A grown-up woman should never fall so easily

I moved to New York for the summer yesterday. 

Ah, love at first sight. I first felt it on a train. There were six of us sharing a sleep car, and I had the bottom bunk. Instead of sleeping, I listened to the wheels on the track, and the miles flying away beneath me. Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank. I could feel my heart beating against the mattress. Where are we now? And now? And now? I finally snuck out. Pressed against the window in the tight hallway, I saw the dark shapes of hills, the very edge of the black sky, and a world of mirror-lakes and unstoppable horizons so impossible I half-thought I had drifted off in my narrow bed. Switzerland at night. My first passionate love.

The train made a particularly enthusiastic clang just as my heart got snagged on the feeling, and I fell over. Into my history teacher's door. He was accompanying our graduating class on our senior trip. He was also not happy to see me at 3:28 a.m.

Not the point.

The point is, I arrived in New York yesterday after a missed flight and a delayed connection into a torrential June storm, and fell in love again. There is nothing else in the world like this city. Even when a newly arrived girl takes the right subway but then a wrong left turn and ends up lost for four hours. It's still filled with a special kind of exhilaration. 

I think if this city was a person, that would be the equivalent of letting them drive around lost for four hours and never making them stop to ask for directions, and then when they finally get you home, letting them have the last piece of cheesecake.

Of course, it isn't a person, and I'm the one who got me lost, which means all the cheesecake goes to me.

Good deal.

P.S. Switzerland: I am not cheating on you, darling. I promise I can love you both.

So should I dance down streets for money, or sing?

There are two points to this post. 

Point A) Monday morning my boss called me at 8 am to see if I had any last questions before I start my internship next week. Unfortunately, I was still asleep. More unfortunately, I answered my phone anyway. 

Phone: *RING*

Sara: *clicks answer and stares at the number. A number doesn't usually appear on the screen after the alarm has been turned off. That was the alarm, right?*

P:...Hello?

S: Oh my God. My phone IS ALIVE.

Sara's Boss, Christine: Is this Sara?

S: Yes. How are you doing this?

C: Um. Sara, this is Christine. How are you?

S: Fine. How are you? What do you need? How are you DOING THIS?

C: I just called to see if you had any last questions before you started and make sure you were all set for Monday.

S: Why? What's happening on Monday?

C:...You're starting work?

S: Yes, but--oh. OH. This is not my cell phone calling me. This is my boss.

C: A little. Did I wake you?

S: No, not at all! I'm always up at whatever time this is.

C: And do you have any questions?

S: Nope.

C: Great. We're all very excited to have you at the office. Even after this.

S: Haha! Great! I'm excited, too! See you soon! *hangs up*

S: *calls Victoria*

V: Yes?

S: My boss called me just now and I discovered I am going to lose my job before I even start it.

V: That's weird. My boss called me, too. He's a general. I asked him what kinds of clothes I should wear and what other styles around the office are. I'm sure that's what his military career has prepared him for.

S: Let's be homeless and jobless together.

Point B) I'm alive. So sorry for the long delay! Posting will commence as usual now. 

Not that there was a usual.

...

There will be a usual from now on. 

Apparently I was on drugs in the 7th grade.

I cleaned out my closet at home tonight. I don't know where to begin.

I knew it was going to be a special adventure when I pulled out a journal that I had kept maaany years ago pretending to be a rather unfortunate woman named Annie May Austen, who, at the age of 17, was pregnant with her second child, and whose young husband had died tragically of a drug overdose. I don't know why I even knew what that was. I watched a lot of talk shows which probably explains why I thought 17 was an acceptable age to have two children at. Because it was rather commonplace on Maury. Also, I named my two children Aaron Archibald Austen and Ellie May Austen. AND, after my husband died, changed my name back to my maiden name (Austen) because I was offended by his death. I was offended by many things. "About my husband dying of a drug overdose," I wrote. "It makes sad. And also offended."

I don't think I knew the meaning of that word.

"Mrs. Willis," I wrote to my fifth grade teacher in my pragmatic poem "SPAM" after she had given us all samplings of SPAM to teach us to be inspired to write by even the most mundane object, "what the heck is SPAM? Because you said it was meat, but it isn't. I'm offended that you gave me this. And the kid next to me ate his. Isn't that gross? That's gross, Mrs. Willis." Besides the obvious fact that I was born to be a poet, I was beginning to notice a trend. Everything in the world offended me.

"DO NOT OPEN THIS JOURNAL," I wrote in the "belongs to" space of said journal. "It has an alarm. You can't see it, but it's there, and if you open it, it'll go off, but only so I can hear it, and I will be offended. And hit you."

I don't know who is responsible for getting me off this talk-show-super-guest path, but I can't decide whether you ruined me or saved me.

Because on one hand, I appreciate not being a mother of children named Aaron Archibald and Ellie May. But on the other hand, I'd be famous on youtube.

It's hard to say. 

Quote of the Day, brought to you by the Textbook Buy-Back Cashier

Cashier: Hey, this book is worth four dollars!

Sara: Great!

C: This one is worth five!

S: Yaay.

C: This one is seventy-five cents!

S: Okay.

C: This one is two dollars!

S:...Uh-huh.

C: This is one is four dollars!

S: You're going to do this for all of them, aren't you?

C: I went to high school with a girl who spelled her name like yours, all weirdly without an h. She was really religious. She told me I was born with Original Sin.

S: I can't tell if you're on drugs or if this is just how you are.

C: I told her, "That's not fair! I didn't do anything!"

S: I sort of hope it's drugs.

C: Hey! This one is five dollars!

You should definitely spend three hours doing this when you have finals.

At the beginning of the semester, I bought a card of fourteen hair elastics, wagering that I would lose about half of them. And then lost all of them. Except for this stretched out, begging me to put it out of its misery, getting tangled in my hair because it's worn so thin one. It broke yesterday. Since my keys had gone missing at the same time, I decided it might be time to organize my room.

You know, now that I'm moving out of it in a week.

I cleaned out every drawer and organized things into categorized, gallon-sized ziplock bags, leaving just what I would need to get me through the week. I found my keys in the bottom of a Trader Joe's bag. 

And I found 23 hair elastics. For my card of fourteen.

Have I stolen a bunch, or are they reproducing?

Rawr.

So I lost my Ikea virginity over the weekend.

I was so unprepared. 

I was under the impression that it was a Swedish version of Bed, Bath, and Beyond. It was not.

Sara: I--what do I do?

Casey: This is the showroom. Here, take a big yellow bag. We'll wander through the rooms and you can look at everything and design an imaginary apartment while we pick sheets.

S: What's happened to my senses? Why do they feel like Disneyland?

C: That's called sensory overload. It's to be expected.

S: I LOVE IT HERE. I NEVER WANT TO LEAVE IT.

C: Petal, this is only your first time. Let's not get carried away.

S: WE SHOULD DO THIS EVERY WEEKEND. 

C: Sara--

S: LOOK. A RESTAURANT.

C: Oh, Sara.

This came on the heels of a mini-carnival in which there were bouncy houses shaped like ships. With SLIDES inside. 

It was a weekend of much joy.

And now it's finals week.

Never has there been such a cruel trick played on my mind. Except for when I was little and Jurassic Park came out, and I thought it was a documentary, and that dinosaurs were alive again. And then they weren't. That was pretty mean, too.

A Brief Conversation Between Victoria and an Innocent, By-Standing History Major

Unsuspecting History Major: Victoria, you're a history major, aren't you?

Victoria: Yes. Why?

UHM: I can't decide which classes to take next semester.

V: Which are you considering?

UHM: History of the Vikings, for one.

V: Oh, I took that class. We dressed up as vikings and had a feast.

UHM: Wow, really? 

V: Yes. The feast is half your grade.

UHM: Great! Definitely taking that one. How about History of Pirates?

V: Another good one. We hijacked a ship and pirated about the Atlantic.

UHM: You--wait...really?

V: ...

UHM: *suspicious*

V: Yes?

UHM:...Awesome.

V: Yes.