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September 16, 2006
Slow Saturdays
The thing I most miss about college have to be Saturday mornings. Not because it was when the most exciting things were going on but, quite the opposite; it was the only place I've ever been where there was ever something to do at that time.
In high school Saturday's were spent with cereal and comic books, waiting for the sun to disappear so I had an excuse to call friends and hang out. Now I spend them cleaning my apartment and deciding on how I should spend the day alone. Maybe a movie, or a walk downtown?
At Messiah, however, Saturday mornings were perfect in their uneventfulness. It would usually begin by waking up, hassling Jesse to do the same and then calling around to see what time everyone was going to meet for lunch. The food was always terrible but we would eat through many different courses (the opening bagel-sandwich volley followed by cinnamon toast, a milkshake and the infamous ice-cream waffles). We'd spend the inordinately long meal-times eating and talking; laying the foundations for our now continuing close relationships that always pick up from where they left off. After overstuffing ourselves with carbohydrates we'd amble back to someone's place to play Super Nintendo, spin records and decide what we would be doing that evening. The hours would tick by aimlessly where I would have to continually remind myself that the paper, project or assignment that was due on Monday had a whole other day to be completed in. And when the voice got too loud to ignore I'd shower, grab my books and wander over to my girlfriend's place where I was convinced I would get some work done but always ended in me pursuading her to get a coffee, take a walk and find a private place where we could make out.
I miss all that but, strangely, am glad that it's over. I think college was great because it was only for four years and then they either forced you to leave or made you feel ashamed that all your friends could get it done in that span of time but you couldn't. I imagine marriage would be looked on with the same fondness if you could only be in the bonds of matrimony for four years and no more. At the time of your forced divorce hearing I expect you'd cry and hug one another like it was graduation day and make a point to get together every year on your anniversary but would find yourselves more and more busy on that day as time went on. At certain times throughout the year that remind you of your ex-spouse you would sit with a cup of tea and play the music from your wedding, convinced that in some way you could go back, even though you know you can't. In that reverie you'd start to wax-melodramatic, telling yourself that human beings were made to be alone, even though you know it's not true. Instead of making a world where relationships could last longer than four years you would opt to rather wallow in self-pity, wishing you could relive the four you already did over and over again.
I guess what I'm getting at is that life moves on and that there is good stuff in the future as well as the past. I think greatness begins to happen when you realize that it is you who ties all of those events together and that they should be appreciated: whether it is in the anticipation of their arrival, when they are actually here or in the fond memories they leave behind when they are gone.
My dad just called me and invited me to a high school football game so I'm going to go take a shower, put on a sweater and feel contented that someone stepped in so I didn't have to spend a Saturday alone afterall.
Here's a couple poems I wrote yesterday, let me know what you think.
I.
I had a dream and you were there,
with scopimera sand-balls stuck to your tongue
so I cleaned it with my own.
We laughed and tumbled in damp
Grantham grass just after dark;
hidden from view, my fingers twisting your hair.
II.
You're like the actress
I'd never meet but would plan to;
practicing my lines in the shower,
prepared for a chance encounter.
But there you are: sneaking-up from behind
and initiating small talk, forcing me
to improvise with a silent, smiling stare;
scared to steal the scene from you, the star.
Posted by Jon at September 16, 2006 11:36 AM