In the summer of '95, I had to get ready to say goodbye to my three best friends and my boyfriend because they were all going to college and leaving me behind for my senior year. By September, I could recount what I did every single day of that summer, because it all felt so eventful and poignant. (Also, because we did awesome stuff like, go to the drive-in, hung out at diners and Thai restaurants, drank coffee and swam in Newport at night, and climbed around Lincoln park.)
This summer there are some circumstantial similarities, of course, but weirdly there's been some very visceral experiences that confuse my sense of time.
- Riding in the backseat of a car on the way to the beach around sunset with loud techno music playing, while the driver inexpertly speeds through gears and skids to a stop at every light.
- Believing that coffee can make up for weeks of mild and mostly voluntary sleep deprivation.
- Spending HOURS on the phone with different people, talking until I figure out really big ideas about myself and my future.
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