I took some early seventeenth-century advice and ditched the late-sixteenth century play. I had my own little revolution; I surrendered to my thoughts. Perhaps not as stirring as the death of Elizabeth and the ushering in of King James, but I still felt myself a bit of a cavalier.

Cheers to self-discovery.

yes.

I had a dream last night that a huge crowd of people were walking toward me on a very narrow walkway that led over a small body of water. I stuck toward the right but then everyone else did, too, so we were all just walking at each other, about to crash. Then all the sudden I realized that I was, duh!, in England and that I should have moved to the left side of the walkway. More of a metaphor, really.

Tomorrow is my day off. Tomorrow is my day at the beach with my friends. And, over the next few days, I need to actually start taking seriously the fact that I have to plan 3 weeks worth of activities in Ireland, Spain, and France. And places to sleep. Otherwise it's beaches and bathrooms and train stations for the three of us... Now that I think of it, that wouldn't be half bad.

This photo pretty much sums up my summer thus far:


Only add in Colin, Charley, Greg (sometimes), Evan, Ryan (who you can kiiind of see here), Maureen, Nika, Ilya, and Brandon. If only Jen, Jess, and Mer weren't all so far away... I miss y'all. Then summer would be just perfect.

Oh, and my parents are going out of town again.

oh my.

God, I love how Prez Bush and Prez Putin are having a little sleepover at Bush's dad's house in Maine. I hope they make cookies and watch Back to the Future and paint their nails and do their best to stop the resurgence of the Cold War! Have fun, guys!

call me when you get there.

I don't see how the sumer could get any better than it did last night. It's insane how exponentially better this summer is than the last. I don't really know what words I can use to quantify my elation or the beauty of listening to the sky as I float alongside it. There are none that I can think of. Only Faulkner could ever put it into words. Or in his case, non-words used to embody something that cannot be embodied, something that is and can never be was and will always be.