Plato believed that we lived in a world of
images, three-dimensional shadows of the true one. What we see with our eyes is nothing more than a cheap imitation of its true state.
example, the chair we see before our eyes is nothing more than a shabby image of the true chair that exists. We carry on everyday with
flawed perceptions of the true ideal form.
Life After College:
Year 3 - In Transit
[Wednesday, August 27, 2003]
Party like it's 1999.
I have never seen a school party as hard as MIT does. So far they have:
1) dropped 12 apple monitors off the top of their dorm building.
2) created a slip and slide out of one of their dormitory halls
3) lighted Mr. Coffee bombs outsidie. I saw the flame rise up past my brother's dorm window on the 5th floor.
I obviously went to the wrong school for undergrad. I envy my brother. I've been flirting shamelessly with the sophomore boys. For what reason, I don't know, besides the fact that I can. No wonder my brotherr doesn't want to introduce me to anyone.
I saw Mars today from the rooftop of the dorm. Then I sat down and cried on my knees. I think I must be getting my period. What prompted me to burst into tears was two things: 1) the realization that I was doing this alone, whereas in New York, I'd be watching with a bunch of friends 2) it was disappointingly like just another bright star. The rooftop was cold and lonely and friendless. Boston is cold and lonely and friendless. I signed a lease today, grudgingly as the room was less than ideal and cost more than I wanted to pay.
Tomorrow starts Orientation.
Posted by ink |
[Tuesday, August 26, 2003]
I'm a dick, I'm addicted to you!
Is it wrong to use men for sex?
So, I met this guy two weeks ago on the notorious Chinatown bus coming back from New York. Very cute. Very intelligent. A bit goofy, just the way I like it. But most importantly, he had a college education and was employed (Yay! Score one for Ink!). He called last Thursday and we set up a date for Friday. Since it was my last weekend in New York, I knew I had to act fast. I mean, with only 2 days left in the city, a girl can't be worrying about playing games or having a relationship - you have to consummate the relationship as fast as possible. That's big talk coming from a girl who has to talk drunk men into kissing her. Two bottles of wine and a subway ride later, it didn't seem so difficult anymore. Especially when the perfect "in" was provided for me. He's an architect. And he built his own bed.
"So. You think this bed will hold two?"
"Let's find out."
Half an hour later, I asked him if he had condoms. No, he didn't. I suppose I should feel gratified that he doesn't have a jumbo pack of them in his nightstand, but at the moment, I was merely annoyed. He pulled on his blades to skate down to the nearest convenience store to get them. In the meantime, I (of course) called up all my girlfriends to make my momentous announcement:
I'm about to double the total number of men I've slept with AND have my first one-night stand, all in one shot.
Quite a step if you ask me.
The next morning (Saturday), I woke up and started pulling my clothes on.
"Where are you going?"
"Home. I have to pack for Boston this afternoon."
"Yeah. I'm moving to Boston today."
"How come you didn't tell me this?"
"....I didn't think it would matter."
"Oh. I wish you weren't moving to Boston."
".....Yeah. Me too."
First - I meet what seems like my ideal boy in every way. Convinced that it will never work because I'm moving to Boston, I cut my losses and decide to take what I can get by sleeping with him instead. Second - it turns out that *surprise!*, he might actually want more than just one night. What are the chances that my perfect boy truly turns out to be perfect in that sense? Out of all the men in New York City who wouldn't blink twice at a one-night stand, HOW IS IT that on my LAST night in the city, I finally run into that one boy who might actually care. My life is an illustration of Murphy's Law in action. Unless that is, he wishes I wasn't leaving because he wants repeat-booty.
I suppose we'll find out whether he truly falls into that 1% or not based on whether he calls this weekend. He knows I'll be in the city for Labor Day, but he's also got a friend visiting for the weekend. Sadly, I'm almost hoping he calls. For the booty if nothing else. It was rather nice. And the fact that he doesn't have condoms in his room speaks to the fact that he is not a male whore. Bonus points for The Architect! It's one thing to be the Booty Girl for the Player or the Male Whore. But it's quite acceptable to be the Booty Girl for the Nice Guy Who Isn't A Player or A Male Whore. Assuming of course, that I am the only Booty Girl he has. I never quite got the hang of sharing in kindergarten. My friend Dot calls this phenomenon "The Re-addiction to Dick". Rather crass if you ask me. It supposedly happens to every born-again virgin who finally has sex again (whether you're inadvertently a born-again virgin or not). I wonder if men have the same objections to being potentially objectified the way women do.
It's only Tuesday. I know he won't call until Thursday at the earliest. Oddly, this seems like the longest week ever. I can't believe I've only been in Boston for 3 days. It's been a long 3 days.
This weekend, I head back to New York for one last time to pick up my stuff. Then I must say goodbye to my fair city.
Posted by ink |
[Monday, August 25, 2003]
I've been banned from hanging out with my little brother's friends. He said he'd "prefer" it if I didn't go with him. So thus I am sitting in the corner of his dorm common room, hooked up to the ethernet jack. I can hear the party in one of the rooms nearby, I'm just not allowed to go. Once in a while, my brother will come out and bring me a drink, after which I thank him gratefully and semi-sarcastically for his generosity. He'll let me have two sips and then take it away. Drink nazi. It's like I'm the dog left outside, tied to the fire hydrant. Or like I have leprosy or something. Or, more specifically, like I'm the bad kid who's been sent to sit in the corner. I have an invisible dunce cap on my head as I type on my laptop. Quite literally. The entire common room is empty save one small wooden chair, which I dragged to the corner to sit on so I could be connected to the ethernet jack. It's really not that big of a deal. I'm not too shattered about missing an undergraduate party, but it's one thing to not go, and quite another to be not allowed to go. It's rather insulting, like there's something wrong with me! Maybe I should make out with 3 or more of his friends tonight. Or, even better, lean out the common room window and flash my boobs at the party down there while having the words "Y's SISTER" written across my chest.
Posted by ink |
Oh what a downgrade. From my Central Park West apartment to my brother's MIT dorms. And we're not even talking suites here. We're talking flat-out full-on student dorms, complete with shared coed bathrooms (remember those?). Freshman orientation is going on right now. People keep stopping me in the halls to ask me where I'm from, what my name is, and whether I'm a freshman. I used to think that I was still young at heart, and that I wasn't that far removed from my undergrad days (I'm only 2 years out! That's nothing!). But being back in this environment really shows me how far I've come. When someone went streaking through the halls last night at 3 am, I didn't think it was funny or cool, I was annoyed - I'm trying to sleep here!! And you know you're truly old when you're no longer excited when someone starts pumping music outside. In fact, you seriously think about leaning out the window and telling them to turn it down. I hit rock bottom last night when I was sitting out in the hall, locked out of my brother's room starving for food. I'd come back from apartment hunting exhausted, it was 8 pm and nothing was open in Boston on a Sunday night. I sat down and had Cooler Ranch Doritos for dinner and wallowed in glumness while I waited for him to get back. Then I indulged myself and had a good cry. Wow, I cry a lot.
Finding an apartment in Boston has been an exercise in Murphy's Law. I've lost my phone twice. Gotten on the wrong subway once. Decided that viewing apartments with male inhabitants as a lone female may not be such a hot idea. Seen some terrible places. Met some terrible people. Seriously questioned whether Craig's List can be considered a representative sample of the Boston population. Because if so, it doesn't look good.
I saw the crowd coming out of the hospital today when I stopped by the admissions office. Let's just say that they were a far cry from the people I was used to in corporate America. No hot doctors. I got worried. Who am I going to hang out with? Did I really make the right decision? What am I going to do? Then I had to scold myself. What is this, am I so shallow that I can only hang out with beautiful people who speak perfect English, have perfect teeth, have non-greasy hair, and don't wear tapered pants tucked into high tops? Bad Ink! Bad!
Posted by ink |
And so it begins again.
There's something vaguely disconcerting about coming to a new city. I coasted into Boston last night on the recently popular Chinatown bus to the sights and sounds of a Saturday night in Boston. I'd say that was approximately when the enormity of what I was doing clicked into place. The people, the bustle - a sight that would normally fill me with anticipation instead filled me with a sudden loneliness and yearning for my friends in New York - the ones who were probably out and abouut at bars at that very moment as I sat alone, 4 hours away on a bus in a new city. I got the same semi-anxious feeling in my head that I got as a 7 year old going to a new school - a strange mixture of wanting people to like me and a desire to hold myself aloof, exclude them before they exclude me. It's an unfailingly flawed construct - anxiety surrounded by unpenetrable impossibly high walls that I erect to protect myself. I wonder sometimes whether this instinctive reflex of mine will forever cripple me. I know the source of such irrational self-destructing behavior but cannot find a cure. Much like Pavlov's dogs who can't help but salivate at the sound of a bell due to association between the bell and a meal that used to exist but no longer does, I can feel myself erecting those walls at the slightest hint of a "new girl" situation due to assocation with poor prior experiences that no longer are valid in the age of grad school and adult maturity.
The sense of being alone is all pervasive. There are times when I wonder whether feeling loved is more important to me than being loved. In Boston, I could fall into the Charles River and drown, and no one would probably notice. In New York, I had people who loved me and cared about me. Those are the ties that bind after all - when you're not only leaving those you love but those who love you back as well. The frightening part about being somewhere new is not that you will not find anyone to love, but that no one will love you.
I have doubts of my own lovability. Especially at times like this when I'm tired and cranky all the time from the stress of being homeless, my new laptop is not up to par as it's exceedingly slow for it's RAM size and the keyboard keys stick for some reason and keep pounding out multiple letters of the same key. There is nothing that increases lovability like being forced to stay in an undergraduate dorm with your younger brother who is obviously bitter about your presence as it "cramps his game". There's nothing more bizarre than having to explain to people that no, I am not a freshman but am merely visiting my brother until I find a place of my own. There's nothing more symbolic than walking back to his dorm and seeing people jump on a trampoline outside to realize how far I've really come from my undergraduate days.
big change, the choices we make
in life, gut instincts, on-the-whim
hairpin turns, the search for truth, the desire to be happy, the journey to finding out what
makes us happy.
being young and clueless, hoping
that we're not blindly leading ourselves to our own demise with every
tentative step we take, the pitfalls of dating, the trials
and travails of being a young woman in the post-feminist era.