Grande mocha coconut frappucino, please
by Narcissus
(393 views) - 10/29/03
(recorded 10/29/03 @ 5:44:13 PM)
I have always credited myself to be open to change. In fact, at times, I welcome it. I am always looking for new things to try, new people to meet, etc. But, a few weeks ago, I got a rude slap in the face. I was forced to change an unaltered routine that I have had for years. Starbucks discontinued their Mocha Coconut Frappucino... the only drink I ever got there (well, mostly, by 100:1). Now, I will have to settle for the Mocha Frappucino. I have to make a huge effort *not* to say "coconut* when ordering. It's habit.

Here's a copy of my first essay for Yale. It's pretty much the final copy. (Let me preface this by telling Matt that I didn't get his essay until the day after I gave my essay to Mrs. S to edit. It shocked me how alike they were. Yours though, I love it. It's more a specific event, mine's a habit. Anyways-- This is, roughly, the prompt: "We ask you to write a personal essay that will help us to know you better.")

*** Cue alarm at roughly 5:30 a.m., Sunday morning. I roll over, half-conscious, willing my eyes to focus on the crimson digits of the clock. Too early, too tired, too sore. What would I lose not to run today? Wouldn’t it be nice to sleep in?
I blink forcefully. Get up, Chris, the road is waiting. No excuses; you got up yesterday and the day before. Those miles aren’t going to run themselves.
The biting November morning does not faze me. I pull on paper-thin Coolmax shorts and a florescent sports bra, all the while wishing for a parka. My shoes lie waiting in my closet. They are arranged meticulously, by year of purchase, each pair in its own transparent storage container. A small note card documents the miles traveled in each pair: Nike Cross-Trainers: 800 miles, a size too small, the mesh is ripped at the seam; New Balance: 300 miles, the toe padding is worn out from too much use on the tennis courts; Asics: 500 miles, one size too big, but they helped me run my best time at the state meet last year. I know each shoe individually, having spent quite a long time in each, piling on the miles one by one. I put on my newest pair (Brooks: around 100 miles on their soles, with arch inserts that blister my big toes) and I’m lifted out the door.
At first, I am only conscious of the cold biting at my nose and ears, burning inside my lungs as I inhale deeply. All my senses awaken and amplify, and I realize I am the only object in motion. The silent slumber of the street is broken only by the rhythmic pat-put, pat-put of my feet on asphalt and the hushed whee-hoo, whee-hoo of my breathing. Street signs morph into foreign symbols, and I am lost within my thoughts. My feet instinctively follow the winding path they have traveled a hundred times before. Never faltering, they lead me down vacant streets, along dusty canals, and up slick, grassy hills. Pausing atop a hill, I enjoy the coolness of the gentle breeze on my cheeks. I find solace in the sunrise. My heart swells; I smile.
My watch chimes the time: my signal to begin the race home. As I retrace my steps, I quicken my pace, lengthening my stride and doubling my turnover. Harder, faster. I feel the acid building in my thighs as fatigue sets in. No, just a little farther. Don’t settle in. Chest heaving, I round the familiar corner into my neighborhood. My gaze fixes on my mailbox, my makeshift checkered flag. With only 600 meters left, I ignore my cramping diaphragm and sprint into my driveway.
As I glance back up the street, I am elated. The accomplishment! I am one of the “crazy runners” who prowl the streets at ungodly hours of the morning to pant, to think, to sweat, to inflict a superhuman pain upon myself – to run.
***

Bah, I don't like pieces of it, but I don't have the time to re-write it a sixth time. On to the next! I need to make those slides of my artwork.. ahh.. I don't know what "Bracketing" is, and apparently, that's the most important part of me making my art into slides. Oh crap.

Apparently, my suspisions of being the gossip among my friends is true. A good friend of mine (outside our "group") talked to Mr. Keyes about me!!! What could he possibly have to say to Keyes!!! About me?? I shouldn't be fazed, I shouldn't really care. I don't know what's going on. I feel like Meursault from The Stranger at his trial... his fate is being decided without his participation, whatsoever. Argh.

"What's left to lose? You've done enough. And if you fail well then you fail but not to us. Cause these last 3 years, I know they've been hard, but now its time to get out of the desert and into the sun. Even if it's alone."
Previous entry: Short, catch-me-up
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Notes:
Silly girl... Say it with me: Care-a-mellll Frapp-u-cheee-nooo...... None of that flaky coconut crap, and no need to even *say* "mocha"... Bwa!

Cheerio on your little essay there... hopefully you'll get in an' stuff... hehe...


   [disillusioned (J:: M) 10/29/03 11:25 PM]




Wow, I bet it is weird getting a note on an entry this old.

Anyway, I had never read this entry before.... I'm amazed at how similar your essay is to my Yale essay.... Interesting. Well, just saying hi....

Oh, and would you email me? I don't have your UA email address yet.

::at your service::
   [bondservant (J) 9/20/04 3:58 AM]




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