Tuesday, August 28, 2012

if you need me, i'll be hiding under this coffee table

Today was a spicy one, let me tell you, my friends.

No really. 
Let me tell you about it:

So, apparently my skin got real nostalgic for highschool and was like: Remember when you had acne everyday!? Let's do that again! That was so FUN. So that happened. Hormones. I guess they're a thing?

[I think my morning visage seriously scarred two freshmen girls who were trying to find the dumpster (oh the irony). But they were super nice and awesome and talkative, given that it was 8am in the morning. And they wanted to hear about all the things I love to talk about: namely Vision, choir, and theatre. 
So that was a nice little bit of Lewis Hall networking.]

So. Solid start to the morning, I'd say.

Curiously enough, no one else on campus got the "dress like you just rolled out of bed" memo today. Unfortunate for them. Because I was rocking that look like there was no tomorrow.

And then it just got better.

So: I'm sitting at lunch at one of my favorite cafés. 
(And now this part was actually quite beautiful.) I think most of the professors and grad students around me were annoyed by the very noisy baby right behind me that was gurgling and chirping and mewing out the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. I thought it was the most precious thing ever, and it melted my heart. (Can you say: Hi, I'm a single female twenty-something. It's fine. What was that about hormones again?)

So I'm listening to Very Noisy Baby be adorable, and polishing a paper that should have been finished two hours ago (if you're reading this: sorry, professor), when suddenly I look down at My Schedule (It's spelled with capital letters because it's Very Important. But really. I don't think I would survive without it. The first thing I buy every time School Shopping Supply Season rolls around is a schedule. Then I can start to think about the rest of my life. My personal hierarchy of order looks something like this: Edith Stein, Nutella, My Schedule, Jane Austen and then Coffee).
So I look down at My Schedule.
There, sandwiched on the blank line between my morning and afternoon classes, written in clear ink, are the words:

1PM: Meeting.

What?
What meeting? 
Where? 
How?
Why?
With whom?
I had absolutely zero recollection of this meeting. No idea. Not one. Kaput.
I searched through all my files and cross-files; sticky notes, computer folders, Gmail storage, my notebooks, etc., etc.,etc.
No dice.
I hope it wasn't important or life-changing or vital to anyone, because I, in fact, did not attend that 1PM Meeting. Instead, I scratched my head and thought: curiouser and curiouser. 

The only words more I find more haunting than: "And they never saw him again" are:

1PM: Meeting.

I guess I'll never know.

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