a message from my 18-yr-old-self

I used to submit anonymously to this Cornell group called The Public Journal (www.thepublicjournal.com/cornell) and I found some pdfs off the main site recently, copies of the really old issues(it was just starting up when I was a freshman). I was surprised to see my name included on the contributor page, since freshman year feels like ancient history and I didn't remember submitting, but sure enough, this was buried near the back of the issue... an embarrassing example of early writing, but I love it because it made me slam back into that exact moment when I wrote it (still in high school, oy).

"2/21/04"

Hello, danger/pleasure thing. There's no escape from this. Like when you're out on the road during a snowstorm; that kind of beautiful snow that glitters in your headlights like a starry vortex. Somehow, the biting cold numbs your thought process, and the reassurance of steel and four-wheel-drive beneath you grant a sense of false security. Under the snow and slush, a slick layer of ice gloats at your naivete... and that logical part of you knows it so well. Caught up in the moment, you kick caution to the abandoned curb, crank up the volume of the melody to drown out conscience, and push the pedal to the floor.

...It's the hollow, still cold that brings us closest. The kind that freezes in your lungs. Cold that seems to sip away at light and color -- not even the icicles forming in lashes cast glinting sparks. Streetlamps become pillars to the sky, stairways to star castles. And all I can think, as ghostly headlights peer past me in the night, is how it would feel to ascend.

If it gets cold enough, does time stop here?


(www.thepublicjournal.com/thepublicjournal2.pdf)

I will always remember driving into Batavia on my way to Main Street Coffee one particularly frigid February night during my senior year of high school, coming over the bridge to face hundreds of light pillars vaulting up into the darkness from every light source--it looked apocalyptic! Later I found out that it's a rare natural phenomenon (http://www.atoptics.co.uk/halo/pilpic18.htm).

one extra hour never meant so much

I'm pretty sure this is up there with one of the longest days of my life. Halloween was awesome last night but 8am wakeup to go to a 5-hour liquor license certification course was not. I came away with a single outraged question repeating in my head: "are you KIDDING me?!!"--I could have read that booklet and taken the test in 15 minutes!

I sat in the sun on Lomas for almost an hour, uncomfortably hot and exhausted enough to pass out on the tiny hard bus stop bench. When I finally got on the right bus, it was cool and quiet. The driver took one look at my face and waved me along without asking for my fare. Needless to say, I was late for work at Yanni's. Poor Davlena had to see me at my franticmost, rushing around and cursing and fighting the urge to lock myself in my room and sleep. Forgot my damn bowtie and server apron and had to borrow Panos' car to come back and get them (thank the stars I got all proficient at driving stick shift this summer). My shift felt good, and not too hard, I'm just not good at the timing. Dolmathes and greek salads and bread baskets flying everywhere, trying to get used to the micros order-entering system that has thousands of buttons and options and makes my eyes hurt... I wish I could skip through learning the painful specifics and just wait tables. The shift ended after what seemed like forever--I volunteered to stay and help close following the manager's somewhat dubious and patronizing praise. I don't like being patronized. But, the little things help to balance out my frustration; it felt so good to bike home in the cool air and I finally gave the new Ryan Adams and the Cardinals album a couple of solid listens on my kickass new Grado headphones (waahahaha it's amazing!! I love the song Cobwebs)

Oh and I just compiled these jpegs, because I think it is amusing:



(haha, hi Emma hiding in the background of that photo)