Things will never be the same.
Until this year I've been a baby-- skipping 1st grade, using fake IDs, getting rides when I everyone else had a license, graduating high school at 17.
Now I'm graduating one semester later than my peers, finally becoming the appropriate age. And my "super senior" time has proven to be a blessing. I knew I skipped long division for something.
I feel blessed to have felt the ticking clock. Being a senior made me do what panic does best -- appreciate and savor every moment in Gainesville. Especially since my bestest friends have been partying, tasting, experiencing to the max, I've been learning to love our college town with its bike lanes, flowing bars and quirky music scene. I spent the last three years thinking that sure this place is alright, but I can't wait to get to FlorenceHyderabadCorcovadoSanMarco. Not anymore.
Today, I woke up in my bed in my parents house and all I wanted to do was drive back and wake up late with my roommates, bike to Southwest for a workout and stay up until 4 a.m. listening to mismatched locals playing reggae with my friends. I wanted to eat another vegan shabbos dinner at Faryn's house, and drink tea at Maude's with Pallavi and Jason.
I'm feeling strangely emotional and nostalgic about the four years I've spent growing up without rules. From the freshman dorms with their hospitally smell to the beautiful house where I learned to feel my sunniest -- I'm so grateful for endings and beginnings.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Insomnia & Police Beat
At 1:25 a.m. I drove downtown, partially asleep, to pick up a friend.
On the intersection of Main St. and 1st Ave. a red Volkswagon drunkenly crashed into a silver pick up truck, and then tried to drive away. In his alleged inebriated state, the driver ran over a couple of curbs and then turned back and parked next to the victimized truck, denying fault (don't ask me how I know this).
I left the scene to drop my friend at her apartment, but kept churning the driver's mental state in my mind. Finally, I dialled the GPD and reported the incident, just in case any of my (or anyone's) beloveds were hanging around The Top or Atlantic that night.
At 3:09 a.m. a thick Alachuan accent flooded my ear via cell phone. "Are you still waiting on 1st?"she asked. Of course not, it had been hours and I was tucked in bed. "Well, do you still want to report the incident?" asked the impatient policewoman.
It was two hours after I called. I'm guessing the drunk driver had driven (swerved/ricocheted) away. Pickup truck was left dented. Jaywalkers were left unprotected.
Doing the right thing can be so unsatisfying.
On the intersection of Main St. and 1st Ave. a red Volkswagon drunkenly crashed into a silver pick up truck, and then tried to drive away. In his alleged inebriated state, the driver ran over a couple of curbs and then turned back and parked next to the victimized truck, denying fault (don't ask me how I know this).
I left the scene to drop my friend at her apartment, but kept churning the driver's mental state in my mind. Finally, I dialled the GPD and reported the incident, just in case any of my (or anyone's) beloveds were hanging around The Top or Atlantic that night.
At 3:09 a.m. a thick Alachuan accent flooded my ear via cell phone. "Are you still waiting on 1st?"she asked. Of course not, it had been hours and I was tucked in bed. "Well, do you still want to report the incident?" asked the impatient policewoman.
It was two hours after I called. I'm guessing the drunk driver had driven (swerved/ricocheted) away. Pickup truck was left dented. Jaywalkers were left unprotected.
Doing the right thing can be so unsatisfying.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Coming Soon
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