August 27

    It is funny how things worked out this summer.  I went from having a wonderfully structured (if predominantly joyless) schedule to being a nocturnal amoeba forcing itself to stay awake during the day.  The disparities were notable.  Work and school always took less of me than I expected, but it was occassionally more than I was willing to give.  I have had some to poke around my attic, my head, and a prospective college campus.  Some assumptions have been confirmed and new conclusions drawn, though I cannot be sure of what they all are.  I needed a break, and to feel like a slob for long enough to appreciate being appreciated somewhere.  There was no medal for not hotboxing the inside of my skull, but I never expected one.  Perhaps I am a little sharper than I would otherwise be.  

    If I have yet to make sense, you are experiencing the flow of my summer thought patterns.  Every idea overlaps, while curiously disconnected from the last and the next.  And we are again in the present tense.  Summer is not officially stripped of its glory until September 21.  Until then, we can watch it wither and die and wish there were things to fear other than kidnappers, mosquitoes, and baseball strikes.  Of course there are, the government just pays Secret Service agents to snatch little girls to divert our attention from our bumbling President's lack of discretion.  At least, that's one theory.
   
    Time has meaning like tree bark has meaning.  It acts like the little plastic cylinders on the ends of shoelaces.  The only purpose it serves is to prevent each strand's ultimate unraveling.  The effort is successful thus far; I am not a raving lunatic yet.  Am I?

    I was going to mention something about tomorrow, about being positioned in front of a cash register as a source of comparision.  This is what people look like when textbook prices force them to sell their children to science.  This is how pretty the walls look when they are gone.  This is how we count money and watch credit cards be declined.  This is how we deposit our paycheck.

    My salary is actually up by a dollar, leaving me with little to complain about.  I signed on for fewer hours.  Any stress accumulating from more being added will be the result of my splendid judgement.  Nothing kept me there this summer.  A few hours in the afternoon will give me slightly less time to fuck around with duct tape, contort with Ashtanga yoga, and spontaneously cry.  There's no reason to dread having to leave the house and press a few buttons while my manager cooks the books.  

    Assessing the schedules of a fraction of Cranford High's class of 2002 might even be fun.  I get to see their spirits fall as they sign their mother's name on the credit card slip, and realize they are one of the losers who ended up at the County College.  I wish the best of luck to them all.  The Basic Skills test is a killer.

    In addition to being employed again, I am with Andrew again.  I will just express my satisfaction instead of sullying this entry with tired sentiment.  It is all true as it is trite.  I have been pried from my vertiginous, personal vortex to peruse the parking lots and convenience stores hand in hand.  We are definitely not fourteen anymore, and are more aware of what goes into a relationship