Weekend thoughts

Roommate went off to a graduation ceremony. He won’t be back for a few more days. First weekend all to myself in a long time. Finally read 1Q84—felt exhausted by the weight of its 1000 pages afterwards, but felt that it was different from other Murakamis because 1) the ending neatly tied everything up and 2) the ending was not sudden or fantastically absurd and 3) I guess he’s mainstream famous in the US now. Drank hot green tea. Ate grapefruits. Worked out. Cleaned the house. Slept. Didn’t answer calls, check emails, or see anyone.

But it’s Sunday night now and I’m doing all of the above. I’ve never liked Sundays, probably because I’ve always spent Sundays preparing for Mondays. In high school, that meant having half a day off (Saturday afternoon and evening) per week, because we had Saturday morning classes and Sundays were filled with homework. And even now, there’s something anxiety-inducing about Sundays…although I can never quite pinpoint what.

These days, I think often of California.

There’s something attractive about it, even though when I was there, I was desperate to take the next flight back East, so desperate that my heart sank to my stomach when the attendant told me my flight was rescheduled for the next afternoon because of a snowstorm.

Whenever I crave a particular place, I think it must be because I crave a particular type of person or a particular type of feeling. In this instance, oddly, I think of family—or figures in my life that are close enough that they could be family.

In July and August, I just want to go and have intimate family dinners and sink down on that fluffy bed and be taken care of.

Here, in this harsh reality of where I am right now, I have to take care of myself and I have to take care of others.

I think about how slowly time is passing. Last week took forever. But we got so much done. One example day of last week: we signed for an office, we onboarded a new employee, an adviser sent us two new prospects after lunch.

Felipe told me that time passes slowly when you are accumulating new experiences. That’s why time passes so slowly when you are a child, and more and more quickly when you are an adult. He told me that’s why he is purposely making himself experience new things—as to start staving off death, as a twenty-one year old.

But I’m brimming with impatience, even as I should relax and smell the flowers.

It’s my birthday in ten days. I just want cupcakes and double 2s.

22.