Friday, April 06, 2007

sometimes it hurts but when you read the writing on the wall

When I got my driver's license in high school, and had finally amassed enough funding to get a car, the deal that came with being able to drive to school was having to give the little broseph a ride. At first, this was a real problem- as a nerdy teenager, I was all about punctuality. And actually, by then, as an aspiring outgoing teenager, I was still about punctuality, because that's what idiot teeniac girls do- show up to school on time or early in order to loiter in the hallways, at the lockers, making small-talk, checking out the scene. The broseph, on the other hand, was exactly as he is now- on his own schedule, his own pace, his own slow, winding, still river towards getting up and getting ready. This, of course, amounted to a lot of tension in the mornings- me, itching to get an early start, get a good parking spot, ease into the morning before class, versus the broseph, wanting just 5 more minutes to sleep, to shower, to sit at the kitchen table reading the back of the cereal box.

Finally, one morning, it came to an end. Contrary to what a lot of dudes who know me might believe, I actually loathe the role of the nag, the harpie. It's not for me. It's exhausting. But nor am I great at just swallowing an unfavorable situation, at just shrugging it off (and if you read yesterday's post, this is great further evidence of my burgeoning schizophrenia). So, the result, to steal AL's favorite South Park quote, is inevitably- Whateva! I do what I want!

And so I'd wait until 7:15, and if the broseph didn't have his act together, I was out the door. Sometimes, in the dead of the winter, he'd luck out and still make it, since I had to warm up the car. But for the most part, he had to fend for himself, either sucking it up on the bus with the other sophomores, or begging my parents for a ride. Even though it's now a running joke between us, I still contend it was a necessary rigidity.

Usually, I try to avoid that behavior these days, because, after all, it is a little cold. But, in San Francisco, sometimes that's best to do. Especially when dealing with San Franciscans. I have kind of avoided cementing some of my upcoming plans because I've been waiting for some other people to work through their commitment issues. But you know, my time is running out. So, I'm actually thinking that pretty soon, it's going to come on 7:15, and I'm going to have to walk out that door.


Yeah, but in other news, last night was a good night. The fog descended on the city, which is normally cause to steal yourself away with a blanket on the couch. But instead, Tamasha was visiting, and we had tapas with many a blogger I know, one relatively new blogger, and one former blogger (mango pickle, you need to get back in the game). Meeting people who know you but don't know you is an interesting phenomenon, but the weirdness dissipated rather quickly. I'll gush about all these blog-peeps another time though- instead I'll just say this: Tamasha got a nice taste of why I call my apartment the crack shack when we got to my garage and found a handful of metal spoons and golf tees strewn at my stoop, just because.

It has to be a good weekend, even though it really doesn't. But it will be. Sometimes, I see now, constraints can serve a good purpose.

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