Now, as I sit here overdosing on the remains of a pumpkin pie, I finally get a chance to reminisce on one of the most amazing weeks I have had in a long time.
Sunday/Monday: It all began with an all-nighter, a 15 hour write-fest interrupted by showers, several cups of water, two huge mugs of black-tea, an infinite number of trips to the bathroom, and the undeniable urge to check my email every 16 seconds, because you never know who might email you at 4:37 in the morning. (Hey… I’ve got friends in France, New Zealand, Ghana, Germany, London, and Japan. With the magic of time differences, it could happen.) Now, for most people, churning out 5500 words in one night is not the best start to a week. But I have found that the adrenaline rush from doing all that in one night is such a high. I’ve never done drugs, but damn, when I climb into bed at 6:15 for a catnap before class, I feel out of this world. Not to mention I think my body functions better without sleep, as I get ridiculously giddy, happy, and just plain silly the next day. In my own little world, I dance to music no one else can hear. Quite literally.
Tuesday: Truly one of the most glorious days I have had in a long while. Four wondrous hours of class. The first hour was painful, but the other three were spent discussing writing (why am I such a nerd) and helping others work out the kinks in their 5000 word pieces that they all had 15 hour write-fests for. Theoretically involving as much caffeine as my own. And, after preparing myself for a beat-down of epic proportions, I was told that not only was my 5500 word piece of crap an enthralling piece full of style and intrigue, but also that I would some day become a famous literary journalist. I’d never had the experience before, but hearing that someone else read pieces of your writing to their friends is one of the most gratifying, flattering, amazing things you can ever experience. It also inflates your ego a lot. My head must be the size of an IMAX screen by now. How I fit into my house, I have no idea.
Wednesday: nothing that exciting. Hey, if every day was amazing, it would lose all of its amazingness, because you’d have nothing to compare it to. Too much of a good thing is still too much.
Thursday: nothing says a good time like commemorating the days when we gave Indians diseased blankets, shot them, took their land and forced them onto reservations. Especially when it comes with pie. Everyone likes pie.
Friday: After sleeping off all of the tryptophan, I spent the first 7 hours of a day with one of my current best friends, then spent the last 7 hours with my old best friends. There’s something magical about being able to sit with someone and not have to say a word. There’s also something magical about having people you can sprawl across on the couch, who will feed you Peppermint Patties without you asking them to, or who will laugh at a shared memory brought up by a single word. It’s also nice to have friends as severely retarded as myself.
Saturday: They’re going to pull me on a sled in the winter, sleep at the foot of my bed, chase small children up trees, and catch Frisbees (Matrix style). I got two beautiful girl puppies today. I think I love them more than I could ever love another human being, though I haven’t met every other human being, so it would be wrong of me to make such a judgment. After almost two years of waiting, I have four little eyes, two wagging tails, and eight little paws (with a total of 32 sharp little nails) ready to love me, and I them.
And to top it all off, I just squirted tangerine zest into my eyes. Would weeks like this be as sweet without the pain? Perhaps yes. But they also wouldn’t be as delightfully scented.
