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Tuesday, November 18, 2003

Die-Hard Sox Fan

When he said "sox fan" I thought it came to his mind as he saw the soft woolly stockings covering my feet, exposed beneath my Jesus sandals. I was sleeping on a couch in the lounge of Snyder Hall, and he was walking with the rest of his family, his wife and son and daughter, the college student. She was showing her family around her dorm and eventually they walked passed me and woke me from my slumber with their comments about my socks. For just a second I wondered how I got to this foreign place and then I remembered walking into the building a few hours earlier to study. (i.e. take a nap)

I saw a squirrel stuff his mouth full of grass outside the entrance to the dormitory. The elasticity of his cheeks seemed to know no end.

I began to to reminisce about living in the six-pack, long days and nights of production-less procrastination, ramen noodles, late night pizza ("Can I get some cheese with that cardboard?"), and my triple-sized dorm room, occupied only by myself, and once in a while by my ex-girlfriend Kara.

She would've cooed endearingly at the squirrel, charmed by those soft and furry and small and fluffy-tailed things that would cross our paths while walking together somewhere. Haunting remnants of our pedestrian relationship floated next to me, held me there as I saw the squirrel and heard her voice, her squeals of delight, her pointing finger and smiling face before I finally realized that the ghosts weren't holding onto me, but that I was holding onto them.

I stoically un-clung myself from this daydream, clasped tightly to the dry reality of time-management and responsibility, and headed home.

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