Are You There, GOB?

I had been planning to post an update on how my month of summer classes were going at the halfway point (which came and went a few days ago).  However, I am so so so so so burnt out and the little coherence I still possess is going in to papers and other classwork.  

SO instead: a link to a video of Will Arnett reading a key passage from the Judy Blume coming of age novel Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. 

Click for awesome.

So, it has come to this.

I am now wearing a backpack.

I seem to be incapable of not carrying my entire world with me in a bag at all times.  Up until a few months ago I carried giant messenger bags filled to capacity with me everywhere I went. 

Then in November I had sudden shooting pains in my chest and arm and went to the ER convinced I was having a heart attack.  Turns out I had probably pinched a nerve in my shoulder and pulled a muscle near my ribcage from lugging around a giant bag since I was 13.  The prescription: no more one-shoulder bags.  

Since then I have been wearing a "lumbar pack" (glorified fanny pack) which was working for a while but it has been steadily accumulating weight (I plead total ignorance on this one,  I have no idea how all my bags end up so heavy. Bag Gremlins?).  Yesterday I noticed a slight bruising on my waist and began to worry for all the important internal organs in my abdomen.  Plus I was starting to carry a shoulder bag for all my school books and that was also getting pretty heavy.

So ... backpack.  My reluctance to wear a backpack stems the fact that it will make me look even more like a 12-year old than I do already but I feel like I'm out of alternatives.  

This morning I dug out an old black Easpack ("The leader of the pack" says the Double-Dare announcer in my head) from middle school.  It has miraculously emerged from that time unscathed by purple marker drawings of peace signs, ying-yangs, or flowers.  To offset the 12-year-old factor I decided to pair it with a granny cardigan today.   My roommate assures me that the sweater and the backpack average out to make me look my age.  

After my fist backpack commute in over 10 years I will say this: padded shoulder straps are pretty sweet.

Also if anyone knows of a cool (and inexpensive) backpack-type-concept let me know.  I am looking to upgrade the Eastpack.  

Oh, NYC, why don't you want me to get a graduate degree?

After my first class yesterday I realized I might make it through this summer term if I managed to get up early, stay up late and get some major reading done on the subway during my commute.  This morning I set off reading packet in hand.  I had an early success in getting a seat right when I got on.  I opened my packet to begin learning about Erikson's 8 stages of development when suddenly:

The Crazy happened. 

A woman I hadn't noticed before sitting in the corner of the car began talking back to the train announcements.  It is the N so there is the female and male automated voices.  She thought they were talking shit about her and that they shouldn't be the ones talking because she knew a lot of shit about them...and it was REALLY juicy.

Apparently the automated bland female conductor voice is actually a Trinidadian woman who was "married at 16 divorced by 19 to a black man who was forced to marry her" AND she "fooled around with her mother's boyfriend" which got her kicked out of the house.  AND (prepare yourself) is actually a "he/she, who answers to the name mrs. and mr."

The automated bland male voice seems to be two distinct people.  One is a "MTA Jew" who is watching everyone all the time on cameras he has planted around the subway.  He judges them but he should really judge himself because he is responsible for EVERY crime: "rape, murder, arson, IDENTITY THEFT!"  Also "He needs something in his ass to get rid of all the shit."

The other male is a retarded Panamanian ("I have never seen anyone so retarded") who likes to brag about his exploits "with sodomy."  I am sure he has a richer background story but the 14th st. stop came too soon to find out.

I feel vaguely guilty about finding these rants so fascinating in their conviction and details.  I hope that woman finds the help she obviously needs.  Or a job writing for All My Children.

I still know nothing about the 8 stages of man but I know who to blame next time there is ANY crime.  I'm looking at you MTA Jew...what ARE you doing with those cameras?

To my friends...

To my friends:

Tomorrow I will disappear for a while.  For the month of July I will be working from 8:30-4 and then be in classes from 5:30-9.  I am taking two classes (Child Development and the aforementioned extraneously-long-titled Children's Literature in a Balanced Reading Program -Focus on Grades 3-8).  So that about covers July.  I love you all and will see you on the other side.*

 

To my laundry:

Could you somehow get yourself clean? That would be really helpful. Thanks.  Also, could you be the sweetest little cupcake and tell the fridge to fill itself.

 

To the non-school related books I have started and will definitely not finish:

Sorry.

 

And lastly to my unwatched Netflix:

I think I will miss you most of all.

 

* I say this now while my resolve and work ethic is strong.  I can already foresee the need to blow off some steam at some point.