Exactly one month before my departure, I find myself with some time on my hands. After toying with the idea of picking up a part-time job to earn a little extra cash in my downtime, I finally decided against it. After months of scrimping and saving, I find myself with a substantial (by my meager standards) savings account the likes of which I have not seen since my ten year old self saved 89 dollars of lunch and chore money to buy a miniature stable for my extensive herd of model horses (yup...I was that girl). Despite having held some form of part-time employment since the age of 14, I never have been quite able to wrap my head around the concept of "saving," until I found things worth saving for. So as my reward for living like a struggling single mother for a semester, struggling to make ends meet by hawking nail polish and wiping up sweat at Relaxed, I've decided to give myself a month's leave of absence from steady (though part-time) employment. I'm still picking up the odd babysitting job here and there, but I'm taking this month to do things that I enjoy and that I will remember when I take off for my jet-setting extravagent lifestyle (......).
I'm going to watch movies, go for walks aka "the best form of exercise" -H. Spengler, catch up on my reality tv (DON'T JUDGE ME, they might not have it is Australia), spend time with my family, play/write music badly, bid for things on eBay I will not win because I remain inexplicably puzzled by the basic concept, teach my parents how to use Skype, and most of all, keep you all updated on my progress in these endeavors. Bolstered by my loyal readership of three (what's up Brett Perrotta, Eden Sutley, and Mom??), I will allow you to live vicariously through me as I embark upon my life of luxury. Beginning today:
Today I was awoken by a small earthquake. For those non-Californians, the vast majority of earthquakes are tiny. Miniscule. Most are so small you don't even feel them, and the rare few you do feel are just enough where you pause look around, and go "was that....?" and wait for someone around you to nod so you don't feel crazy. This one was kind of nice. I heard the light fixtures rattling for a couple second then a slight lurch, then one more. And then it was over. Nothing in the room even moved. Just Mama Earth going "Oh, hey."
From there I went with my sister to grab lunch with my grandparents at their retirement home. My sister and I talked with my grandfather about the weather (his topic of choice), Laurel assured him that yes, Upstate New York remains freezing cold, and I tried to explain that Melbourne would probably be fairly mild weather, while he maintained it would be "in the 80's. Its all a desert you know!" We agreed to disagree, while my grandmother asked, apropo of nothing if I had a boyfriend, presumably in the hopes that he would assist me in supplying her with grandchildren. When I regretfully informed her that no, I was baby- and boyfriend-free at the moment, she told me reassuringly that "it was better to play the field." After this uncomfortable announcement, we helped my grandfather wrap up the leftover grapes on our plates into ziploc bags he keeps in his pockets, apparently for just this purpose, and headed over to play a few games of Hearts.
For anyone familiar with the game of Hearts, it may not strike you as a particularly bloodthirsty game, yet in the company of my octogenarian grandparents, it becomes the perfect opportunity for soul-shattering strategy, designed to lure your opponents into a false sense of comfort, and then, at a moment of your choosing, drop the dreaded Queen of Spades onto their hand, costing them the game, their dignity, and your love. I can say with one hundred percent sincerity that I have choked back tears during family games of Hearts. This round I went into in decently high spirits, having won last weeks tournament by a substantial margin, though I probably should have been clued in by my grandfather's ominous mutterings of "Just you wait" that I would have a hard time hanging onto my title, or for that matter, my sanity. I made my first error when I declined to give the Queen of Spades to my Grandmother, who suffers from dementia, and ended up having to take it myself, costing myself the game. When my Grandfather realized I had, somewhat nobly I thought, fallen on the sword to save my ailing Grandmother, he crowed with laughter at my naivete. Turns out he was right, as she never thanked me, in the next round gave me the Queen, and ended up beating me overall. FINE. No good deed goes unpunished. Next time, you won't be so lucky, Grandma. A big congratulations to my sister, who ended up winning the whole thing, despite a lifelong hatred of the game and the treachery it generally entails, but Laurel, take it from a former champ: sleep with one eye open, glory is fleeting.
As for the rest of the day, I'm going hiking with friends, and then out to dinner with my family and my Aunt and Uncle. This evening, I'm debating either watching last night's episode of Real World: DC, or revisiting one of my favorite movies, "Last of the Mohicans" with Daniel Day-Lewis. As far as I'm concerned, they are about equal in terms of masterful storytelling, stunning visuals, and bicurious twentysomethings (maybe not the last one).
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