Adams' 4th of July special- the G. W. Bushboy

So a customer mispronounced our P. W. Busboy special the other day, ending with Bushboy. I quickly thought up the subject line, and then Megan hit the ground running with the idea. A huge pancake, the shape of Texas, would serve as a background for the rest of the dish. The syrup would actually be in a container the shape of a miniature oil well, which would dry up before you got enough. The bananas would be carefully arranged in the shape of a "Support our Troops" ribbon, and most of all, only about 35% of people would like it.

***

We did work on the Temporomandibular Joint tonight in class. I thought about Sarah Stanek and her bitey-retainer in college, and how it made her talk with a lisp. Other people I've thought about from college lately include Phil Salazar, Mandie Sanders, Matt Ricke, Evie White, Joe Urschel, Zach Luginbill, and Katie Kobelski, in no particular order. Oh, and that tall, blonde drink of water who was Miss Huntington a few years ago. Can't remember her name, though. She was in a dream I had the other night, hanging out with Katie Smith, who was telling me she wasn't really interested in being friends anymore. I think Miss Sanders was there, too, but every memory I have of her is tangled up with Dodge Omnis and horse tack.

***

I think I've turned the corner. I was happy today for no real reason, and didn't really mind. Really grasping the fact that I have something better, more lasting going on in the long run always catches up with me, even if it takes a while. I think I'm looking forward to seeing my family again next week, even though it was only 3 weeks ago that I left them. I will admit to having been pretty lonely out here the last couple of weeks, working like a dog and massaging like a fool. I got temporarily excited about yet another boy, and am now once again mostly over it. Those connections, even if made for one evening over a stack of David Bowie records and a dog that is afraid of shadows, keep it real enough for me. There are other people in the world, more of my species, that think and emote and consider and laugh and weep like me. Maybe not just like me, and I'll never understand them, not really really, but it's enough. Dr. Schleiffer once told me in college about this dream she had when she herself was an undergrad student. She had this dream where there were two hands, outstretched, coming within inches of each other, over and over again but never clasping. It made me really depressed at the time, I mean seriously like I wanted to cry my eyes out. But then I realized, sometimes the hands themselves are enough, just that there are two of them. And they don't have to touch- they know the other one is there and the best meetings are never physical anyway.