In Recovery:

It's late July.  Fantastic.  Ever since I graduated high school, I've been telling myself that I am in recovery.  High school was four years of late nights, early mornings, long commutes, and other exhausting horrors.  By the end, it seemed difficult to put up with even the simplest things, like the annoying habits of some teachers or the bothersome attitudes of certain peers, all of which I had to put up with constantly because it was a pretty small school.  With all that I powered through in those four years, of course I must need a significant span of time in order to recover.  At least that's my excuse for the way that my summer has been, i.e. very lazy.  I'm in recovery, so naturally I have not gotten a summer job.  In my defense, I did make some effort to secure one.  During my last marking period in high school, I devoted two full days a week to volunteering at a local day care facility, where I worked under the supervision of my cousin.  When the school year ended, I tried to use that connection in order to get a part time job for the summer.  Unfortunately, when my cousin spoke to her boss, she learned that, due to low enrollment during the summer, they simply don't have it in the budget to take on anyone new right now.  By the time I learned that, it was already mid-June.  I'm going away to school on August 21st.  With my parents, I came to the conclusion that very few businesses are looking for a teenager with no professional work experience who can only stay on as an employee for about two months. So, I don't have a job, and I spend most of my days at home.  I have gotten out of the house on a few occasions, spending my graduation money to see shows and concerts around the city.  Most recently, I saw Spoon when they performed at Prospect Park, which was a magnificent show.  Before that, I saw comedians Jim Gaffigan and Patton Oswalt perform in New York City, and not once but twice I went to see "Jollyship the Whiz-Bang," the most entertaining show I've ever seen.  Also, in the past several weeks, I have the following books: When you are Engulfed in Flames, Lolita, Fight Club, The Picture of Dorian Gray, This Side of Paradise, and an anthology created and issued by my school entitled Art of Memory.  The day I received the latter book, I got quite far away from home, all the way to Susquehanna University.

The day was June 28th, or Preview Day at SU.  Susquehanna schedules four Preview Days for first-year students (they don't use the word "freshmen," which I consider ridiculous) each summer.  Each student is required to attend only one.  Four exist so that the personnel are not overburdened with the entire class on a single day.  My father and I made the (approximately) three hour trip by car from our home in New York to the campus in rural Pennsylvania at the end of last month.  All of the new students were divided into several groups of about a dozen.  Each group was designated by a letter of the alphabet and separated according to prospective major.  To no one's surprise, I was placed in a group with several other creative writers.  Ours was Group E.  I suggested that we ought to be called the "group-ees," and I think it stuck, but only more time will tell.  I met a lot of people all at once, and I was amazed to discover how quickly we were all behaving like old friends.  The day's schedule was very busy, but in hindsight I hardly remember why.  I recall that the fine folks in charge had to convey a lot of information to us, so we listened to a number of speeches.  I think I walked through a rather brief tour of the campus.  Perhaps the most important event of the day was a survey that acts as one of the determining factors in the selection of our courses in the first semester.  Yes, SU does things a little differently.  Academic advisors choose the courses for first-year students, but only in their first semester.  It's not exactly normal, but I'm not complaining.  There has been some confusion regarding our first schedules.  A few weeks ago, our courses were listed on one area of the web site, and word spread immediately by AIM and Facebook.  However, the schedules were removed as suddenly as they appeared, about twelve hours later.  Some people reported that they had to be in two places at once, and so the schedules obviously weren't final.  Then, a few days ago, new course listings were discovered in a different area of the university's web site, and word spread yet again, like rats carrying a plague from coast to coast.  If these new schedules can be trusted, then my first semester will feature: Introduction to Fiction; Latin America, 1492 - 1825; Philosophy of Religion; Thought (my honors program course); and Core Perspectives (a two credit courses required for all new students).  That's eighteen credits in total.  I am mostly pleased.

My train of thought got derailed, took a detour.  Time to get back on track.  The wonderful thing about Preview Day is that it did a lot to prepare me to start my new life at SU with new friends and a closer look at the campus.  The unfortunate thing about Preview Day is that it prepared me to start this new life right then and there.  At the end of the day, I wasn't ready to go back home and stay there for almost two months.  I felt ready to move in to SU right away and keep building on my new friendships.  Instead, I had to do as all young men and women do these days.  I found my new friends via Facebook, and I have chatted with them by AIM.  Emma, a fellow creative writing major, is the one I have talked with most since we met that day.  She misses interaction with our new friends as much as I do, and a few weeks ago she suggested that I sign up for a program for SU SPLASH, a six day trip that takes twenty first-year students through rural Pennsylvania, D.C., and Baltimore in order to do work aiding people experiencing homelessness.  (That's the phrase they use, "people experiencing homelessness."  It's a lot like "first-year students."  I guess it's part of some effort to make simple phrases into more tiresome, politically correct ones.)  I've volunteered for a similar program or two in my high school career, and I was really looking to get out of the house, especially if it meant meeting new college friends.  I contacted someone at the Center for Volunteer Programs, and I learned that all the spots were filled.  They accepted my application anyway, and I was named the SU SPLASH "first alternate."  Then, a few days later, the phone rang at about 11:00 in the morning.  I was asleep in my bed, as I always am at that time of day.  I got up to look at the caller ID and saw "Susquehanna University."  What crossed my mind was, "This could either be very good or very bad."  I cleared my throat, shook my head around to awaken myself, and answered the phone.  Someone told me that a spot on the trip had opened up, and I graciously accepted it.  The trip was to begin at SU on July 20th.  Three new friends--Emma, Alyssa, and Mia--and I made arrangements to take the same train to Harrisburg, and my father was very pleased to learn that he would only have to drive me to Penn Station rather than Pennsylvania.  I packed two bags, with a lot of help from my mother.  The train left at about 10:50 A.M..  My friends and I found a "foursie," or two pairs of seats facing each other.  There was enough leg room between them for about one half of a regular-sized human being.  Emma is about 4'10", while I am about 6'4", so we sat across from each other.  We arrived in Harrisburg, PA at about 2:30.

The trip began with about two days spent on the college campus, where I was spoiled by the dormitory hall where we stayed.  I've recently learned that, during my first year, I am going to live in Hassinger Hall, which is just what I requested because it has a reputation for being quiet and because some English and creative writing professors have their offices in the basement (until they move out, which I've heard they're planning).  However, Hassinger is also known to have the most notoriously small rooms on campus, so the upperclassman hall where we stayed during SPLASH definitely gave me a false, generous impression of dorm life, at least for my first year.  Our first service trip was to a local transition shelter called Haven Ministry, where I spent most of my time painting some doors.  As a result, I learned a very important lesson about painting.  When you paint a light color over a dark color, it looks like you are doing a terrible job.  Regardless, I think we got the job off to a good start with our first coats, and I did my part to paint those high areas that the others could not reach.  Also, with no tarp to cover the ground, we did a great job of adding a Jackson Pollock vibe to the sidewalk.  Then, after the second night, it was on to Washington D.C., where we stayed in the basement at the Washington Seminar Center.  There were four bathrooms available to us on the premises, and they were all quite sketchy, perhaps the most disgusting bathrooms I've ever had to use in my life.  Therefore, when a tremendous downpour hit the area one night, I used the elements to my advantage.  With some friends joining me, I stepped out in my already wet clothes and shampooed my hair outdoors.  As for the bedrooms, there were two of them, one for the guys and the other for the girls, each with a large array of bunk beds.  Just outside those rooms was a large common area with some comfortable couches and chairs, where many people stayed up at night when they didn't want to sleep.  One night, I turned in earlier than my friends.  The next morning, I was told that during the night one of the other guys, a fellow named John Adams, stepped into the bedroom to grab one of his things.  Then, as he stepped out again into the common area, he announced to everyone else who was still awake that: "Will is in there sleeping like this."  He proceeded to demonstrate my position by lying atop a couch on his stomach with his face down, his arms at his sides, and his legs bent at the knee so that his feet faced upward.  I can not explain this.  I have no recollection of this, as I was asleep.  Upon hearing this story, my new friend Allie told me, "You sleep like a dum-dum."  That sums it up best, if you ask me.

While we were in D.C., we had the opportunity to tour the Capitol building.  This was a remarkably unpleasant experience.  Our journey began underneath a separate building, where our tour guides told us we would go through a tunnel leading to the Capitol building.  The line for the tunnel was long enough, and then we were delayed even further because the tunnel is shut down every time the House of Representatives votes on something.  (At least, I think it's the House of Representatives.  Honestly, I don't understand how our government works.  I don't even deserve citizenship.)  Once we were finally underneath the Capitol building, a security guard told us that the stairs were closed, although no one ever explained why.  Outside the elevator, I recognized the same people I saw earlier on the line for the tunnel.  They were easy to recognize because they had the same looks of boredom and impatience on their faces as they waited for the elevator.  We all lined up against the wall to wait, and almost immediately we sank to the floor in order to sit down.  Seconds later, another security guard walked by and not-so-politely informed us that, "You can't sit on the floor of the Capitol building."  Upon hearing that, everyone in our party channeled the spirit of John McEnroe as we collectively thought, "You cannot be serious."  The guard's seriousness was evidenced when he repeated his claim, and he watched us all groan as we stood up again.  D.C. is infamous for its humidity.  We had just walked around quite a lot to arrive at this point.  Before that, we did physical labor for a few hours to help people experiencing homelessness.  All I wanted at that moment was to get off my feet.  But no, we had to wait about half an hour until our tour guide finally decided that we should just walk back to the stairs rather than wait for this elevator any longer, and then we had to walk around the Capitol building and listen to his scripted little lessons until our tour was mercifully cut short by yet another security guard who reported that the building was closing.  I had a much better time at the CCNV, the Center for Creative Non-Violence, where we did most of our service during our stay.  One afternoon, as we sat around a large conference table after a long morning of moving lockers, painting them, and lots of weeding, we were introduced to a long-time employee there who wanted to speak with us.  He had no name, because he got rid of it.  He spoke so quickly that it is hard to recall his exact words, but I will paraphrase what he said on the subject of his name.  "People ask me, well how can you do that?  It's simple.  I gave it up.  You know why?  Because I'm insignificant."  He also told us, among other things, that he does not like titles, and therefore he is a janitor at CCNV, and he likes it that way.  He is a janitor with no name.  Yes, I thought of Scrubs, but only for a brief moment, because he captivated my attention.  I'll always remember him, even though he was insignificant.

From D.C., we traveled to Baltimore, where we only stayed for less than a day.  We were dropped off at the Inner Harbor, and many of us went to eat at the Hard Rock Cafe.  I ordered a burger called the Big Cheese.  The menu explains that the Big Cheese has three slices of cheese of your choice.  Upon ordering it, I asked our waiter, "What are my cheese choices?"  From the other end of the table, Allie laughed.  I guess I must order like a dum-dum as well.  I inhaled my burger once it arrived.  It was delicious.  Next door, I was delighted to find the largest Barnes & Noble I have ever laid eyes upon, four stories of books if I'm not mistaken.  We had a limited time, because we all had tickets to an Orioles game, but I insisted upon entering the bookstore, because I had a gift card with me.  I only had enough time to get to the second floor, but I spent my gift card and considerably more.  Then we traveled to the ballpark, where I spent most of my time reading Fitzgerald.  After that, we had a long bus trip back to Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania, and again I spent that time reading Fitzgerald, thanks to my excellent keychain flashlight.  We spent another night on campus and then had a closing ceremony for the parents the next morning (not my parents, because I took the train with Emma and Alyssa again).  Once it was all over, I was reminded of my feelings at the end of Preview Day.  I felt that it was unfair that I should be expected to go home and wait there for about three weeks before I return.  After making so many new friends, my days at home do feel quite lonely.  But, of course, my Facebook activity is through the roof.  And besides, the wait for college isn't that much longer.  Until then, I suppose I'll relax and try to enjoy my recovery.  Every now and then I still get nightmares about finals at the old high school.  Maybe I need a new treatment.

End Post.