A 22 hour work day creates confusion, a terribly dry taste in your mouth, and a resulting feeling of emptiness because you're not entirely sure where a few hours of the day went.
It also creates lazy Saturday nights and thus, the perfect situation to finally watch the Olympics, specifically to watch Michael Phelps. Ninja and I watched the ladies first, then the men. I found out that neither of my two roommates finds Phelps attractive, despite his success and corresponding wealth.
My new living situation provides me with invaluable knowledge about how gals in their early twenties think and I'm not sure if it's for better or worse.
Or really nothing at all. Too early too tell I think.
But Phelps won and the US men captured the gold in the relay. It was really something to watch, the first moment of significant Olympic action I had watched. Most of the week had been spent catching thrilling women's handball matches and way too much beach volleyball. But finally, at a little to eleven on a Saturday night in mid August, I was able to watch something that meant something, something to me at least. I don't want to talk down about women's handball, possibly insulting the hoards of women's handball enthusiasts out there, but it's just not for me.
So I thought that seeing Phelps do his thing was tops, in regards to important images accrued during the weekend. But an hour ago, Mom sent out pictures of Gram in her new digs- Gram dancing with the magician, waving to camera, dancing some more. You know, really doing it up how Gram does it. The smile on her face went ear to ear and even in the pictures her old, battle-tested hips were swaying from side to side.
So while what Phelps did was pretty amazing, Gram might have him by a hair...but that's really only because Phelps had every discernible hair shaved off of his body. But what's really at the heart of this is the joy that comes from seeing something special, seeing something that provides a sense of closure.
Watching Phelps offered closure because at that point on Saturday night, the confusion around the house had finally subsided and Big was gone, leaving his spot in the living room to be taken by Ninja. And it was fun, reassuring. And watching Gram dance, that provided closure as well. After everything that had gone down since the 4th when we rushed her to the hospital and she spent the next few weeks in various rehab facilities and one horrendous week at PCAL, there she was, dancing. Tonight on the phone she sounded tired, but that didn't matter. Mom called and was complaining about Gram's phone, but that doesn't really matter either. What matters is that for a few moments, here at the start of another week, on the cusp of fall, some things are falling into place, whether they be in southern Maine, Philly, China, or Ethiopia- where they are again celebrating the dominance of their runners (saw that race too.) It's nice to know that in these funky times we're living in, at least some things work out in the end, and work out for the best too.
It takes a month or it takes four years, but ultimately it all works out. Even though Mom never seemed to believe me and millions of Red Sox fans are starting to think that it won't work out this year, if there's music Gram will be dancing and that alone should keep us all afloat.
At least until the student loan people call again.