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judecorpI miss being completely free, which, for me, means college. I miss living in a dorm. No, that's not quite right. I miss the ability to unpack my entire living space in one day, to pack up my entire area and fit it into a car. I miss knowing that every treasure I prized fit in one small space, every trinket, every book, every item easily visible and thus easily accounted for. I miss broadcasting my life on four walls and a door. It felt like my entire persona could have been demonstrated with thumbtacks and tape, photographs and cut-outs.
I miss the mobility of those years, too. Wistful thinking brings me to days when I could decide, spur of the moment, to fly somewhere, drive somewhere, bus somewhere, train somewhere. No plans. No saving. No sick days. Classes were bypassed simply by not showing up, by collecting someone else's notes. Every night was a potential weekend. Where I slept was not a problem - couch or bed or floor or chair, as long as there was some sort of roof, everything was fine.
I regret a bit that I never took the opportunity to leave the country at that time, but at the same time, I don't feel like I've missed out terribly. I was an incredibly mobile coed - there was no method of transportation I did not utilize, no trip I neglected. Though it frightened my mother, I spent four years traipsing the continent visiting names on a screen, voices on the telephone. And if I could, at this moment, I would stuff my belongings into my car and do it all again.
In 1994, I took the bus to Baltimore, Maryland to meet an internet boy. He had sent me photographs. He was cute. He could juggle. He was intelligent. He was 21 to my mere 18. He picked me up at the Greyhound station and took me to Towson. Two days. Two of the longest days of my life. I was the second person he'd ever kissed, and he had the zeal of a middle school pupil. "Geoff, I want to take a shower and go out." "Oh, come on, one more kiss." "Alright, fine. Can I take a shower now?" "I meant one kissing /session/." "Go away." Thankfully, time always progresses, and I did eventually get to return to the haven that was Hofstra and my Jodie. I walked into our marvelous dorm room, Suffolk Hall #612B, and kissed the brown industrial carpeting. Home, glorious home!
My life is a scrapbook of experiences, stories like that one, little snippets of adolescent history, youthful freedom. Go on. Think back. Tell me one of yours. :)
I miss the mobility of those years, too. Wistful thinking brings me to days when I could decide, spur of the moment, to fly somewhere, drive somewhere, bus somewhere, train somewhere. No plans. No saving. No sick days. Classes were bypassed simply by not showing up, by collecting someone else's notes. Every night was a potential weekend. Where I slept was not a problem - couch or bed or floor or chair, as long as there was some sort of roof, everything was fine.
I regret a bit that I never took the opportunity to leave the country at that time, but at the same time, I don't feel like I've missed out terribly. I was an incredibly mobile coed - there was no method of transportation I did not utilize, no trip I neglected. Though it frightened my mother, I spent four years traipsing the continent visiting names on a screen, voices on the telephone. And if I could, at this moment, I would stuff my belongings into my car and do it all again.
In 1994, I took the bus to Baltimore, Maryland to meet an internet boy. He had sent me photographs. He was cute. He could juggle. He was intelligent. He was 21 to my mere 18. He picked me up at the Greyhound station and took me to Towson. Two days. Two of the longest days of my life. I was the second person he'd ever kissed, and he had the zeal of a middle school pupil. "Geoff, I want to take a shower and go out." "Oh, come on, one more kiss." "Alright, fine. Can I take a shower now?" "I meant one kissing /session/." "Go away." Thankfully, time always progresses, and I did eventually get to return to the haven that was Hofstra and my Jodie. I walked into our marvelous dorm room, Suffolk Hall #612B, and kissed the brown industrial carpeting. Home, glorious home!
My life is a scrapbook of experiences, stories like that one, little snippets of adolescent history, youthful freedom. Go on. Think back. Tell me one of yours. :)
