i feel your burning eyes burn holes straight through my heart
the strangest series of events has transgressed over the past week.
friday morning, upon waking, i was greeted with a peculiar feeling of something. it took me forever to realize it, but it was the fact that more than half of me wasn't buried deep under my mounds of blankets. and i wasn't cold. outside, it was close to twenty degrees. i opened the doors, put on led zeppelin one and danced while i cleaned, not caring about the spectacle that consisted of me was on view to the thousands of people passing my door throughout the morning.
later that night, i found myself in the back of a church, the heat of the day still lingering and the voices of the choir softly echoing and rebounding off of the pillars that supported the wooden ceiling above my head.
an hour later, i was stealing bits of cinnamon bun french toast from kate and humming along with paul mccartney and wings as band on the run
competed with kitchen noises, conversation and the rustle of movement all around.
saturday was a blur, spent in my pajamas and hating the weather which had- of course- turned cold and damp. things remained static until kate tossed much ado about nothing
into the vcr very late in the evening. keanu reeves can't act, but kenneth branaugh frolicking about in a fountain is not a sight to be missed.
saturday bled into sunday with a frightening similarity.
until, that is, kate took me out for breakfastlunch at the manx, where i was served french toast stuffed with bananas and smothered in fresh cream and chocolate sauce. no calrioes there folks, i swear. walking home, there were a few eerie minutes of silence in between the tall buildings that made it seem like time had stopped.
monday was long: thirty four hours, twelve cups of coffee, two shots of vodka chased by three dill pickles, and a bag of sunflower seeds kind of long. watching kate print her assignement on my printer at close to four in the morning, i had a flash back to first year that made me laugh on the inside. my god, what were we thinking?
tuesday was rough. i thought it impossible, but coffee really can give you a hangover. by the time brit lit rolled around, i was ready for something, anything to jump start my system, to give me something to really think about.
what's that saying? ask and ye shall receive?
andrew wallace walks in just as i am betting peter that his wife is having their first child. he apologizes for being late and then announces that- in his words- the stork arrived on sunday morning. in the self-same breath he moves on to ask if any of us have any question about where we left off last class. we all stare gaping, open mouthed, until vanessa puts up her hand and asks if it was a boy or a girl.
i watch my professor intently. a small grin curves the sides of his mouth and his hand starts tracing a random pattern on the desk in front of him. a boy, he announces, who weighed in at just over eight pounds. we hold our breath, waiting.
waiting. waitng. waiting.
until finally someone blurts out "what's his name?"
and poor andrew wallace- who, most days, comes to class promptly, well groomed and quite chipper- looks at us with a five o'clock shadow and bags under his eyes and with a shirt with a collar that's gone horribly asunder- looks dazed and almost confused until again, that small smile creeps across his face and, with his mind miles away he answers that the name of his son is harry. harry nicholas.
what a way to end third year- applauding for a new father.
i highly recommend it.