You know, the more I plan my future, the more it unravels. Last year at about this time I was lining up an internship. I was planning on getting paid well, maybe even working a small job on the side. I had it all set. Then the paid internship became unpaid and my small job on the side became a big job on the side. Then when the summer actually came the big job on the side never materialized and I had to make one up. This year I planned on finding a nice job this summer and living in my college’s summer housing. Today I found out the housing is closed already and I don’t have a place to live this summer. Maybe I should just stop planning things.

In a day too full of responsibilities, some conquered, some forgotten–I take great joy in the little things. Maybe it’s procrastination, or as I like to call it, sanity preservation. But I find it more and more necessary. You’d think two days after spring break you wouldn’t be feeling a whole lot of pressure. ‘Tis the life of a college student. (sigh) Am I done yet?

Tonight I turned the radio up loud and recalled the days when I drove a burgundy ’88 Mustang and thought I was so cool. Tomorrow morning I’ll drag myself out of bed when my roommate gets up and pretend I’m in shape. I want to run by the railroad tracks. I’ve never been over there before. Today I walked around with a green fabric folder, outlined in brown leather, handing resumes and applications to secretaries who nodded and smiled so politely. I talked to my dad on the phone tonight, and heard myself say that it’s spring break and I don’t have to think. I didn’t think while I played Nintendo tonight, while I finished off the flat 2 liter of Pepsi, or while I walked back to my dorm, past the silent and empty freshman dorms. This afternoon when I needed a title I couldn’t think, and later this evening when I had to gut a perfectly good essay for a choice sample I couldn’t think either. I let my roommate do it. Maybe it’s not that I don’t have to think over spring break, but that I can’t. Or maybe I’m just lazy. At the tire store I couldn’t remember my own phone number. The guy behind the counter forgot how to type, so I didn’t feel so dumb. I noticed that the cord to his keyboard was exceptionally dirty. It was supposed to be computer beige, but it was dirt brown. How does your keyboard cord get dirty? It’s not like you take it outside to play. And who touches the cord with their dirty fingers, leaving smudges of grit and grime? Then there were those two boys, motoring around the store while their father stood at the counter in a suit and tie. He was taking them to the golf store next door while they balanced his tires. They erupted in cries of joy and made one more lap around the store before heading for the door. We were hoping to fix a leaky tire. Patch it for $19.95 and hope it makes it through the summer. We ended up needing four new tires for $219.95, or something like that. One tire had a nail, and it was bald, like my dad. Another tire had a nail, but it wasn’t leaking yet. It was getting bald, like I will in a few years. A third tire was bald too, and it was beginning to separate like the pancake that always sticks to the pan. The fourth might have been okay, although it was in the replacement range. And you just don’t buy three new tires and stumble along with one treadbare wheel.