The day after tomorrow
The smell in the kitchen has become my white whale. For about the last two weeks, a mysterious, metallic odor reminiscent of decay and stagnation has emanated from the kitchen. Nothing ruins a good day or makes a bad one worse than walking into stinking house, especially when I have to walk through the kitchen every time I want to get to my room. I thought the smell was coming from the sink, so I've poured everything down there from Draino to bleach to toilet bowl cleaner. But as I was putting together a sandwich today, I caught a stronger whiff from a corner of our countertop. I sprayed Clorox cleaner all over the counter and gave it a thorough wipe down, but the kitchen remains haunted by the Ghost of Unwashed Dishes Past. To remind me of the futility of my quest, a few of those tiny, inexterminable fruit flies swirled mockinginly in front of my face.
Ever since I finished classes, this smell — and cleaning in general — has preoccupied me at the expense of what should be more pressing concerns, like figuring out how I'm going to pay rent when my graduation money runs out. So maybe it's not so surprising that when my mom asked me, "Can you believe it, Matt? You're actually done with college," my response was only a shrug. Later, at my barbecue, during the blessing of the food, my mom referred to this as a "momentous day" in my life. My uncle asked me afterward, "So is this a momentous day for you?" I replied something like, "At the moment."
It's not that all of this wasn't a big deal, but I was having trouble getting really excited about something I'd anticipated all my academic life. I think a lot of my fellow graduates felt the same way. We didn't throw our hats in the air. We didn't hoop and holler. The dean of liberal arts even teased us for never cheering loud enough at the Univeristy-wide commencement ceremony. The problem was that nearly everyone in my honors program has been groomed for college almost since they could walk. Of course, this doesn't diminish the accomplishment at all or dampen the pride of the parents in audience, but rarely does elation accompany the expected. As it was, each of us was already casting one wary eye to the future as soon as we stepped off that stage. The other eye was probably on brunch at the reception to follow.
More than anything, though, the day went as expected. It felt good to be done with school, but as with any large project, like my thesis for instance, there wasn't a sense of euphoria. Instead it was more like, "That's it, huh?" I imagine all great endeavors will feel this way — a mild sense of satisfaction built on an accumulated base of smaller frustrations and epiphanies.
The smell in the kitchen has become my white whale. For about the last two weeks, a mysterious, metallic odor reminiscent of decay and stagnation has emanated from the kitchen. Nothing ruins a good day or makes a bad one worse than walking into stinking house, especially when I have to walk through the kitchen every time I want to get to my room. I thought the smell was coming from the sink, so I've poured everything down there from Draino to bleach to toilet bowl cleaner. But as I was putting together a sandwich today, I caught a stronger whiff from a corner of our countertop. I sprayed Clorox cleaner all over the counter and gave it a thorough wipe down, but the kitchen remains haunted by the Ghost of Unwashed Dishes Past. To remind me of the futility of my quest, a few of those tiny, inexterminable fruit flies swirled mockinginly in front of my face.
Ever since I finished classes, this smell — and cleaning in general — has preoccupied me at the expense of what should be more pressing concerns, like figuring out how I'm going to pay rent when my graduation money runs out. So maybe it's not so surprising that when my mom asked me, "Can you believe it, Matt? You're actually done with college," my response was only a shrug. Later, at my barbecue, during the blessing of the food, my mom referred to this as a "momentous day" in my life. My uncle asked me afterward, "So is this a momentous day for you?" I replied something like, "At the moment."
It's not that all of this wasn't a big deal, but I was having trouble getting really excited about something I'd anticipated all my academic life. I think a lot of my fellow graduates felt the same way. We didn't throw our hats in the air. We didn't hoop and holler. The dean of liberal arts even teased us for never cheering loud enough at the Univeristy-wide commencement ceremony. The problem was that nearly everyone in my honors program has been groomed for college almost since they could walk. Of course, this doesn't diminish the accomplishment at all or dampen the pride of the parents in audience, but rarely does elation accompany the expected. As it was, each of us was already casting one wary eye to the future as soon as we stepped off that stage. The other eye was probably on brunch at the reception to follow.
More than anything, though, the day went as expected. It felt good to be done with school, but as with any large project, like my thesis for instance, there wasn't a sense of euphoria. Instead it was more like, "That's it, huh?" I imagine all great endeavors will feel this way — a mild sense of satisfaction built on an accumulated base of smaller frustrations and epiphanies.
posted by Matt at 4:07 PM
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