sunshine incarnate

roommate kyle and I were at a bar in dupont friday night. kyle walks away to answer his phone or something and black haired boy in tattered corduroy blazer walks over and casually asks where my guy friend has gone. "oh, my roommate klye, you mean? I think he's on the phone with his girlfriend." and so I beat the platonic horse to death in two sentences. black haired boy asks my name. I tell him, Sara. He says, "are you jewish?" and I say "no, but I guess I am delighted that I pass." He laughs and says "I pass too, and my name is Nathan." and thus began this weekend's installment of The Boy Who Asks for a Girl's Number then Never Calls.

oh, for fuck's sake what am I doing here? seriously, what business does anyone have here in DC?

I guess I'll go back to jotting things down in here since I will be returning to the place from which most of these entries came. I just had dinner with a befuddling character from the county. We went to Brown's Chinese American restaraunt in Luray, VA. I tend to have two starkly differing experiences with this fellow. Sometimes, usually when there are other people around, we argue and it is baseless, furious, absurd arguing over topics that range from the depth of Wal-Mart to domesticated housepets. Then, on other occassions we are ridiculously civil. We act as though we are in an old russian novel. He delivers a monologue of sorts and I insist on piping in from time to time to question his musings. He's rather my arch nemesis, but FFS, I can't leave it alone. Admittedly, agreeability is the quality most likely to repel me. it's like I have no other option than to be eternally tormented by choice. attracted most by someone oft considered my arch-nemesis. curse it all.

after four months of sharing a room with dear sweet innocent aryan hannah, it has surfaced at her departure that I have been swearing in my sleep this entire time. Oh, the praying she must have done for my soul. That's why she read the bible before bed- to fend of the devil's words!

I am perplexed though because people keep asking me what sort of repressed rage must I have to be swearing in my sleep. I feel as though I readily embrace most of the rage that I have and express it fairly vocally. I've never been one shy to swear. So I can hardly fathom what sort of festering source of rage I might harbor that could be producing these nocturnal outbursts.

after yelling 'motherfucker' while riding in the back of the jalopy past the bosses' house last week at 7:30am, I feel it might be time to reduce the cussing just a bit. After all, I am a lady, not a sailor.

Think of these three elements all converging in rural virginia along with me. Whatever you imagine probably happened.

I think we had all given up hope that it might rain anytime soon. We had already accepted the probability that the river that feeds our irrigation pump would run dry and that we would just have to watch the field slowly dry naturally. Even with our drip irrigation, things are struggling. We have a lot of really sad brown crops out there. Drip irrigation consists of a network of drip tape that runs underneath the plastic that is spread over the rows that we plant. There are small slits in the paint out of which water leaks quite slowly. It takes about three days for the system to water the whole 8 acres of farm. Yesterday and today seem to be rainy today and we are tentatively relieved. It is a challenge to grow a vegetable like a cucumber that is 90% water when there is no water.

Hooray for water but this means that sports night might be off tonight. All the better I suppose. This week, my time seems to be intensely structured. Yesterday there was scrabble at lunchtime, dinner with interns, pickling, then read aloud time (the nation did a food issue with all of our favorite sustainablity superstars.) Tonight is sports night, wednesday is farm dinner (goodbye dinner for hannah,) thursday we are going to pennsylvania on a field trip to a creamery, then friday is oru friend lea's goodbye party. At some point, it might be nice to have a minute to write a letter or something. However, with so many people leaving town soon, I guess I should just embrace the social spirit while I can.

oh my, things on the farm certainly have gotten ridiculous. I am just going to attribute everthing to a quarter life crisis. of course, I have no intention of living until I am 100 but calling the age of 25 my 1/3 life just depresses people, Harold and Maude style. I realized that I just have to embrace the fact that I am going to be a ridiculous human being for a little while.

long day. worked until 7:45pm in the rain loading the vans for tomorrow's markets. blasted rain.

Got the first tick of the season, embedded in my neck, gorging itself on the sweet ambrosia that is my blood. Each of us has had a major tick incident by now so we have decided to hold mandatory group tick checks at the end of each day. We'll show them.

I had this morning off so I took care of some administrative matters about town until I had to get back to work at 2pm. Spent the afternoon transplanting plants in the greenhouse. It was sunny and cool and everything was remarkably tranquil. I find the tedium of transplanting the young seedlings to be fabulously meditative, a good time to process months worth of events that I've not yet had time to really think about. Or think about nothing.

We made sushi and drank whiskey tonight. It was good fun. Another intern brought over a pan of special brownies as well. Things in the country are developing nicely I would say.

now that I am a farmer, I must also direct you to my super wholesome blog, livejournal username farmrockstar. It contains all information for general disclosure, quotidian details of the farm life, etc. I'll be back to blogging here as well once wireless access is gained. toodles.

whenever people at work leave, there is always a farewell gathering. these usually involve a sheet cake and a bottle of diet coke served in a conference room with people standing awkwardly around pretending that they gave a damn about whoever is leaving. for me however, someone organized a happy hour outing, cocktails aplenty. yes, I am the girl that people know doesn't want a sheet cake, but rather alcohol. hmmm. so yesterday we all met up at a spanish restaraunt/bar where happy hour specials were almost scandalous. needless to say, much sangria was consumed. ahh, I suppose I did get quite attached to a certain group of coworkers of mine and will indeed miss them. the other coworkers are gathering in a conference room with donuts tomorrow to send me off. I am confident that an urgent project will materialize that needs my attention soon afterwards.

I took today off in order to try to get some packing done and really got nothing done. I am not sure how/when it happened, but I have become the most irresponsible person on earth. so it goes. in any case, this whole up and moving thing is really freaking me out. I am a bundle of fucking nerves. I wish I had some xanax. oh well, alcohol will have to do. oh yeah, and does anyone have a liver they are going to need to get rid of, because I might be in the market for a new one soon. and maybe a lung or too. but really, I am totally detoxing when I get to the farm so I might as well do it up right special while I can. man, this farm thing is going to be like a trip to the betty ford center, but free!

so I did it again. drawn out by various characters, I managed to do absolutely nothing productive last night. Blast it all. Screw the whole scheme to ship things home. I'm just going to start inviting hobos and crackheads from the corner up to my room to have their pick of my belongings. I should just wear the same shorts and shirt all summer. I mean, the farm is the perfect venue for some good dirty time. and I don't mean sexy dirty, I mean sporting the natural odor dirty. can't wait.

with the name "Cherry Blossoms Clog my Gutters" we managed to win best team name at trivia last night. That's two weeks in a row for best team name- last week we were "I'll give you my Bracket and a Handjob for a Dollar." This is however the first time that we one any prize for knowledge. Coming in second place for actually answering questions right, we won a $15 gift certificate to the bar. Rock on. Oh, and the prize for best team name was a firework which, a little bit drunk, we set off in the schoolyard across the street froom the bar. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but as soon as Gabe lit the fuse and ran back to us, it started sparking and popping and making horrible high pitched screeching noises. Yeah, there were pretty colors and all, but the noise was really quite disruptive to the recent calm that had befallen the neighborhood after the earlier evening thunderstorm had subsided. Oops. I mean really, is there any more apparent folly than to dispense pyrotechnics as prizes for drinking games?

Hooray! Last week of work. Torturous, but leading to a glorious degree of happiness. Friday at 5, more like 4, I will no longer be fettered by the weight of abstract production. I don't know, the words are jumbled now, I am tired, exhausted, giddy with anticipation, anxious for changes, stressed by lack of preparation for these changes, a fucking bundle of nerves. Good stuff.

Last night was an interesting serious of outings, more activity than I would usually pack into one night, but it was my last weekend so I had to do it up right special. First, I went with a friend to the Shakespeare Theatre for a production of The Persians. Then, I met up with another friend for Taint, the gay indie dance party at DC9. The music was great and it made me wish I had left the negihborhood more often for stuff like that and Liberation Dance Party. aww well, I'll be back soon enough I am sure.

I sold my futon bed last night. There is a big dusty space in the corner of my room. It was the best spot ever, windows on each wall, the perfect place for an afternoon nap in the sun. And that bed, procured from craigslist for $75 is the best night's sleep I have ever had. Others agree. The upside of this loss is that I was forced to do some real packing/organizing last night in order to get things cleared out for the person who would be hauling this away. Within one frantic hour after work yesterday, I got more packing done than I did all weekend. Not bad. I may just pull this off. Not that I am sleeping on the crippling old futon in the guest room, I am inclined to wake earlier than usual which is problematic because I am sure as hell not going into work early (meaning on time) at 8:30. So as a result, you get an insufferably boring post. Sorry kids.

just when I thought it was too late for my employers to screw me over any more, they manage to bungle things pretty royally with only a week for me to try to make them straighten it out. I am so flipping done with this place that all I can really focus my attention on right now is composing my 'Fairwell and Fuck You' email. I know I should leave with class and maturity, and just let it go, but I am not sure it is worth preserving my reputation with this bunch of bungling dunderheads. And I think that I can express my ire in a manner that is mature and classy if I take some time to write this. It is for their own good really, all these people keep leaving disgruntled but it is so taboo to recognize and reflect on why everyone is leaving here. grrrrr, I am so angry right now.

I called in sick this morning, not even bothering to sound pathetic or sick on the phone. It's just that it was a beautiful day, and I had planned on it for a while, then a dear friend flew in from out of town so all signs pointed to delinquency. Drove to BWI to pick up the friend, enjoying the drive unfettered by traffic, sun shining all the way. Now, I shall see if I can make any headway in the great packing fiasco. Finally bought packing tape despite my plan to just steal it from work (yes, that seems a little wrong, but they owe me) so I'd like to get some boxes ready to ship tomorrow.

I was lying in bed on Sunday evening, getting ready to sleep and was struck with might be described as sadness that my room would no longer be my room, and that, within a week, I will no longer be sleeping in my bed. It has been a long time since I've become so attached to a space. For a long time, even in college, spaces I was in were always very temporary in my mind. I always arrived knowing when I was leaving. Even in Seattle where I was trying to put down roots, the situation was always tenuous enough with housing and work that leaving seemed inevitable. This was different, DC was semi-permanent, I have a great place to live, more friends than I have ever had, and a job that pays decently. I was going to make a real go of it. And I did, but ended it spontaneously, maybe with three months notice, but still in a manner that I could hardly fathom when I came to DC. It is not bad, just a situation that I have yet not experienced. So again, I will detach myself from a space, to learn a new one, in a different manner though, because I know I will be leaving the farm in November. It will be like going to summer camp, but with ten hours of back breaking labor each day. So more like a gulag I guess. But in a good way. In a good way.

huh, I think I may have really learned a lot in the past couple of months. kudos to me, now we will see if I can act accordingly in the future. for now, I will just run away from all sources of distress to the farm for new adventures.

oops, one of my coworkers took me out for lunch and we went to a brewery so, of coures, we had to have some beer. I might be a little drunk. But really, I am probably acting more responsibly than usual so I think it is just fine. I just took a call from a donor and they hung up entirely satisfied so I think this works well. No matter, my boss doesn't really pay attention to me anymore now that I am leaving. this place is one big den o'dysfunction.

my new boss has a habit of saying "get 'er done" and I suspect that he has not taken a moment to reflect on the phrase's meaning. He is a very stuffy man given to employ words like "splendid" and "swell" and is always talking about church choir practice and his precious daughter, Veronica. So when I hear the words "get 'er done" out of his mouth, they seem especially obscene. I wonder if he needs to explain why the phrase is inappropriate, because I would love to enlighten him. I could even find some visual aids if necessary. I suppose, given the work internet blocks, he would have to settle for a few rough sketches.