The signs are adding up: tomorrow is my last day of work at the Think Tank, final papers due May 6 and May 8, graduation May 16, then two weeks until we load the cats in the car and make for the West Coast.
I can’t believe how much time has passed. I was at lunch the other day listening to my boss talk about his favorite clubs in the city, and you know - before that I really thought I was quite the DC denizen - but listening to him I realized there is so much of this city I have missed since I got here two years ago. I know I’ll miss the city, but I have to wonder: will the city miss me? Sometimes the only thing reminding me I’m a DC resident is my overwhelming rage at vapid tourists on the metro. Tomorrow night though, we’re seeing OK Go, The Hush Sound, and Panic! At the Disco @ DAR Constitution Hall… so I’ll be sure to let you know how that goes.
I also can’t believe my last day of work is here. I mean, for all the pissing and moaning I did about having to wake up at 8am, I look back and realize I actually didn’t have a bad experience there. That’s so typical of me - I’ll hate something while I’m doing it, then as I’m about to leave it, suddenly I realize I’ve actually loved it all along and never want anything to change. It’s weird though, all this expectation for The Last Day. I guess they’ll take me out to lunch (if they remember I exist… I always basically thought I was the Meg Griffin of my team) and I’ll make some comments about law school and it’ll be awkward and laden with expectations of me telling them what a great experience I had, and them telling me what a great intern I’ve been. So we’ll do all that. And then at 5pm I’ll walk out the door, and the finality of it will crash onto my head and I’ll probably do something idiotic like start crying.
Lastly, on this disjointed laundry-list of things that is the insanity of my past week or so… the weekly newsflash of my dysfunctional family is that I am apparently not important enough to warrant an international phone call from my father, who is vacationing abroad, to let me know he is extending his vacation. He told my grandmother, who I rarely talk to - but serendipitously I did to talk to her the day he told her - but if he hadn’t told her, I would be stroking out at this point! I mean seriously - if you are traveling abroad, and you extend your vacation, you call your family! Because at this point, three days after they were supposed to return home, with no contact and no idea where they were - I’d be at the embassy of the country they traveled to filing a missing persons claim, and he’d get dragged off the beach by INTERPOL… all because he couldn’t bother to call me.
I mean, I’ve already been drifting in and out of irate moods (for various reasons, notably certain controversies that I can not escape on the blogs I read no matter how hard I try to ignore them) - so for full disclosure I’ll say I’m somewhat susceptible to becoming more irate by an aloof dad who refused to inform me of his desire to remain 10,000 miles away from me; but nonetheless, it doesn’t help sweeten my mood at all.
The point of this entry: I hope that newfound freedom (for freedom here, read: time to write papers) and a rockin rock concert tomorrow night will lift the curse of crankiness that has slipped over me the past few days. Fingers crossed.
