I feel very content right now. I skipped my PE class (we get 3 legal skips a semester, I've never used one and I had no assignments due today, plus I was sick of sitting through boring lectures, so I skipped. such a rebel) and came back to my dorm, where I popped open a frappucino (my sweet tea stores from my parents having been extinguished yesterday) and proceeded to practice guitar. I LOVE that I'll actually be really prepared for my lesson on Friday. She gave us a lot to work on, which made me practice a lot more. Normally, I can not practice and get by, so even though I want to practice, other things get higher priority. It's nice to make myself make time. Now that I'm all satisfied with guitar and perked up, I feel like blogging. hurray! let the introspection begin.
I've never eaten Thanksgiving dinner in a hotel restaurant before. Cracker Barrel, yes. But that's different. It's hard for any one to look lonely in happy, bustling, noisy Cracker Barrel. (if you don't know what I'm talking about, Cracker Barrel is the epitome of homestyle comfort food). The hotel restaurant was quiet, even though it was dinner time. There were maybe twenty people spread around the fairly-sized place. The atmosphere was best described as sleek, plain, and simple. It made lonely people stick out somehow, because there was no noise or warm lighting or pleasant decorations to make everything seem ok.
Several tables were occupied by only one person, mostly women, and mostly sipping something alcoholic with their meal while staring off into space. Why were they there, alone, and not with families or loved ones? Some wore suits, and it seemed plausible that they had to be in Chicago on business. For others it was not so clear, and my mother suggested that maybe they just had no place to go.
Now, I blame a lot of my deep-seated childhood issues on my parents for being busy doctors. Maybe some of that's justified, but probably not all of it. They were around sometimes on holidays, other times not. Sometime during the day on Thanksgiving, they sprung on me that this Christmas will be particularly interesting. My dad will be working at the hospital on Christmas day and in the ensuing week and my mother is handling the phone calls from all of the patients of the office while they're closed. I think she takes over hospital rounds and admissions when my dad gets off. My first reaction was CRAP, I'm going to have to find all of these families that I can bus Mark around to on Xmas day so he still has a Christmas.
Then we went to eat our turkey dinner, and it was hard not to notice the people sitting alone. And it dawned on me... at least I have a family with which to celebrate. I always know that, but sometimes I don't understand it. So this Christmas will be hard to schedule. We might celebrate on Christmas Eve instead. I will still have a family to spend time with. Maybe for some people, it's not a question of how to spend time, but whether you get to. How blessed I am, despite my kooky parents. They're great people, and they promise they love me even more than their jobs. I debate that sometimes, but really, they do. And without their crazy jobs, I wouldn't be going to Notre Dame. So. Life is good.
So that's my epiphany for the month. In other news, Indiana has stubbornly been refusing to admit it's November recently. Chicago's weather was beautiful too, 50s and 60s. Perfect for walking in, not too hot or too cold. Sadly, the crusade against winter is supposed to fail Friday; Friday, Saturday, and Sunday all have predicted highs of 35 and possible snowfall at night. Parka time.
Wait no! I've had another epiphany this month. Last night I realized I don't like being flirted with. Maybe I would if it was done well, but it mostly seems to take the form of throwing as many sexual innuendos as possible into a conversation. It's awkward, I always think I'm going to say something wrong, and just generally uncomfortable. Talk to me about something intelligent and you're much more likely to win my favor. This realization didn't come from anything the Boy did, for those wondering, but from a facebook conversation going on between me and an old friend from a high school that I had a class with when I was a sophomore. Wanting to catch up is cool and all, but I'm disinclined to want to do so if you find a way to twist my every comment into being "sexy". That's not who I am, and I'm ok with that. Random guys I hardly know calling me sexy does not make me feel spicy, adultish, or beautiful... it makes me feel awkward. And I want to run the other way. It's how I am. Tell me about a book you're reading.
P.S. If the guy facebooking me actually ends up reading this- I think you're great, but dude. Stop. You're smart, I know it. Act like it.
