between books and buttons

Books are officially closed for the summer.
And before I have to slip into button downs and the occasional suit, I have a small window of freedom. Well, I have a growing list of things that need to get done, but that comes after I regroup, mentally assess the mess that my life and apartment are in, and say fuck it for now and fall asleep without worrying about anything.
I have incredibly selfish plans for the next few days. They mostly involve doing whatever the fuck I want, mostly on my bike, mostly by myself. I have miles and miles of training to catch up on, places I want to pedal to, and that ever-persistant obligation to fall asleep in bliss and not wake up until late morning. And if that wasn't enough, there are beers to be consumed, Americanos to be sipped, and cookies to be baked and eaten.

Oh, right, and hats to make. Running to the grocery store after a quick post-exam ride, I parked next to a bright red Iro. Coming out of the store, I met its owner, who greeted me with:
"Hey, I know you from the Internet!"
I have to fix a hat for him. I was planning on putting that off until tomorrow, or the next day...but the guilt's winning out. So, I'm starting that tonight...after purging my inbox, a cup of coffee, and being completely lazy.
It's going to be a struggle getting that last one done, though, I can feel it already.

lucky charms

I'm sort of drowning in them. I keep finding them here and there, scattered in odd corners of my apartment.
No, I'm not talking about the cereal.
I understand I may be burned at the stake, but it's not exactly my favorite cereal [it would take a life-changing event to wrench Life from that special place in my heart]. I'm not sure I've actually ever bought a box of it for myself. I'm talking about the charms my Mom's been sending me because she's terrified I'm going to kill myself on my bike.
I attached a commuter-safety-specific one to my bike last winter and lost it two weeks later when, my cross tires clogged with snow, I took a digger on Mass Ave. I guess it worked because I only ended up sliding down the road on my ass, and my knees stayed intact. And while I keep forgetting to ask for another commuter one, my parents are sending them in all shapes and sizes.

To be fair, I've managed to avoid anything involving blood since I've had one on my bag. But with all these choices, I haven't decided which to attach to my saddle. And seized with that indecision, I've chosen to sort of favor the cereal over the small pretty charms.
No, I'm not stuffing my face with Lucky Charms. I do know people who will eat it by the handful, though, savoring those dry, sugary marshmallow lumps. The same people who feel strongly enough about it that they'll get in arguments over the merits of Lucky Charms over Cinnamon Toast Crunch and, if I'm involved, Life.

Maybe it's that fanatical devotion to the packaged cereal that appealed to me. Okay, granted, the picture of Chris on Facebook with this exact jersey on pretty much sold me. When I grabbed it off the sale rack at IBC, Marcus gushed that it had been waiting for the right person to buy it. Well, here I am.
Yes, correct, I rock this. It makes me look absolutely ridiculous. Or just 10 years old. Either way, it's currently my favorite thing to sweat in. It's also the first thing I'm slipping into when I get back from school tomorrow. And oh, will I be sweating.

rolling in place

I don't deserve it so I'm trying not to take one.
A break, that is.
Because that'll free up time to think about things that fuel headaches and cramped shoulders. There's a lot to do in the next 48 hours...and after that I'll be looking at my final year of law school. It might be cause for celebration [although, when I finished my first year and claimed in a Facebook status message that I was "done," my sister pointedly asked how I could be done when I had two more years left], but I'm pretty sure I won't be getting sleep. It never ends, I suppose.
I have a summer to get into shape [and the past two weeks have wrecked havoc on my health], and hats to make, other favors, more projects, and all the other things I can't think about doing right now but I'll agree to do because I'm a total pushover.

So while some classmates are done with exams and will IM me claiming to be completely lost as to what to do with their lives, I'm scrambling. Tuesday, I'll finally be done with school for the year. Tuesday, the skin on my fingertips might finally stop peeling due to too much typing [gross but true]. Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday.
It's something to look forward to, I guess. Still, that damn Tsunami Bomb lyric keeps running through my head on rides to school and back, when I'm zoning out, falling asleep in the library and desperately hoping my best friend will get back on gchat and IM me to keep me up.
"How long 'til I'm my own?"
How long, indeed.

the view

...from my rollers...

...is absolutely amazing.
Took an exam this morning and I have one coming up on Friday. Then Tuesday. Then sleep, maybe.
I'll be back Friday afternoon. Cross my heart.

il pirata

Or, more accurately, Marco [Pantani]. That's what Pete jokingly called me when he saw how I like to climb hills. I really really love to stay in my drops. Risers? Flat bars? Bullhorns? Never.
I dream of being a decent climber. I dream of ascending steep hills and knowing exactly when to shift to keep a constant cadence. I've been dreaming of road bikes, too, spending an hour here and there fantasizing about custom frames [Igleheart? Indy Fab? Seven?], pretending I had the money to sink into yet another bike.
I know, I know, I just got a new bike. But it's an addiction; cycling, that is. It's sort of totally changed my life, too. I'm not going to go out and get that bike-related tattoo just yet, but I'm hoping if I ever do, it won't be something I regret.
I'm doubting myself, though. I've been through enough phases [from punk to sourdough baking to boxing] to hedge my bets a bit. And when finals arrive and I'm more than a little unprepared, the doubting becomes worse as I desperately try to find something I'm good at. Because it's certainly not law school [unless you count being spectacularly mediocre at studying law some kind of impressive feat]. I've been doing a fairly okay job of clutching onto the last shreds of my sanity though. Well...until yesterday.

I ran into Mark outside the library and hitched a ride into Newton Centre to get a decent cup of coffee. On our way back to the library, we ran into a guy in our Constitutional Law II class; a guy who is on Law Review with Mark. He mentioned going to meet with our professor to ask some questions before the official review session, and, looking at Mark, invited him, pointedly ignoring me, saying:
"Yeah, I'm sure the guys will be okay with you coming. All the smart kids are going."
I gulped awkwardly, then managed to excuse myself from the conversation that I was never a part of, to head back to my carrel. Biting my lip, I pushed aside feelings of frustration, inadequacy, and not being good enough. I have too much shit to do to feel stupid over petty comments; so I dove back into my work.

Hours later, back home, I gave myself a 20 minute break to sprawl out on my bed and think about nothing. Turning my head to check the time, I glimpsed my pretty Dolan. I wondered how long this was going to last. I dream of being fast but, like punk rock and boxing, sometimes I wonder if I was ever really built for this obsession I've immersed myself into [the answer to the aforementioned interests ended up in the negative, mostly because I couldn't seem to excel at either]. When passion turns into that hungry, all-consuming desire to be better, faster, stronger, smarter...does it all end there?
Even if I'm never good at cycling, am I still going to love it...?
I'm honestly not sure. For now, I'm going to do the only thing I can do: keep my head down, in the drops, and just try to climb.

taking a breath

Law school exams are sort of like that space between comfortably drunk and black out drunk. Okay, that's kind of a big range, but you know that phase that starts when everything goes numb and the room spins a little. That phase when that booze-fueled fog that's making bad decisions for you clears for a moment and you realize that that shot waiting for you at the bar is totally unnecessary, but you take it anyway.
The last time I did that, I went home in a cab around 7pm [yeah, we started early] and I was puking my guts out until 3am.
I thought I was going to die.
The next morning, I patched together pieces of the previous evening, only remembering hours later that I had literally crawled from the elevator to my sister's apartment that night. All those embarrassing moments, slowly filtering in, like your memory won't let your ego die of shame by bringing it back all at once.

That's kind of what exams are like. Really. It's a numbing three hours where at the end, you're not even sure what happened. And in a lot of ways, I don't even want to know what happened. I have three more exams coming up; how well I did [or not] is a question gladly deferred until my ego can handle it.
So when I walked out of my tax exam around 1pm today into a warm, sunny afternoon, I couldn't resist the longer ride home. A day this beautiful can't go to waste, especially when I have the handy excuse of "well, I need to clear my head after that exam totally effed me in the a." And so, I mercilessly exploited that excuse, riding through Watertown then heading through Cambridge, stopping to see flowers and trees with [green!] leaves on them and groups of friends or happy couples strolling lazily with coffee cups in their hands. And cruising past it all, I gulped in the fresh, spring air, trying to clear my lungs of the cobwebs and dust that's forming in them.

I sucked in more air when I stopped by Cambridge, and stomped around in my Sidis, running inside and out. But that's for tomorrow; for now, coffee [and maybe a little more law] calls.