Since it’s my senior year, this past summer was fraught with lots of thinking and talking talking talking about THE FUTURE. I can’t and probably wouldn’t be able to render what exactly that will for me but, by the end of the summer, I did establish a working list of resolutions for this school year. Three of them are: 1) Get a job 2) Ride my bike to school as often as possible 3) Curb my smoking.

I transferred to Queens College from a private art school where I was studying architecture. Early on, I realized that, as fascinating as architecture is, ultimately, I can only enjoy it leisurely and conceptually. My attraction was- it still is- my romantic idea of the its discipline and rigor and the elegance of that. I missed books. I was really more interested in thinking and writing critically. So, I transferred to Queens College where I’m now an English major. While my studies were a better fit, this also meant moving back home… with my lovable but insane parents. I mention this because a big motivating factor in my desire to get a job is so I can start saving and move out (to a really adorable, albeit frugally decorated, apartment) after I graduate. And it looks like that’s a little bit more possible.

On a whim, I called a number from a very vague flyer in the English department seeking “an assistant” that is “preferably an English major.” It turned out to be a proofreading gig for a tutoring service near school and my house. So perfect and convenient for me as I could eventually work from home. I set up an interview for Thursday.

The morning of the interview, I woke up a bit later than usual, looked at the weather very hurriedly, got ready for school donning my trusty black “professional” pants, and rode my bike for the 5th school day in a row. After going to my classes, I rode kind of a ways from Flushing to Hollis Hills where, after formalities such as a rapid spelling test(I spelled “exercise” and “receive” wrong in my nervousness but knew the difference between there, their, and they’re). I GOT THE JOB.

I was elated. I had a long bike ride home with a lot of uphill pedaling (and I’m really not in the best shape) but it didn’t matter. A scene of my future dwelling was playing out in my head: a living room with a wall filled with books, a fabric couch because leather is cold- not to mention pretty tacky(and probably beyond my price range), carnivorous plants in a fishbowl, a birdcage, a cushion for my pug or bulldog named Demogorgon-nickname Demo- to rest on… And then I finally realized that, while the weather report on my Mac indicated the day would be sunny, the sky was grey. The thunder I had tuned out in my fantasizing became a lot harder to ignore. One minute I could see Union Turnpike, and the next, I was blinded by the heavy rain and wind. This was the day of the tornado and my silly mental parade was completely drenched. And struck by lightning.

Living at home has its advantages. Some kind and bored sushi chefs allowed me to loiter in their restaurant while I waited for my father to pick me up. We took the now tree blocked Grand Central home and I had a better idea of all the damage. As it turns out, that morning, I did not look at New York’s weather report but San Francisco’s. It’s there because it’s one of the possible backdrops for my imaginary apartment near my imaginary future alma mater. In my silly imagining, I rode my bicycle in a tornado.

I went home and smoked a bunch of cigarettes. I’m still working on goal #3.

This is the sweet song I listened to post tornado.