The non-chronological collected works of my misspent youth, with notes, for your reading pleasure. Most names have been changed because I probably didn't ask you first.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Michaelmas: Journal, Late September 1993

Don’t you love weekends? What are weekends again? Remind me.

This weekend I spent exactly 24 whole hours off campus, which borders on a record length.

Last night my mother decided we should have a family night so we set off in the family vehicle, a black Taurus she named after a buffalo in “Dances With Wolves,” and made our way to the Poplar Lodge in Hendersonville, where the family ate steak and looked with pity at the meatless members of the family (moi).

I do enjoy eating there. It’s all big stones and fireplaces and view and looks like the kind of place you might slay Grendel on the way to the salad bar. I hope to one day live in a place like it, perhaps on a bluff over a lake in Scotland.  Hie Thee Hither!

I’ve fallen into all these weird depressing moods of late and last night I got rather pissed off at my mother and left the table to go cool off literally on the front porch. I sat on the hole-y velvet seat of an old horse-drawn sleigh parked beside a dead tree and I wondered what would have happened if I’d actually managed to run away to California when I was fifteen. Would things in my life still be so grotesquely surreal?

The Chapel Choir sang downtown at Trinity Episcopal with a chamber group this afternoon. Honestly, I’m not really a good enough soprano for the high parts, but I love being lost in a cantata. I can easily imagine all of my friends in elaborate 18th century costume running around the court of Louis XIVth complaining about how much Versailles sucks. Also, Bach is wonderful.

I’ve lost my Morrissey tape. I’m pretty sure I left it in the Taurus, but my mother says not. Maybe she’s a secret fan and stole it.

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