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plenty of sunshine comin' my way
I'm updating this from my rope hammock. It's an absolutely indescribably beautiful day, with sun and birds chirping and squirrels and flowers blooming everywhere and breeze blowing and it's about eighty degrees out but the giant mutant mosquitos haven't started hatching yet.
The Mall is *full* of people, and they're all having vast amounts of fun. (I'm not sure exactly *what* kind of fun, because being as I am asocial, I've hung my hammock in the bare little gardeny area on the south side of McKeldin Library, which is probably where I'll be on nice afternoons the rest of the year, if, y'know, you're in the area.) I am in a very good mood. And it's partly just the whole lovely sunny day and swing swing swing in a hammock part, which is just automatically happiness-inducing really. And it's partly that I'm getting (relatively) massive amounts of studying done, because somehow there's no motivation *not* to work when I'm sitting in a swinging hammock under a green tree on a sunny day. One of my most vivid homework memories is sitting in Katy and Charisse's clubhouse on a spring day writing my report on seaweed for the gifted and talented teacher in third grade, and being *happy*.
And it's partly that pulling out my hammock on campus is an automatic ego-boost, because I have yet to spend an afternoon in it without at least two people coming over and gushing to me about how *awesome* that is, to have a *hammock*, and what a *genius* I am for thinking of it. (okay?) And it's all sorts of people, too, from the nerdiest to the most interchangeably trendy. The tally for today is now atfour six, including a tour group, yay. It's even more fun than getting out my typewriter, because people are less in awe of a hammock. (I should try the typewriter and the hammock *at the same time* sometime. I wonder if passers-by would just spontaneously explode at the sight. Except I would probably fall out of the hammock while trying to type.) ETA: The odd thing is that many of them wantedto know if the hammock was mine or the school's. I guess a 'hammock' does not fall into most people's conception of a person al item like a blanked or even a lawn chair. I'm beginning to think I should grab a couple more from home and make a sign saying "Hammocks for rent, $5 an hour" but I fear that hammocking is the sort of liminally legal activity that it's wizer not to call attention to. Even though I bet I could make mad money that way.)
And partly it's the drums. Someone's been playing the drums for the last few hours somewhere within earshot. Drums. Somehow, drums in the distance always seem to say "This is a community, this is a family, this is a home, this is a tribe. Welcome, welcome, welcome, listen to our songs, learn our rhythms, feel our dance." Every so often I catch a few guitar chords, too, or even what sounds like a harmonica. I don't think I could ever be as happy as in a place where people make their own music. If I ever get an apartment on my own, I'll ask for the one upstairs from the guy who always practices his trombone at four in the morning.
The Mall is *full* of people, and they're all having vast amounts of fun. (I'm not sure exactly *what* kind of fun, because being as I am asocial, I've hung my hammock in the bare little gardeny area on the south side of McKeldin Library, which is probably where I'll be on nice afternoons the rest of the year, if, y'know, you're in the area.) I am in a very good mood. And it's partly just the whole lovely sunny day and swing swing swing in a hammock part, which is just automatically happiness-inducing really. And it's partly that I'm getting (relatively) massive amounts of studying done, because somehow there's no motivation *not* to work when I'm sitting in a swinging hammock under a green tree on a sunny day. One of my most vivid homework memories is sitting in Katy and Charisse's clubhouse on a spring day writing my report on seaweed for the gifted and talented teacher in third grade, and being *happy*.
And it's partly that pulling out my hammock on campus is an automatic ego-boost, because I have yet to spend an afternoon in it without at least two people coming over and gushing to me about how *awesome* that is, to have a *hammock*, and what a *genius* I am for thinking of it. (okay?) And it's all sorts of people, too, from the nerdiest to the most interchangeably trendy. The tally for today is now at
And partly it's the drums. Someone's been playing the drums for the last few hours somewhere within earshot. Drums. Somehow, drums in the distance always seem to say "This is a community, this is a family, this is a home, this is a tribe. Welcome, welcome, welcome, listen to our songs, learn our rhythms, feel our dance." Every so often I catch a few guitar chords, too, or even what sounds like a harmonica. I don't think I could ever be as happy as in a place where people make their own music. If I ever get an apartment on my own, I'll ask for the one upstairs from the guy who always practices his trombone at four in the morning.
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