Apart from the title of the fashion exhibit that I want to see at the PMA, shocking has been my experience today. I was absolutely astounded to find myself having such a good time.
In the midst of bitterness at Haverford, preoccupation with the present and my future situation (as in its lack of direction), I had forgotten that there are some really great people in my past. I was dumbfounded (shocked, some would say) to remember that I do have some great friends. I spent the day in Harvard Square, shopping with Rachael in the morning, meeting up with Elizabeth, whom I haven’t seen in about a year and a half, and then spent some quality time with another Sevilla bud, catching up over the best hot chocolate that I’ve had in ages and kick-ass thrift store shopping. Urban Outfitters officially irritates me, but that’s another story entirely.
As Teal left to catch the T, I headed back through the windy streets of Cambridge towards the Quad, and my home away from Haverford for the weekend; I couldn’t keep myself from smiling at the 5 or so hours I’d just spent with three girls (nearly women, we are) that I can honestly call my good friends. People who I know well enough to be sarcastic, irreverent, and not feel on my guard or inferior. People who know me well enough to put up with my sarcasm, my slightly wacky ways. I think that it’s funny that I felt more at ease here in Boston than I have in many situations back at the ‘ford. Maybe it’s that I just needed a change of scenery: needed a bright sunny sandy beach and a bit of brightly colored New England foliage to rejuvinate my perspective on the world. Or maybe it’s that it feels so good to see old friends, and to have the time that you’ve spent apart melt away in seconds.
It’s good to know that Teal will always leave dinner with chocolate indelicately smudged somewhere on her impeccable clothing, Rachael will smile indulgently at my loud, flowered vintage dress, Elizabeth will laugh at my crush stories and listen to bullshit about Spain.
I have also spent a fantastic evening clubbing with Cabot House suite 102 in Boston, dancing to spanish pop, merengue, and hip-hop in a borderline euro-trash bar, whilst being hit on by a 17 year old prospective student from L.A.. Why is do all the young guys find me attractive now? Where were they in high school? Alas, if I could only find someone my own age. In any case, my flight leaves in about 9 hours, and I’d love it if some of those were somnambulent ones. Yay for fall break. Así es la vida.