Ah, so yesterday I helped out and cut the lawn for the folks, which was not so much "mowing the lawn" as it was "churning up the dust." The lawn is dry from the lack of rain and, frankly, never was a lawn to brag about. Afterwards I got out the hammock and napped in the sun. I decided rather than picking up pollen secondhand from the car or the tables or the hose or something, I'd just let the stuff fall directly onto me an into my nose.

Today, while playing basketball with other New Jersey newspaper types, the one woman who plays, Allison, who works with me, was on the other team for the first time. I arrived late, and the first time I take the court, the guy I replaced had been guarding her on defense. Allison's about 5-5, 5-6, so she's only a little shorter than I am, and though I'm pretty athletic, I have no coordination when it comes to basketball. That's the curse of growing up in a house with a gravel driveway and no hoop in the backyard. So while Allison's vertically challenged, she can run the point and drive to the hoop and be aggressive without the ball.

Anyway, the sad point I'm slowly getting around to is that when she leaned into me trying to establish position or pushed off to get open for a pass, or drove to the basket, holding me off with her forearm, I was sadly reminded it's been a while since I've been out. To notice the soft skin on a woman's arm while she's trying to score on you (not with you) is a bad sign. It's a good wakeup call, but a bad sign. Damn this job of nights and weekends, damn it! Though the nights at the ballpark certainly have been promising.

And now I sit here, taking a break from packing for South Bend and graduation, not wanting to organize my clothes and pick out shirts and ties and shoes and what else I'll need. And my sister told me today that there's some injunction involving Northwest Airlines that may or may not end at midnight and could or could not be followed by potentially striking employees of the airline. The only reason I'm on Northwest is because Comair pilots are on strike and by the time Delta told me this, the best they could do was put me on Northwest to get out there and then through Atlanta coming home a day after I'd planned on it. I'm this close to driving myself tomorrow, or at least with the folks. I swear, if there are any problems at the airport, I'll be using the phrase, "I know this isn't your fault ..." so much to the desk attendant whose fault it is not I'll be annoyed with myself. As long as I can get out to the general Midwest/Michiana area, I'll be fine. I'll take Chicago, but don't get me stuck in Detroit.

This is all on top of the fact that I'm getting all nostalgiac and feeling bittersweet about the whole graduation thing. My sister's graduating from Notre Dame, meaning it's been three years since I did that myself. Now there won't be anyone there for me to visit regularly. My only trips will likely be for football games, and I will once again be a complete stranger on campus, a nomad, as I was on my first visit and as I felt for much of freshman year.

I think that's part of the reason I'm so confused, so wishy-washy, so not myself these past few days. What I wrote last night (no link, just click "Exit 105" below) did not feel like me. I don't feel like me. Maybe it's the allergies, all the pseudo-Sudafed I'm popping. Maybe it's the hangover from the bullshit at work.

But maybe it really just is the fact that I'll be going back to Notre Dame and, for just a little bit, reliving my final days there, and I'll be missing my friends. Maybe it will serve as a wake-up call. Maybe I'll be inspired by the speeches � um, check that � Maybe I'll be inspired by the valedictory speech (I see little to no way I'd be inspired by the President's address) and remember I'm still young, I live in a great location in a great state, near New York and Philly and Washington and Boston, and I'm too young to be burned out by work, too young to be pissed off and frustrated and working nights and weekends in an office when I should be working them at a ballpark or at least somewhere I want to be working them. Maybe, rather than waiting out the summer like I'd planned, I'll get those resumes out after the Cincinnati wedding at the end of June; my vacation time is used up by then, what am I waiting for? Clips, sure, but if what I have to that point works, then why not?

OK, so there's another ambition, another feeling that's likely to change by tomorrow when I wake up at 5:30 in the a.m. � an hour I last saw only because a truck out the window woke me up Saturday morning � and lug myself to the airport for that flight out.