I fully intended, as you probably inferred from the titles of the last few posts, to embark on a couple of serials. I was doing one about all the FSMs arriving to town, but so much has happened since then that i no longer give a shit about writing that particular story. Don't worry, you're not missing a whole lot.
I also have a great deal more to say on the subject of marriage (namely, i think the whole institution is an archaic construction invented for financial power and control and is no longer necessary, or even a good idea, in a modern, civilized society), but i'll get to that another day.
Right now my brain is being dominated by thoughts of 2 subjects: England, and sculling.
Re the latter. I joined the Ann Arbor Rowing Club this weekend, and went for my first outing last night. I spent 90 minutes flying solo on a wooded river beneath a gunmetal grey sky. 88 minutes of it was pure shite. I can't steer for fuck all, and on the S-shaped stretch of the Huron River which is my new home, I found myself either A, on the wrong side of the river, or B, having to pause every 5 strokes to make a course correction to avoid A. There was a strong, steady breeze. In an 8 it wouldn't have made me blink, but for one who can't steer a scull in the best of conditions, it was troublesome. Furthermore, I am unaccostomed to feathering with my right hand. That, combined with the fucking rubber oar handles equals a pile of novice blisters. Good god, blisters! I havn't had blade blisters in seven years. Fucking novice. On the up side, I didn't fall in. And during those brief moments when I got both blades off the water for the entire recovery (there were maybe a dozen such strokes over the course of the outing) and put the pressure down, my god it was like flying. That's it, game over: i'm hooked.
Re the former. My god where do i start? I will be in one place for the next three years. I havn't had that kind of stability since I was an undergrad. Ever since I left connecticut i've been floating about, moving every year or two, trying something new, never committing to anything. Now I can stay in one place for a while, really make some connections, have a life. On top of that, this is the first time ever in my life that I'm embarking an a new journey that I am absolutely certain I will genuinely enjoy. When I started at Connecticut thought hey, this might suck, but it can't possibly be worse than high school. I've got nowhere to go but up. When I left for Australia I thought hey, it might be the greatest experience of my life, but it might be the worst. oh, well, if it is, i can survive anything for three months. When i started my job in massachusetts i thought well, it's something to do and i'll be able to feed and house myself; that's something, anyway. And when I left for Manchester i thought well, it can't possibly be worse than what i'm doing now, and if it really sucks, well, i can survive anything for one lousy year.
Connecticut wasn't worse than high school, but the first 2 years were rough enough that by the middle of my second year i was seriously contmeplating dropping out. Australia, as it turned out, was both the best and worst experience of my life. Massachusetts was 2-year gap in my life where I learned exactly what I didn't want to do with the rest of my earthly existence. Manchester turned out to be absolutely fucking fabulous, but I had no way of knowing that when I boarded the plane. For the first time ever I'm doing something I know with total certainty will be wonderful, fulfilling, and ultimately get me where I want to go. I know what I want, I know how to get there, and I'm leaving soon. Good god the peace, the focus, the certainty, the contentment. if I were a better poet I could perhaps describe it more elegantly. I can say this, though: I'm happier now than I've been been in my life. Everything is falling in place.
Unfortunately, this perfect focus on the rest of my life has left me a little distracted in the here and now. I've developed a terminal case of Senioritis, which is the name we Americans give to teenagers whose brains graduate high school several months ahead of their bodies, thereby leaving their bodies to spend the entire last term sitting in their chairs staring meaninglessly into space. I developed Senioritis my sophomore year and it became increasingly severe over the next 2 1/2 years. This time it's far worse. The good people at the FSM have been ready to kill me since Tuesday morning when I got the good news from Bristol. It would seem I'm unable to complete a single task. Whatever. I don't give a flying fuck.
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