Every year when the weather gets warmer, I geta little homesick. Typically this happens at roughly the same time when Spring Fling is over, and I have ginormous papers to look forward to. It's all coincidence, I'm sure. But this year I'm particularly antsy. Maybe it's because after three years I've yet to discover Philadelphia's "charm" or the fact that I have the next three weeks to spend in Van Pelt. If you're not a graduating senior, the only event to look forward to is leaving. And as much as I don't want to go home, per se, I just need to get the eff out of here.
Don't get me wrong, Penn's grand and all, as Newsweek reminds us how much we love being here. But I've sort of had it. It's not the institution I'm tired of dealing with, or even the work. It's everyone here.
I think the basic point is this: I don't like people so much. Not now, at least. Every so often I slink into one of my misanthropic moods (read: PMS), where my away messages become increasingly passive-aggressive and my trademark eye-rolling is that much more apparent. I tend to piss my friends off because they piss me off, and I get pissed off again and everything sucks.
It's probably never that bad, but I have a taste for histrionics. Get over it Nevertheless, at this point I don't have any specific needs for reconciliation, I just want to leave so I can frolic in suburbia; not like home itself is so tantalizing -- I just revel in the thought of shirking all responsibilities while I joyride to Pearl Jam in my 12 mile-per-gallon Jeep. Then I would sit in coffee shops for hours without having, like, real things to do. In an ideal summer, I'd be at my computer exclusively to update my podcasts and check baseball stats. Above all else, for four months I could be free from AIM's despotic grip on my social life and sleep schedule. Alas, so close!
I suppose I'm too harsh. People are OK, I guess, and they occasionally serve valuable functions. Like my mom, who does my laundry whenever I invade New Jersey, and my dad, who takes me to IHOP. I know I'll come back in September (after NSO, of course, to avoid the masses) missing everyone like I always do. The deprivation of human contact will likely leave me longing for affection. Till then, peace out whodis. Crack is whack.
