No Conclusions

Professor Toulouse has given me the grade for my senior thesis, but he has not yet accepted my conclusion. It will forever be a piece in the works, without an end, ultimately nothing more than a brief moment in a continuum of learning and exploring and writing and rewriting. Though I initially wanted some closure to this massive endeavor, I realize now (after a week of endless nothings and laughter and knee pain before graduation and then another week of grown up nothings and laughter and knee pain after graduation) that I don't need any conclusions. All I need is a good intrigue. And maybe some painkillers.

I haven't felt the doom of graduation yet. I want to be cool and muse about graduation blues like everyone else, but instead I have gone on seemingly mundane adventures and eaten lots of apples and spinach. Every single day has been superficially ordinary, though bearing one or two small surprises that reinforce a continual summer-induced happiness.

Yesterday, I had to go meet someone in Jersey City. I was scared to drive into the city, scared of parking and scared of tearing out my knee by pushing the accelerator; but I had to face my unfounded fears and just drive. So, with Brian in the passenger seat, unperturbed every time I almost hit someone, I drove off into the blinding glare of the sun. I managed to reach Jersey City unscathed, and had one last right turn to make onto Marin Drive. I was all the way on the left, 6 lanes away from the turning lane, and was about to enter a toll. I tried to get to the right and cars all around began honking and screaming at me. There was nothing I could do. I went through the EZ Pass, and got into the Lincoln Tunnel. I was driving into the city, one of my worst nightmares after cauliflower and bad body odor. After some blood, sweat, and tears, I handed over the wheel to Brian, who managed to get us safely back to the woman's apartment. We drove her back into the city, and after Brian got his little-boy fix by driving around the city honking at innocent passerby, I drove home alone. It was the first time I had ever driven out of the city, and I came home feeling tired, achy, and utterly accomplished.

On Friday, I went into the city for an interview and my physical therapy appointment. I met up with Brian and Bianca afterwards, and we jumpstarted the night at Blockheads, where my taped knee did not get us any discounts on drinks. On our way to the subway, we walked into some swanky lounge, just because we could, and became friends with a Chinese guy who had shown up earlier than the host of his party, and who was only hired because his boss had an Asian fetish. We then made our way to Brooklyn, where we would be sleeping, and ate pizza with lots of spinach and fell asleep in a disarray of clothes, crust, music remixes, and dysfunctional relationships. We woke up feeling younger and smellier than we had ever felt.

Today, I am going to watch Sex and the City 2 with my mother and one of her best friends, because another friend of hers backed out last minute. I watched Where the Wild Things Are earlier in the day, and then I picked up my sister and her friends from the high school, almost running them over because my mind was so consumed with Jay-Z's 99 problems. I used frozen vegetables to relieve my knee pain, and then ate them for lunch. The sunny day converged into a dreary afternoon while I snoozed on the couch.

It is thundering and raining right now, without any signs of stopping, without any hints of hopeful sun. I love the smell of rain, and wet, and greyness, and clouds.

I'm not sure if I have just started something new or if the old thing is still happening; I am not even sure what I mean when I say "old thing." Moments have converged with spaces, and blackness has conflated with whiteness, so that all I can see is myself, right here, right now.