My Summer Vacation, part I

I once surprised a high school friend by telling him I did nothing once I went home. I simply ate, slept, watched TV, and, maybe masturbated from time to time. (Admittedly, the masturbation did have its thrilling moments: I do remember holding my ear against the door — partially to keep it closed, partially to discern whether my mother was close enough to hear the rapid squishy noises, before coming into the cartoon-filled pages of a math book that belonged to a long-legged doe named Angie. I’ve always wondered if, with maturity and experience, Angie was able to figure out why so many pages of her book were stuck together.)

Though my life has become increasingly sophisticated since then, I must admit here that I feel it, still, is filled with inertia and ennui.

Perhaps that’s because my summer vacation officially started last week, when I arrived in New York. What have I done since then? Easy: slept, ate, showered. Yesterday, I met Walter and got wasted in some East Village dive. Then I passed out on his couch. Then I woke up at 6am so I could rush home for brunch and to go shopping with my mom and dad (which is my way of saying “my day was wholly unencumbered by joy”).

However, I’m happy to report I’ve bought three pairs of socks. And a hacksaw.