So, I’ve been told an update is in order.
Update 1: I now live with this dude:
As well as his BFF Enzo the cat
The three of us spend most of our days fixing bikes, napping, drinking Dad’s beer, gossiping about our family and reading The Shadow of the Sun by Ryszard Kapuscinski (Great book! More on this later). When Gus and I escape the house we play hookie from all our funemployment at the river (like all Sacramentans ever) with our friend Rachel, who of course takes time off work to hang out! Sometimes we even go for bike rides.
But even the best times must come to an end: Rachel informs me that Fish and Wildlife is not as chill as it sounds–it turns out they don’t encourage their biologists to take time off to explore the natural world. Or at least that’s how I’m going to phrase it when I complain to their HR department once I get Rachel fired for taking too much time off.
Clearly Sacramento is getting a little lonely. As an extrovert, there’s nothing quite as miserable as being trapped in your hometown, living in your childhood home with no friends left (Rachel excepted). In order to compensate for lack of conversation (sorry Gus), I’ve started hallucinating about people who live here. I see people I think I know all the time. Or at least that ‘s what I thought yesterday afternoon as I watched Scott Robles, the cute quiet soccer star of Eighth grade saunter past my father’s classroom where I was cutting up maps. The third time I saw him I ran out the door and said “Scott? What’re you doing here?” I’d like to say I was suave and lady like and graceful, but you all know this is a big fat lie. I was exactly like eighth grade–demanding, messy, and overly enthusiastic. Poor Scott looked like he had seen a ghost and said “Do you work here?” “No, I’m Clara Mathews, you probably don’t remember me…do you work here? Are you teaching? You’re wearing a tie!” I replied. “Yeah, I’m student teaching in the History department. Just met all my advisors, Mr. Muritore, Ms. Frost, some guy named Thompson…” I of course dragged him in to meet my Dad, who proceeded to school him on teaching high school, who to avoid, what questions to ask. Nothing quite like watching your Dad become the cool kid on the block.
It’s a sad sign of your own self importance when you run up to virtual strangers demanding to know what they’re doing in some place you haven’t been to in years, and yet in which you expect to be known, if only by virtue of your last name. This is to say, I should probably avoid Mira Loma in the future, no matter how tempting it is to hang out with Dad rather than sit in the house and Blog about all the nothing going on here. It’s amazing how quickly you can revert back to being 17 when you live in your parents house, even if it’s only for a week.
Things I’ve forgotten about living here:
1. Dishes ALWAYS need to be done. Wars of attrition and Dish Drainer Russian Roulette simply don’t fly in the Mathews House.
2. The Garage, which I’ve come to love dearly, is my Father’s special bike cave of awesome things, most of which he doesn’t want me to touch, just in case I break them or me.
3. Anytime I think Mom isn’t in charge I’m wrong. So. Very. Wrong. I know this because she tells me, just like that: “YOU’RE WRONG.”
4. Sleeping with your best friend is only a good idea if he’s as loyal and adorable as Gus. Even then it has its drawbacks:
We’re managing. The struggle is real.
5. It’s flipping hot here. Who knew that 90 degrees could be considered a “cool” day? Once upon a time I thought 90 degrees was the equivalent of Hell. Now I know its all a rouse. Risa Farrell and I leave on Bike Tour this Saturday AM. I’ve been packing, unpacking, repacking, and sorting through my Panniers obsessively. While I’ve been told that all I really need is a spork and some carrots to go with my chamois and book, I cant help but feel that I’m missing something. I’ll post about packing later. Off to the Kilt to see Charles and Elaine!