October 13, 2011 § 1 Comment

I am part-squirrel, part-magpie, and ALL excited for the fall season to start. That is to say: I think I’m obsessed with saving things. Not, mind you, in a traditionally pack-rat-esque sense: I don’t keep newspaper clippings* or silly things like paystubs** and I dispose of freebie t-shirts regularly (except three: one from Scav, one from Doc Films, and a rotating wildcard). I’m dangerously into stocking up for the Cold Winter Months, both literal and metaphorical.

I’m working hard at school (OF COURSE) but also at my job, diligently socking away every paycheck into my savings account. Thanks to my quarter-million-dollar education, I’ve learned one thing: I am unemployable. Also: the names of Charlemagne’s sons and the use of the aorist tense. But seriously, I can’t help but like the feeling of Being Responsible enough to give myself the gift of a post-graduation employment lapse. My meager hoard will let me do what I want: write, live abroad illegally, and shop for Quebecois produce at the Marché Jean-Talon, at least for a little while.

On the more material side, and to torture my menagerie metaphor further, I’m like the ant in the fable***, but with the ability to put quinoa and whole-wheat pastry flour in Ball jars. I’ve planned out a weekend whose chief highlights will be picking an entire bushel of apples, loading my car with bison burgers, and travelling far afield to Logan Square to get my first share of organic guilt-free delicious farm meat. I can picture myself in a few short months, surrounded by a frozen stockpile of homemade casseroles and ready-to-bake scones, cackling with schadenfreude as I watch the fools around me starve in the snow.

Actually, I highly doubt that will happen (I would 1. share my hotdish and 2. feel bad if all my friends died) but the pleasurable aspects of readying oneself for cold cannot be denied. Even these days when we can have tomatoes in December (don’t get me started), there is something nice about bending to the will of the coming winter and get while the getting is good. Literally, metaphorically, replete-with-homemade-applesauce-ed-ly, I want to build up a hidey-hole and spend the next little while in there. You can come over, but only if you’ll take a t-shirt on your way out.

***Or that awful French poem we had to memorize in high school. Remember? La CI-gale AY-ant CHAN-té TOUT-e l’é-TE


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