Monday, June 7, 2010

Love Letter

Last week brought to my college town the onslaught of "June Gloom," where, like clockwork, a dense, dewy, hair wrecking mist descends over Southern/Central California inhabitants. And we all look to the ocean longingly, sighing.

Also, I just bought and energy drink called NEUROSONIC.

But in the midst of this spectacularly melodramatic weather, I have had few moments to revel in this prime emotional-inducing surrounding, which is a tragedy. I am in the last bit of my finals before I graduate from college.

Did i say Tragedy? I meant HORROR, like over articulated, linear Edgar Allen Poe horror, like Stephen King on PCP horror. Like Linda Blair is my new roomie horror.

I am graduating.


You know that episode of Sex and the City (all my roommates are gagging) where Carrie forgets the men (paha) and dates the city for an episode? I feel like I have just realized that I have been in a four year relationship with college. And now he's dumping me, telling me to "move on" and "welcome to your future" and "this was the best time of your life, good luck finding temp work, say hello to your mom now that I'm kicking you out of your adorable, lovable living situation"

Even though I am in the gloomy midst (JUNE GLOOM JOKES AL DAY LONG) of a break up, I don't want to remember college like this; me drunk outside college's door burning the t-shirts he left at my place while screaming the lyrics to "our song." I want to remember the reasons I fell in inconvenient love with him in the first place.

I am sure this will be the first of many weepy Word documents I will fill as I swill good wine form my mother's crystal, holding my mini poodles at home close, telling them about that time I was drunk with all my friends having the best time of my life. But for now I just want to think of college the way I'd think of a boyfriend whom I loved very much, who I can no longer be with.


Just kidding. I think of you when I can't sleep, which is often, as I am half cat. When I am rolling around in my bed getting getting pissed off, emitting strangled, annoying sobs in frustration. There comes a point where I play a little game called "try to recall what makes you happy." When I was little I would think of playing in the sand with my cousins in Hawaii and eating Kahlua pig with poi, or eating berries with cream with my Oma in Germany (wow, see where my 10 yr old priorities were).

Now I think of you, ex bf-as-college-metaphor, to feel happy and peaceful at 3 in the morning. I remember how nice you were to me once I got my act together and took all my piercings out. How you took me from Keystone light to something bottled and darker. How we used to eat shitty sushi until we stepped it up a notch and discovered places in old town. How you told me about people from faraway places, like LA and Chico. How I pretended never to like you and wanted to transfer to Davis until it was too late and now I want to cling to a eucalyptus tree until some bewildered UCSB maintenance worker drags me away.

I can't imagine going away from you. My post-you existence seems as dense and foggy as June Gloom (told you). Most people look at you, your natty-lite can littered streets, freshman filled house parties, the textfromlastnight website, long distance relationships, walk of shames, drunken brawls and think "What a brute." But when I think of you I remember cheap wine, family dinners, hearing smart people speak for free (kind of), mood lighting, TERRIBLE sex, AMAZING sex, political arguments where nobody knows what they're talking about, and sharing funny books. I hope we keep in touch, but I'm sure you will be calling me. I am your Alum, after all.

I love you.

1 comment:

  1. wow! im now currently deep in a depression from reading this. thanks sonia! p.s. i just went past our old house and forced them to let me roam around and commented on everything that used to be....i think i lingered to long until it got awkward but the moments more were worth it.