Build Your Wings On The Way Down

New Blog for the New Year:

2008-01-02T14:37:00.001-05:00

http://perfectfromfaraway.wordpress.com/

so this is the new year...

2008-01-01T11:21:00.000-05:00

It has been exactly a year since I started my blog. One year ago, I was planning on being a film major at Syracuse, and now I'm at Penn State, going into journalism. I was not planning on moving back to the Lake Erie snow-belt, that's for sure. My life has changed so dramatically.

And yet, I'm wearing the Green Bay Packers pajama pants that I was probably wearing a year ago. I'm drinking coffee and watching Gilmore Girls. Today I'll have grilled cheese for lunch, get laundry done and make brownies. For life being so completely different, it's also very much the same.

I wish I could pull off a poignant reflection here, but it's really not possible. It's all too much for one entry. I feel more than ever that I can't imagine what will happen in 2008- nothing has been what I've expected so far. But I do know that 2007 was a year for the books.

So, Happy New Year.

"Will, look at the pumas!"

2007-12-30T13:56:00.001-05:00

The downside of being on vacation is that, as relaxing as it is, I have nothing to blog about. I sit around until 1:00 in the afternoon, and then run an errand or clean or something. I read a lot. So, in lieu of an interesting update, I'll leave you with this.

Hic. HIC!

2007-12-25T22:22:00.001-05:00

I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep until these hiccups go away. So instead of lying in bed, tired and frustrated, letting the hiccups wreak havoc, I will blog and forget all about them.

Christmas began at 7:30 this morning. My brother woke up at 7:00, but was constrained to quiet until at least 7:30. From what I can remember he flung open my door, bounded into my room and said something very loudly before bounding out again. A few minutes later my mom came in and said something about enjoying the enthusiasm now, since soon he would be grown up and we would all sleep until 9:30. As though this will be a sad thing. I got up, went to the bathroom and washed my face. I then walked as slowly as humanly possible out of the door, across the hall, and down the stairs, just to give my brother a hard time. Not all that much has changed since we were 8 and 5. We were into the presents in no time though, and it was a good haul overall.

The next couple of hours we sat around in our PJ's and new slippers, eating breakfast, drinking coffee, and watching the Christmas versions of all of the morning TV shows. After we were we were clean and ready, the house was clean and ready, and the sweet potatoes and pie were ready to go, we headed off to Grandpa's house. We enjoyed his beautiful real tree and ate an incredible ham. For the grand Christmas finale we had some pie while watching A Christmas Story.

All day long I got text messages from friends - high school and college alike. It was a little thing, just a few "Merry Christmas's" here and there. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like things were coming together instead of falling apart. I realized that if I have something to leave behind and miss in both places, it also means that I have something to come back to in both places- it means I have something to be happy about, no matter where I am. And right now, still full of pie and Christmas ham, and toes warmed by gorgeous sheep skin moccasins, life feels amazing.

Even my hiccups are gone.

On second thought...

2007-12-22T14:52:00.000-05:00

You know, I could stay put all I want. I could live in my old room every day and keep all of my things here and walk through that doorway every single day. And it wouldn't stop things from changing. I could live in Rochester forever and only visit outside of city limits. I could try to keep my friends and family and property inside this city. But it wouldn't stop change.

You have, and then you lose. You're with someone, and then you miss someone. Nothing is constant, except for maybe change itself. So, I could stay put and wait for change to catch up to me. Or I could do what I want, see what I want to see, and accept change as the constant variable in my life. I can grow in it and learn in it and write about it.

I think it's a Greek idea - the wheel of fortune. Not like the game show, it's a metaphor. Each person is a point on some big wheel, and each life cycles up towards the sky and happiness, and then down again into the muck and mud. And then up again, down again, and on and on. I'm guessing that there is probably some truth to that. I'm also guessing that there's no trick to staying on top of the wheel; I don't think you can run fast enough or hold on tight enough. So I guess that you can spend your life trying to stop the wheel at the top, or you can just pick the direction you want and let it roll.

I think spending time in the mud is ok, as long as you know you're going somewhere.

Home Again.

2007-12-22T14:19:00.000-05:00

I need to wash all of my clothes, fold them up in my drawers, and clean my room. I can't seem to get around to it, though.

Finishing up my last final was an incredible feeling. Amazing. But packing up to come home was really strange. I was sitting in the middle of my floor, eating leftover Chinese food and watching a movie with my closet, drawers, and under the bed emptied out around me. I realized that half of my stuff would be in my dorm, and half would be at home. I couldn't bring back my posters and decorations - it just wasn't practical. But I knew that my naked room at home would feel unfriendly. And I realized that I couldn't run next door whenever I needed a break or a good laugh or someone to watch a movie with. I realized that I wouldn't be in the newsroom for an entire month.

I actually started to miss it. And now I'm home, with half of my stuff still in the totes I packed it in. It seems like every time I settle into someplace, it all goes back into the box, which goes back into the trunk of the car, which goes back to whatever city I'm not in. I'm tired of having my makeup in a little travel bag, because it's just easier that way. I don't like living with one foot in Rochester and one foot in Erie. I like home best, I have the most of my life here. But every time I come home to it, it feels like I'm leaving a little bit more behind.

I want everything to be in one place again. I want all of my things in one building, I want all of the people I like and love to be within a twenty-minute radius. I wish that this feeling of constantly missing something, of life constantly being incomplete, to go away. It's an impossible, juvenile wish, but that is what I want.

Lazy Day

2007-12-21T16:00:00.000-05:00

Today I didn't do anything that I didn't want to. I sat on the couch drinking coffee until 1:00. I mixed dough for cut-out cookies, but ran out of energy and motivation before I could actually bake them. The dough is still hanging out in the fridge. I watched Gilmore Girls, I read half of the second Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. I made plans for Leaf n Bean tonight, and I have been looking forward to cheesecake all day.

I did not make my bed, or do laundry, or wrap Christmas presents. I did not read one single paper, or any challenging novel. I did not cash that check. And after this blog, I am going to continue to read the second Sisterhood until dinner. After that, I will go to Leaf n Bean with some very dear friends which I haven't seen in a month. And then I will decorate the Christmas tree with my family and have a lot more fun than I let on.

For once, I feel unproductive but not lazy or guilty. I didn't get anything accomplished, but I wouldn't call the day a waste. I'm really enjoying this.

I did it!

2007-12-18T15:29:00.000-05:00

I am officially done with my first semester of college! Oh, there were times when I thought this day would never come. I have never lived as fast and as hard as I have lived in the past four months. I have never learned so much in such a short time. If inner growth manifested itself in outer growth, I would have gone through about 6 shoe sizes and many, many pairs of jeans.

Statistically, it looks like I have lost more than I gained. I lived in a nice house, now I have half a room with the communal bathroom down the hall and nothing to cook in but a very tiny microwave. All my earthly positions can and will fit in a van. Many of my high school friends, some who I really thought cared about me, and who I actually thought I cared about, have fallen by the wayside. Only a couple of friends have stuck around.

Since getting drunk is not my idea of a good time, my Friday nights rival those of a middle schooler's. N64, movies, decorating rooms and playing your neighbor's hair, yes! I used to know a lot about the world, and then I took philosophy and religion courses, and starting following politics. I used to eat well and sleep through the night, now 7 hours is a treat and a hot dog is good red meat.

I have learned that life is hard and painful, I have learned that nothing stays the same, I have learned that people are people and that nothing is what you expect. I have learned that I am a tiny spec that knows nothing, I have learned that I don't have enough time. So why do I feel like I just swam the 50 free in 20 seconds flat? Why do I feel like I've climbed Everest? Why do I feel like climbing to the roof of the tallest building on campus just to scream my head off?

Because I know who I am, and I'm still me. I still wake up and hope that today is better than yesterday, I still go to bed knowing something that I didn't 24 hours earlier. I love my true friends and my family more than ever. I know that life is hard, and I'm excited about it anyways, I dream anyways. There is still plenty in this world to love, still plenty to fight for. And for the first time there is this underlying feeling that I'm going somewhere, that I'm doing something really good.

I suppose the word for it is confidence. I'm afraid of many more things than I ever have been, but I am confident that I can handle it. Even if I'm just hanging on by a thread, I can hang on. I'm confident that what I have to say is worth saying, and on occasion, worth hearing. I'm confident that if I work, I can get where I want. And I'm confident that time and space is no match for a good relationship. My environment, my circumstances, my status in life have all changed, and I am still me.

I'll just say it. I kicked ass.

football....must....resist...

2007-12-16T12:55:00.001-05:00

My plan was to hit the books hard right after lunch. But... it's a bad weather, playoff-deciding Bills game, and I cannot resist, I just can't. I am a Green Bay fan, but I still love the Bills. And they're playing in a blizzard and I love, love, love bad weather games.

So, I can watch the game while I write up my math exam cheat sheet, and finish clipping and assembling my newspaper portfolio, and outlining some religion notes. I can start on philosophy afterwards.

This is OK, since I already spent two hours on philosophy before lunch. It's OK.

Don't look at me like that.

Saturday before Finals

2007-12-15T15:47:00.000-05:00

I woke up at 11:00 this morning. This was pretty much my thought process: "11:00, I hate sleeping this late. My head is going to hurt....Wait! My head doesn't hurt!" *sits up* "Ow, ok, never mind. Ugh."

I put on sweatpants and a hoodie and headed off to brunch. I ate a delicious waffle, and poked half-heartedly at an egg to make me feel at least a little bit healthy. I went back to the dorm for a shower, and was clean and dry, and moisturized by 1:00.

I made coffee and watched half of Wednesday night's Republican debate on Youtube, in ten-minute intervals, while I waited for the caffeine to kick in. After I was properly awake, and had more new questions than answers about this election, I borrowed my neighbor's vacuum. I vacuumed what I like to call the "high-traffic area," (the strip of carpet not buried by furniture running down the middle of the room) under my desk, and under my bed. Then I shifted the vacuum into dust-buster mode, and vacuumed off the top of my comforter. Then I vacuumed Gus, my bear, because I remembered something about mites and stuffed animals and vacuuming. Gus is now incredibly poofy.

I washed out my coffee mug and returned the vacuum, and settled into studying. I'm writing up essays for my poli sci final - never have six questions been so painful or time-consuming. Here is the first bit answering the second question:

"The difference between a philosopher and a poet is the difference between the words "hypothetical" and "fictional," which is to say, not much of a difference at all. Both explore human nature, human interaction, and the meanings of these studies at their most complex and abstract levels."

Impressive, huh? After two hours of that, I'm taking a blogging break to avoid the TV or Facebook, which would suck me in for hours. Now my goal is to finish two other questions by 6:00, then break for dinner. After that, I have a couple of hours of studying the histories of the three major religions before I can, in good conscience, call it a day.

Blegh

2007-12-14T09:51:00.000-05:00

"Grey in the morning,
Erie weather sucks.
Grey at night,
Erie weather still sucks."

Thank you.

Livin' By My Own Rules!

2007-12-13T16:00:00.001-05:00

I have edge. I have a dark side, everyone does. For two days in a row, I have had not one, but two cups of coffee. And that's knowing full well that it would make me jittery and irritated. On occasion, I curse. Some of you may be shocked, but I'm afraid it's true. Just now, I sent in an article four hours late. Once, I woke up and didn't feel like going to my English class. So I didn't.

On weekends, I will sleep until 10:00, sometimes 11:00 even. That's wasting half a day's sunlight. I associate with people who drink on a regular basis, and even do drugs from time to time. I haven't been to the gym since last week...but I'm studying for finals so I guess it doesn't count.

I put crayon on my walls, even though it wasn't allowed, and I have an illegal sandwich griller in my closet. Take right now, I should be studying, but I'm blogging. Ooh. Sometimes I'll go out into the rain without a jacket or umbrella. Sometimes I'll yell at the girls in my hall for being loud, instead of gently reprimanding them in love. I threaten actual violence to all who mock my Green Bay fanhood. I don't always record my purchases in my checkbook, and I don't usually take out my garbage until it smells.

I look sweet and innocent. But I'm dangerous, I'm on the edge. Look out, world!

Sympathy

2007-12-12T11:42:00.000-05:00

I want to live an R-rated life. I want to live the kind of life that you would not want to show to your 13-year old. I want to be disturbed, and pursue the source of that uneasiness until I meet it head-on.

I was reading the paper this morning, and I was wondering if I could stomach some of the things that some journalists report on. Kids in Afghanistan who will die because they don't have medical care, human slaves in Cambodia, orphans in Africa. Am I capable of bearing witness to these horrific tragedies? Do I really need to take on so much pain that isn't my own, isn't life hard enough already?

I am a 21 century American woman - that is as lucky as it gets. But I could just as easily be the front page of the New York Times. What makes me different from the living, breathing tragedies on the other side of the world? What were the chances that I would be born into such freedom and security? I do think that I was born into this privilege to keep it all to myself. I was not made to run away and hide from the nasty things- I was made, and enabled, and commanded to defend those who cannot defend themselves.

So many people try so hard to keep ugliness out of their lives. They are so afraid to be touched by this evil. But we don't live in a perfect world, and ignoring the cruel things will not make them go away. But I do think that when we face trauma that is not our own, something happens. I think that when we let ugliness into our lives with the intention of fighting it, something changes. And I think that all of the cruelty in this world is not enough for the willing adversary.

Today, I make the biggest decision in my life. I decide to see things that will give me nightmares. I decide to find a pain that is bigger than my own, and take it on. I decide to be uncomfortable. I am not going to live so that I can complete a checklist upon my deathbed. I am going to live so that when someone else is on their deathbed, things have been different for them. The life that they reflect on has been better.

On Plans:

2007-12-12T10:46:00.000-05:00

I have contrived a plan, hopefully squeezing 600 years into one lifetime.

I will major in journalism and minor in education. I will graduate and be a foreign correspondent for 5-8 years, travel to the Congo and Russia and everything. Then I will settle down and work for a small-city newspaper while I raise some kids. After the kids are moved out, and journalism has burned me out, I'll go back to complete my education degree. Then I'll teach middle school and be the crazy old teacher that everybody loves. Over the summers, I can write my books and kick around with the grandkids.

Some plan, huh? After the past few months, I don't know why I bother making plans anymore- nothing ever goes like I expect it to. For all my intentions I'll end up opening a bakery or a hot dog stand, or become President. Who can say?

If coming to college has taught me one thing - life is bigger than me. The best I can do is what I love, and do it well, and see where it takes me. Because if you had told me one year ago that I would be a journalism major in Erie, PA, I would have laughed my head off. I would have not believed what friendships would stick and which ones would fall by the wayside. If you had said that living at a public state school is not as nice as being home, I probably would have run away with my fingers in my ears.

And it's not what I planned, and sometimes it's not what I had hoped. But it is real, and there is hope within it. For the first time I feel elbow-deep in life, like I'm getting my hands dirty and I'm finally seeing what it's all about. I'm finding out what is most important to me, and who I really am. And the truth is that it hurts to grow, usually. But there is nothing like coming home and standing in your room and feeling...big. Like you are in color, and the room is in black and white.

So, I'll keep making plans, and maybe a fraction of them will actually carry out. But then how sad would it be if your life went exactly according to plan? If you weren't forced to grow and become more than you were yesterday, or last month, or last year? No, all things considered, I like this way better. I am not afraid of the growing pains.

I Promise To:

2007-12-11T14:02:00.001-05:00

always believe in the best.
live for more than just me.
get my hands dirty.
get excited about life, even though it isn't cool anymore.
listen to "Such Great Heights" regularly.
learn how to cook.
stop waiting for the best time.
never decide anything on fear.
drink good coffee every day.
always remember July 9, 2006.
keep writing.
love.
have standards.
vote.
make choices I'll be proud of 20 years from now.
never get drunk.
give up on trying to seem worldly. I'm not.
wear color.
be a good Green Bay fan.
always love the snow.
forgive myself when I mess up.
live. I promise to live to the full, every day I'm alive.

More Time

2007-12-10T14:02:00.000-05:00

My poly sci professor once mentioned that there comes a point in someone's life when they realize that they do not have time to do everything that they want. She said that it usually does not hit until middle age, but I am having mine now.

I want to be a columnist. I want to write weekly installments that make people laugh, maybe cry, give them something to relate to. I want to blog for a living.

I want to be a foriegn corresponent. I want to travel instead of tour, I want to see things no other American gets to see. I want to see and touch our universality of human kind, I want to inspire people to make this world a better place. I want to expose bad things, and bring in good people. I want to see it all.

But then I also want to report for a town. I want to find the stories of triumph and tragedy that happen right at home, that are just as amazing as stories in the Congo or the Middle East. I want to drive to the store to get milk, and see people that I have talked to and learned from, doors that I have knocked on.

I want to teach sixth grade English. I want to teach kids how to read and write, and how to think. I want to be that teacher in that person's life that makes the universe explode with potential, maybe the first person to believe in them. I want to show the twelve-year old girls that there is more. I want all of the ADD boys that no one else does.

I want to adopt kids. Something in me thinks that making new people while there are children already in existence, already without much hope or future is ... I dont know. I want to give someone a second chance, I want to give them love and hope where there was none. I want to be able to give them all of the time that they need and deserve.

I want to write books. Books for kids that are almost teenagers, but still not little kids. Books that tell the truth, that kids will read over and over until the spine is broken in and the front cover falls off.

And I don't know. I know that I would love doing all of these things, and I know that I have been gifted with these talents. If I lived for 600 years, I don't think it would be enough time- I don't think I could get or give enough even then.

What A Whirl

2007-12-09T11:43:00.000-05:00

It's coming up on my first batch of college finals. This week will be cram-packed with not only studying, but last-minute end of semester business to take care of. I'm glad I only have an opinion piece to write this week - I am booked solid. My first final is English, on Friday morning. 9:00 am, she will give us a prompt and we will write our essay in 50 minutes. Of course, the newspaper party is the night before. Am I going? Oh yes. Is it irresponsible? Yes. Well, my professor should have thought of that before she gave me a "C" on an excellent paper, all because I had trouble following directions she did not fully understand herself.

Then I have my Poly-Sci take home exam. Not too shabby, I know. I just have to turn it in next Tuesday before I leave for home, and I'm golden. I'm guessing it will only take up about eight hours of my week, but we'll see, it could be more. I have to study for Comparitive Religion, and that will actually be a challenge. Mostly because my professor spends most of the class time rambling about middle-east crisis, how messed up America is, and how great summering in London is. He then proceeds to test us on things like the potential relationship between Jesus and Mohammad, how President Truman's faith influenced WWII, and the subtle historical differences between Hinduism and Buddhism.

As for math, I will write down the formulas for our non-cumulative final on my 8"x11" cheat sheet, take the test in roughly twenty minutes, and score an A.

Then, after my last exam and before I leave, I have to pack for three and a half weeks. I have to take inventory on food and toiletries so I know what to stock up on over break, and either throw out or bring home things that I never have used and never will. I will vacuum, I will dust major surfaces and the blinds, I will wash every dish. I will clean out the fridge and scrub the microwave until it is squeaky clean. I will clear out the mailbox, adjust the heater, and remove anything illegal that could be noticed during an inspection (remove sandwhich griller, scrub crayon off walls). Then, as I leave next Wednesday morning, I will repeatedly beg my roommate to remember to lock the door when she goes. Who knows, she might.

I'm not stressed.

Where Did My Day Go?

2007-12-05T17:59:00.000-05:00

Augh! I got no work done today. None. And in ten minutes I have to go to Chi Alpha, and I won't be home until 8:30, which leaves me just 1.5 hours to work before Inside the NFL is on.

Instead of being productive, I have done the following.

- Spent 2 hours on the phone with a best friend, and 30 minutes with my mom
- Watched half of a Gilmore Girls episode
- Browsed a library for the first time in nearly four months
- Picked up two books, one on journalism, the other a collection of Pulitzer Prize-winning stories from the 1900's
- Ate nine choclate chip cookies

Wait, no, I do have some research here for my article, which leaves only the following for tomorrow:

~ Go to two classes
~ Revise an English essay
~ Read 20 pages for English
~ Read 50 pages for Poly Sci
~ Math problems
~ Actually write the article (600 words)
~ Revise and submit my Comm reflection
~ Be at the newsroom by 6:30

Well, today was really nice. But tomorrow I pay.

Let it Snow!

2007-12-04T21:39:00.000-05:00

Winter has arrived in Erie. And it has arrived with a vengence, I can say that much. Yesterday the power was out for seven hours. Four of those hours were after daylight hours, so roughly 50 girls were sitting in the hallway, the only place with lights and still held some heat. We played Scattergories and got Chinese food, and then flopped around and complained about how dirty the carpet was and how our phones were all dead or dying. We had conversations like con artists would when fantasizing about their future fortunes.

"What are you going to do when the power comes on again?"
"I'm going to call my boyfriend."
"I hope it's on in time for The Hills."
"Guitar Hero, hands down."
"I'll bring my milk in from under the porch."
"I want to microwave something. Anything. Just because I can."

When the power came on at 8:30, there was one giant cheer and every resident jumped up, ran into their rooms, and slammed the door. I didn't see anyone for the rest of the night.

This morning I woke up to howling winds and snow swirling from every rooftop. The ground is officially frozen, and the entire campus - grass, walkway, road, and parking lot was white. I wore my favorite green sweater, the scarf my mom made me, and busted out my heavy-duty winter boots and new socks. I discovered that I have left my leather gloves at home, but pockets proved to be an easy fix. I am proud to say that even though I have to walk 10 minutes to class, even though it robbed me of electricity yesterday and I got nothing done, even though I cannot have a car on campus until spring, I love snow. Madly. Anything below the Mason-Dixon line is just not for me.

2nd Semester vs Defending Champion- Jr Year!

2007-12-03T11:44:00.000-05:00

Most of you have probably known this for a while, but I have just discovered this about myself - I'm a bit of a workaholic. A neighbor will come into my room and ask what I'm doing, and sometimes I'll answer "Procrastinating!" And they'll say something like, "No, you're not, you're blogging." Or I'll be decorating my room, or writing letters or thank-you notes, or trying to knit. I'm productive even when I think I'm wasting time.

This semester, 15 credit hours, the newspaper, chi alpha and hall council are not enough - it's the most spare time I've had in year. So I end up starting extra blogs, going to the gym almost every day, writing a couple of short stories, take a stab at knitting, and spend hours decorating my room. I even get 7, sometimes 8 hours of sleep per night, and spend the average amount of time on the phone and visiting neighbors.

But I think next semester is going to rival even the infamous junior year of high school. I'm taking an RA class in which we have two or three, sometimes four major and complex projects going on - and it's all completely independant. Add the standard reading, papers, and exams and you've got easily two classes' worth of work. I will also have my own page for the paper, which will require a ridiculous amount of newspaper-reading, planning, delegating, and writing. And then I will still have Chi Alpha, Hall Council, and four other classes - Algebra, Earth Science, the second half of American history, and lifeguard training. I would still like to try out the sailing club.

I'm OK with this. I love working for the paper, so I don't care how many hours it takes up. And the RA projects are actually useful, like raising money for Make-A-Wish, or helping out a current RA with programs, meetings, and incident reports. Even the classwork is about people - crisis management, conflict management, and development. Hopefully by May, I will be a successful page editor, a lifeguard, an RA, and have 39 total college credits under my belt. Although come to think of it, I might have to drop Hall Council...

Only 24 Hours Until The Kids Go Back To School

2007-12-02T10:20:00.000-05:00

Her alarm went off at 8:05. She was so tired that she tried to shut off the ringing in her dream before she actually woke up. Groggily she sat up, sleepy and disoriented - the kids had absolutely refused to go to bed last night. The minute she thought that they were safely asleep, one of them would run out into the hall, slamming doors and laughing. This would, of course, bring out the entire set, and she would have to trudge out of her room and beseech them to please, please, go to sleep. They only obeyed when she threatened their very lives, and she was sure that they would wake up angry at her.

It was Sunday morning, and church wasn't for a couple of hours. She could still be resting, but 8 am on a Sunday morning meant a long, hot, uninterupted shower, with all of the heat and water pressure to herself. Before the children, she used to sing in the shower, but now silence was so rare that she soaked it in with the warmth and clean-smelling soap. On her way back to the room, she allowed herself to see the things that she had glanced over just a few minutes ago. The hallway was covered in broken bits of popcorn, and she supposed that the kids were old enough to clean up after themselves. Later, she thought, she would hand them a vacuum, and lecture them on responsibility. Oh, and there was urine in the urinal. She would also have to explain to her boys that flushing is necessary, or it would stink the entire house up.

She settled into a hot cup of coffee, anticipating a Sunday morning at church. She loved church; getting out and spending time with other adults was bliss. Entertaining conversation, talking about something from outside of her kid-centered life. She loved talking to women whose children had grown - it was proof that she had a shot at surviving raising her own. Imagine her horror when she looked out of her window to discover that the roads were covered in a treacherous, solid layer of ice. Frantically, she dialed the number to the church, all to hear that service was cancelled on account of the weather. She was trapped in her house of child-hell - she would have to go an entire week without her favorite lifeline. She wasn't sure if she could make it.

No, this is not the story of a young, hassled mother stuck with nightmare children. It is the story of a college freshman.

Weekends at School

2007-11-30T14:21:00.000-05:00

These were the hardest to get used to, by far. My least favorite thing about this school is the fact that the vast majority of students live, at most, an hour away. This means that on weekends, literally 80-90% of students pack up and go home. Getting off campus on a Friday afternoon is similar to getting through the Buffalo tolls after a Bill's game lets out. I'm not exagerating, sometimes it's a 60-minute back up. Even the die-hard partiers complain. "There's nothing to do but sit in your room, and drink, and sleep."

If you're sober, you're even worse off. But I'm learning how to to pass the time. My friend nextdoor just left the diving team, which means she is around on weekends again. Her roommate started cheerleading, and she also has to stay on campus for the weekend. I've started hanging out more with my RA and another girl down the hall. I'll be able to hang out with them, and it's nice just to stop in from time to time and make sure that you aren't the only person alive.

Since practically nothing is open on campus, and civilization is inaccesable to those without a car (*coughcough*), I've tried really hard to make my room pleasant. I think I've done a good job- even the Christmas lights combat the constant cloudiness. The semester is wrapping up, which means I have plenty of work to do. Plenty. I also have Christmas presents to budget and figure out, a couple of letters and thank-you notes to write, and I still have to watch the Republican debate. And sleep. Somehow in college you can never get enough of it.

For tonight, I think I'll round up some neighbors and invite them over for popcorn and MarioKart tourneys. Nothing like the classic N64 to bring impovershed, stranded, and sober college students together.

Tick.....Tock.....

2007-11-28T16:16:00.000-05:00

Why is this week going so slow? It is taking forever, dragging its feet painfully through Monday, trudging through Tuesday, and I think time actually came to a dead stop just now.

I've been busy, believe me. 80 pages and an exam for Poly Sci, a paper for English, notes for Comp Religion, another paper for my comm class. On top of that, two articles to turn in on Thursday. I have Chi Alpha and Hall council, and meetings every night. I go to the gym, and read like I've read my whole life, and I blog and journal, and I drop in on neighbors and call family and old friends. I'm not even homesick or lonely.

I bet you're reading this on Friday, or Saturday, or something. I bet I am actually trapped in a freak time warp, still hanging out in Wednesday. I mean, the sun goes down at 4:30, time could stop dead and I would never know the difference. But let me tell you, break did not end a mere four days ago.

Maybe it's post-vacation depression to the extreme. Maybe it's insane suspense for the Green Bay game tomorrow night. Maybe this newspaper assignment is really that bad. Maybe it's just late November, and it hasn't snowed yet and it's cold and gray and rainy. Or I could be losing my mind.

Time will tell.

Mid-season crisis.

2007-11-27T22:42:00.000-05:00

We are entering the twelfth week of the professional football season, and I am in mid-season panic. Remember August 1st when you were a kid? You would sit up in bed and wonder where your summer is going, why is it going so fast, is it really August? Same thing.

I can't explain how madly in love with football I am. The crunch of two linemen coliding, coaches yelling, the crowds roaring, bad weather games, passes that look like the football is strung on a line, arcing over the feild. One-handed catches, quarterbacks and kickers blocking, laterals and trick plays. Once, watching New England play I actually caught myself saying to my roommate, "There's nothing as sexy as a good audible." And the straightest male fans would agree.

One day, you see something amazing, something a little bit more than human, and a logo gets burned into you. Your blood runs in team colors, and even the smallest girl learns to yell like the best of lumberjacks. Somehow eleven men that I do not know, playing a mere game, assume life and death importance. And the world stops on its axis for gameday. Their pain is your pain, their joy is your joy. You fight with them, you pay to breathe the same air and freeze your butt off with them. Sometimes it seems like nothing more than your sheer will that carries the runner across the goaline, or brings the ball back towards the goalposts. And when the quarterback raises his arms in celebration, thousands of people acorss the country have their own arms up, rejoicing together.

And so now I am engulfed in premature and irrational panic. There will come the Wednesday night when I hear Bob Costas, Dan Marino, Chris Collinsworth and Cris Carter banter for the last time. The camera will pan away from the desk, laden with papers, surrounded by giant men in mismatched suits. February will be dark and bleak, cold and unforgiving. And I will despair.

Christmas Cheer

2007-11-26T10:21:00.001-05:00

Can one decorate a depressing dorm room for the holidays with a budget under $30? Yes, one can.

I spent a few minutes last night lining the ceiling with white Christmas lights. In case anyone is wondering, my room is exactly 80 feet around (300 bulbs and two strings). Since they are both inside and outside lights, they illuminate the entire room in a soft, non-florescant glow. Then I spent two hours cutting out great big paper snowflakes. I found some fine thread in my ever-handy toolbox and suspended them from the ceiling with paperclips. I think everyone in the hall has stopped in to admire the splendor. I can't wait for a prospie tour to come through to be dazzled by my room.

Today I will make more snowflakes to pin to our white curtains and door. This weekend I hope to make paper chains to hang from the ceiling, too. My nextdoor neighbors have their little 3-foot christmas tree up, strung with lights and a homemade popcorn string, which I can visit whenever I want. Hallwide, we have every Christmas movie you could ever want, and a free borrowing policy. Then all you have to do is turn up my Charlie Brown Christmas album and make up some chocolate chai or poporn, and you are set for the holidays.

It's now such a bright, pretty little room that I don't mind it being dark for half the day. I would post before and after pictures, but since my room is so small and the outside hallway so narrow, there's no place to stand in order to capture the full effect. So you'll just have to take my word- it's nice. Armed with only twinkle lights, paper snowflakes, curtains, real dishes, and a fierce determination, I have made this place homey and pleasant, if not home.

Now if I can only get to the ovens in Ohio hall, I can even make Christmas cookies...

Sunday Morning Story

2007-11-25T12:50:00.000-05:00

This morning, since Mom made tea instead of coffee, I thought I would run over to Jitter's before church. I also wanted to revel in the luxury of having a coffeeshop around the corner to go to, and a car to get to it in. I was aware that Sunday mornings can be a little busy, so I left fifteen minutes before I had to head out to church.

I walked in the door to confront a monumental line of middle-aged to older bicyclists. I knew that they were bicyclists because of their very bright windbreakers and black biking tights. Another tip-off was the conversation about the coach speaking to McMullen about his drafting method. I considered my options. I had no time to make coffee at home in the coffeepot, and my french press is already packed away. I could go to the coffeehouse closer to church, but then I wouldn't have time to actually drink it. I was stuck.

Just then, one of the bikers asked me if I could read the menu, as she didn't have her glasses. Apparently biking and glasses do not mix, and she was not the only one with this issue. I read aloud the breakfast sandwhich menu, complete with discriptions. Then I read the list of flavor shots, with half of the biking population hanging on my every word, asking me to repeat some things, and discussing various possibilities with their peers. For instance, can one substitue the criossant for a whole-wheat bagel? One by one they ordered their tailored combinations of breakfast sandwhiches and coffee, each choice as healthy as humanly possible in a coffeehouse.

I finally got up to the register and asked for my tall Italian Roast, black, my two dollars in hand. The woman apologizd and said that the Italian Roast was just out, but if I waited another five minutes she could brew a fresh pot. Since church was about to start in five minutes, and it was a ten minute drive, I settled for Columbian, and it took all of twenty seconds for her to pump the compromised coffee into my cup and slap a lid on it. On my way out I passed the table of bikers, all eating and chatting merrily, thanking me for my helpful, youthful eyes. And drinking the last of my Italian Roast.

“In the end, everything is a gag.”

2007-11-24T21:46:00.000-05:00

Things That Keep Me From Taking Life Too Seriously:

~ John Travolta as a fat woman, dancing like Tina Turner

~ A 38-year quarterback with the most passing yards

~ Abercrombie and Fitch male models - modeling winter parkas

~ "Spa-In-A-Box"

~ A runaway chiwawa/wiener dog mix (nicknamed Wienalupa)

~ Turkey pancakes

An Ode To Thanksgiving

2007-11-21T16:49:00.000-05:00

My favorite holiday of all
comes in the late fall
it involves football
and pie

A day like no other;
kitchens all smother
with cooking mothers
and I

The turkey is basted
nothing is wasted
gravy is tasted
time flies

Potatoes are mashed
rolls are passed
Lions are thrashed
(nice try)

Yes, it's Thanksgiving
glad to be living
waistband is giving-
big sigh.

A Walk Down Memory Lane...

2007-11-19T18:22:00.000-05:00

I visited my high school today. Yes, it is true that a mere six months ago I was walking the same halls, vowing to never return. But there were some teachers that I wanted to see, and my swim coach. Truthfully, though, I wanted to go to see how much my life has changed, to get a feel for how different it really is now.

Somehow the entire high school felt the same size as my shoebox dormroom. It smelled worse than I remember it, and it was even uglier than I recall. It was still just so familiar. I kept on expecting to see my classmates, or friends waiting for me at their lockers, but I of course never did. All of the faces were new and unrecognizable, and left me wondering, "was I ever really that little?"

I got to talk to my very favorite high school teacher. I walked into her classroom after the last bell rang, and she looked up and smiled. "How's school?" she asked. I hesitated for a minute, struggling to put how I felt about college into diplomatic terms. "It sucks, doesn't it?" I laughed, and sat down on top of my old desk in the front. And just like I had done every month or so during my senior year, we sat and talked. And, as usual, she gave me enough encouragement to go on for a long, long time.

After a good half hour, she had to go home to feed her horses, and I walked out of her room. Across the hall was one of my best friend's lockers, and I half-expected her to be standing there, exasperated at me for holding her up. I half-expected for us to turn down the hall together to go home, and half-expected us to scrap going home and stop off at Jitters for just a little bit. But she of course wasn't there, being seven time zones away, and I walked down the hall by myself.

I called my voicemail to check my messages, and just a few seconds later a hall moniter yelled at me for having a cell phone in the school. I hung up with an ugly stare and waited for her to turn the corner before redailing and listening to the message all the way through. And I didn't feel sentimental anymore. In fact, I felt pretty happy that I was in college, after all.

You Know You're In College When...

2007-11-16T10:33:00.000-05:00

I learned something this week - college life is not really condusive to anything else.

I remember when I used to eat three full meals a day. I remember when midnight used to be late on a weekday. I used to hate doing homework after dinner, now I can't even seem to get started before it gets dark out. Using a public restroom/shower used to make me nervous. For the first few weeks, a strange, half-dressed man in my hallway would make me uncomfortable. I used to not procrastinate. It used to take longer than 20 minutes to take care of all of my housekeeping. I also used to have enough space to be a little messy. Swearing used to offend me, now my proffesors curse on a regular basis. 100 pages of reading in two days used to be a lot of work. Guys used to not listen when I talked football. I never spent anytime on the phone with India for customer service, now it's a weekly event. I never read a newspaper, now I read three. I used to never procrastinate, now I can't help it. Late night TV was nonexitant to me, now it is all-pervasive. I don't even blink at the crudest sex reference, or the most vulgar name. I nap during precious sunlight hours, I used to tell time by the clock, and not by sunlight or how hungry I am. I hardly ever touched MTV or Comedy Central. I used to to be blissfully unaware of the latest Fergie song. What luxury.

I can no longer rebel to this lifestyle completely, it's sucking me in. I have given up on sleep, but I still fight for decent food. I don't have a very collegiate wardrobe, I avoid A&F and Hollister and AE as best I can, and I will not buy Ugg boots. I can blast Jamie Cullum and Norah Jones all I want, but it doesn't cover up the gansta rap. No longer can I refuse the nocturnal lifestyle- either I sleep during the day or not at all. And now I'm going home for a week. A land where 11:00 is bedtime and noon is considered middle of the day, not early in the morning. I can't gorge myself on good food like a refugee at a buffet, because I'll have a whole week and I don't need to store up. I'm not a fan of the lifestyle, but I've settled into it now.

Since when is going home a culture shock?

Dinner at Dobbins.

2007-11-15T18:22:00.000-05:00

I'm in the grill line. The special of the day is hot dog with greek sauce. Whatever greek sauce is.

The conversation is as follows:

Guy Behind Grill: What d'ya want?

Me: Can I have a hot dog? Without the greek sauce. No greek sauce. Just the hot dog and the bun, please.

Guy Behind Grill: Yah.

Apparently greek sauce is chili. I know because I got a hot dog full of it.

Oh, life.

From The Other Side

2007-11-15T13:54:00.000-05:00

I just spent two hours talking to one of my best friends- who lives in Romania. I played a song for her, and she could listen to it from seven time zones away. Last weekend, I spent three glorious days with another best friend. Tomorrow I go home for an entire week, coffee with yet another best friend, and dinners with my family, and my church and my bed. Tonight I'm off to the newsroom to help make a newspaper, which is still the most amazing thing that I've ever done.

My room has me all over. The fridge is full of food that I bought, and set to max, which is where I put it. My curtains and posters are up. My bed is covered in sheets that I chose and that I wash. I chose my dishes and wash them everyday. I hooked up my landline phone, I set up my TV to cable. I chose my pictures and posters and massive Italian flag for my walls. My calendar hangs over my desk with my events and commitments. I have a bookshelf, full of my books. I have classes that I chose, and that I have to attend and do homework for, all by myself. I have a major that I picked out on my own, that is me through and through. Down the hall and nextdoor I have new friends that I have made, all by myself.

And I just realized, just a few minutes ago, that I'm making it. I have found what I'm supposed to do with my life. I have found groups that I fit in with and am happy to be a part of. I am finding good people to get to know, and good things to give my time to. My grades are good, and I'm healthy and strong. My values and beliefs have not been compromised. I have goals and dreams and plans. I am on my own, and I'm doing it. It's all down to me now, and I am really doing good. I like who I am, I like what I am making my life to be. I am going to make it.

A War To End All Wars

2007-11-13T12:35:00.000-05:00

Freshman scheduling at Penn State Behrend is a nightmare. Now, I understand that it has improved intensely in the past 20-30 years, due to my parents' walk-uphill-both-ways stories about hundreds of students scheduling on one computer. But although the actual process of signing up for classes has much improved, figuring out which classes to take when is deadly. Once you figure out which classes to take in order to graduate on time, nail down a major and a concentration, leave the door open for a minor, and consider prereqs, fall/spring schedules, and time slots, all you have to do is wait until the clock strikes midnight on your determined scheduling day.

15 minutes to midnight last night, I was all logged onto my student account, class registration numbers typed in, waiting to click submit. Out of curiosity, I clicked submit right away to see what would happen, and it was accepted! See, the scheduling dates were slotted by how many credits you have taken. At college I've only taken 15, which put in the the second-to-last slot. But evidently Behrend counted my high school AP credits, which would have allowed me to schedule three days earlier. I would have been upset, but I got my classes in before all of the 15-credit students could access them, which meant that I got all of my choice classes. It also meant that I could sit back and watch the much-anticipated event unfold.

From an hour up to ten minutes before scheduling, everyone in the dorm is running around in sweats, frantically clutching the spring 2008 catalog and asking whether we click "Student Schedule," or "Drop/Add," or "Registration." Then, do you type in the course abbreviation or the course registration number? When it starts getting close to 12:00 am, the building falls silent. No music, no talking, no phones, no laughter. Just steady clicking, typing, and the occasional desperate prayer. When witching hour finally strikes, over 200 people in one building breathlessly click "SUBMIT." There is a three-second lull, and the results come back. I begin to hear yells from nieghboring rooms. "It's full? It had 74 seats open!" "8 am? Are you kidding me?" "No, no, I will not take fitness walking! It just won't happen!" "Hahaha! I got the last seat in US History!" "That was YOU? $#%@!"

It's reminiscent of a viscious shoe sale. The whole ordeal is over in five minutes, and afterwards people walk around for days with either a triumphant, gloating air, or a dark, slightly homicidal expression. I admit I am one of the triumphant ones. It probably didn't help that while my neighboors were engaged in a short yet intense bloodbath, I was writing my schedule out on my pastel-colored index cards and cutting and pasting them into a cheerful yellow, green and pink arrangment. Then asking around if anyone had a thumbtack. I suppose I could have been more sensitive.

A Little Bit Of Ceremony

2007-11-12T15:54:00.000-05:00

I learned something today. It is a Native American tradition for a person who has felt that they have overcome some great sorrow or trial, to cut off their hair and bury it. At first it just seemed strange, but then I got to thinking about it. As it turns out, I have been unconsciously participating in this tradition for years.

The summer after ninth grade, after I had discovered who I was and decided that I liked me, I cut about ten inches off my hair. It was short and grown-up and different from other high schoolers, and I still remember walking out of the hair dresser's that afternoon. I felt clean and thirty pounds lighter, and brand new.

I remember cutting my hair when I got back from Europe, right before my senior pictures. My hair had grown all fall and winter and spring, and a lot of trauma and pain had gone into it. After two weeks of absorbing sun and salt and cigarette smoke, I was able to cut inches off, leaving the strands on the salon floor. I remember looking at the forlorn pieces, remembering all of the mornings I had spent tearfully shampooing it. And when it was gone, it felt like so much of that weight had been swept up and thrown away with it.

Now, I am anticipating my first haircut in three months. I haven't touched it since before I went away to college, and in three months it's only grown a few inches. But those few inches have seen massive, life-bending changes. Friendships are either starting to break up, or grow and strengthen beautifully. I have moved out of my parent's house- I decide every aspect of my life, every day. I have found what I want to do with my life. Life has begun to happen to me, real life in all of its difficulty and bigness, and I have discovered that I can take it. I have discovered that even while life is hard, it can be good and worthwhile. I have discovered that I am going to be OK on my own, and that is a very big deal.

So, sometime next week I am going to get my hair cut. It will be the last child haircut, like the last baby tooth that you lost. And although I won't go so far as to ask for the clippings to bury in my frozen front yard, I will appreciate the ceremony of leaving them behind.

Happy List

2007-11-11T18:23:00.000-05:00

These are the things that make me happy at college:

~ hearing from/visiting old friends
~ my Green Bay t-shirt
~ sunday night football
~ my french press
~ my box full of coffee and chai
~ teaching myself to knit
~ grilled cheese
~ music!
~ my James Dean calendar
~ cereal
~ my handy-dandy tool kit
~ little vacuum cleaners
~ my bookshelf
~ real, pretty dishes
~ curtains and Christmas lights
~ posters and pinnies and old pictures
~ whiteboards
~ my very nice, very warm coat
~ Ben and Jerry's!

All In A Day's Work

2007-11-09T11:52:00.000-05:00

One night in the newsroom includes all of the following:

- dancing to the beach boys
- the anamaniacs geography song
- one tennis ball wreaking havoc
- pizza coming 3 hours late
- every other editor stealing a bite of my ben and jerry's
- the beatles, the raconteurs, aerosmith, and feist
- plagerism
- a printer refusing to print for 30 minutes ("why does it say paper jam when there is no paper jam?")
- planning an undercover, investigative story (ooh!)
- mitch hedberg
- "that's what she said!"
- discussion of pirates' preffered alcholic beverage
- everyone in the room's alcoholic drink of choice
- waiting around for an hour for ONE article
- facebook pranks
- Billboard top ten of every year of the 90's
- trying to figure out what is in a human spleen ("goo.")
- election discussion (Ron Paul for 2008!)
- football. enough said.

I really do love my job.

Lambeau Laundry

2007-11-08T12:43:00.000-05:00

My Green Bay Packers t-shirt just came! It's white with the logo across the front, and then the sleeves are 3/4 length, with green bands like on the sleeves of jerseys. I'm in love with it- I can't wait until gameday.

I had just washed all of my whites, colors, and sheets, and my only dirty load is brand new, brightly colored sweaters. This white, vulnerable shirt needs to be clean and ready to go by Sunday, and I leave campus tomorow afternoon. So what would any laundry rule-respecting fan do? Wash the shirt. By itself.

You should have seen the looks on the faces of the two girls who were in the laundry room. I suppose it is a little strange. Taking up one of the washers between 50 girls for one shirt, and paying $1.50 for it. Especially when that shirt is representing the Packers, miles and miles away from Wisconsin. Generally I, like everyone else, pack in as many clothes as possible, with complete disregard for color, texture, and the little sign reading, "Do Not Overload." But this is a special circumstance.

Oh well. You can't expect everyone to understand the demands of fanhood.

Light De Candle, Everything is A'ight.

2007-11-07T20:23:00.001-05:00

The first week off daylight savings time could be one of the more miserable weeks in the year. You haven't gotten used to the sun beginning to set at 4:30, or eating dinner in the dark. You forget what your room looks like lit by the sun instead of those florescent lights. 7 pm feels like the ungodly hour of 3 in the morning. A walk across campus to the library feels like a trek through Alaskan wilderness during the month that completely forgoes sunlight, and the snow-covered earth seems to have forgotten sunrises, sunsets, and everything in between. And some ancient, elemental urge is tugging at you, demanding rest, quiet. Hibernation.

So I turn to lines from a fifteen year old television show, actually set in the Alaskan wilderness.

"Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry, "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon, incandescent lights that banish the darkness from our caves to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlights for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Light is knowledge, light is life, light is light."

"Continuous unremitting darkness has been known to send some people into an emotional tailspin, so the management here at KBHR radio suggests locking away the firearms. The desire to stick that 45 between the teeth can get pretty strong at times, so why invite temptation?"

It might not be the month without sunlight. I may not be in a emotional, suicidal tailspin. But living half of your day in the dark is hard to adjust to, nonetheless.

Snow Day!

2007-11-06T15:02:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning at 7:30 to three solid inches of snow and no electricity. Most sane human beings go straight back to bed in circumstances like these, but it being the first snow of the year my boots and coat were on in a flash. I walked around campus and took some pictures of the crazy November blizzard. In a half hour, other crazies were coming outside. With two other girls that live in my hall, I made a beautiful snowman. He's a good four feet tall, decked out in a hat and one of my scarves, and his name is Paolo. Then Erin had four lunch trays, so we spent some time on the hill. Let me tell you - those lunch trays fly!

I came in at 9:30, and slept until noon. The power was still out all over campus, classes were cancelled and food was becoming a problem. My milk and cheese were outside, burried in the snow, and I was tired of cereal. I went in with my neighbors on Chinese food. Since so many people at Behrend were ordering take-out, it took an hour and forty-five minutes to arrive. Then I had to trek across campus to get to the gym to interview the swim coach about the meets over the weekend. Byt this time, it had stopped snowing and started sleeting, and thundering. I thought Rochester weather was bad, but a blizzard, followed by sleet and thunder is insane.

When I got back to the dorm, the power was on, and I was soaked. My jeans were wet clear through, my hair was dripping, and my face was so wet my mascara was running. It looked like I had gone for a swim in a winter coat and snowboots. Now I'm in sweats, curled up in a giant blanket watching Moulin Rouge and singing along (much to the delight of my roommate). After the movie is over, I have a five-page english paper to write, a two-page article to write, and tomorrow's interview to prep. And unless it stops sleeting, I am not leaving this building until tomorrow.

Here's to the first snow day at Erie in five years! I got here just in time.

Dear Entertainment Industry,

2007-11-05T21:52:00.001-05:00

Cough up, OK. The writer's are striking, and my favorite TV shows are suffering. How can I get through my week without The Daily Show and SNL? Just pay whatever they want. Don't take away the newly attained joys of late night television from this college freshman, it's just too much.

Sincerely,

Rachel

Burnt Sacrifice

2007-11-05T11:01:00.000-05:00

"Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible."
~Carl Yung

"To be alone is to be different, and to be different is to be alone."
~Suzanne Gordon

"Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for."
~Dag Hammarskjold

I don't belong here. I don't belong in a place filled with people who could care less about their futures, who lack amibtion and foresight. I don't belong with people who get drunk and set things on fire. I had hoped that I would have some sense of belonging in college, but I don't, and I've come to terms with it. This campus never lets me forget for one minute that earth is not my home. I have never been so utterly different before. I have never been so lonely before.

Here is the lesson I have learned, and it's a big one. The trick is not focus on my loneliness, but the differences that make me lonely. Each one of those differences is a good thing, and an element of something that this campus is starving for. This environment threatens to strip away everything that I love and believe in. The only way to retaliate to to give. Give a kind ear and support free of judgement. Stand firm in what I know to be true when no one else does. If I am this lonely, it is a sign that I might be the only person on this campus to show what is good and true and right. And I can't abandon the responsibility that comes with that.

So, in a hostile environment, I can love. And I can pray for people that cannot pray for themselves, and fight for the defenseless. I can show a lifestyle that maybe someone has never seen before. I can give and give without ever getting anything in return. I will not run away, and I will not hide. These people cannot give me what I want. But maybe I can give someone truth and light and life. Maybe I can prove that there is something more, something worth living for. I don't need anything in return, I already have everything I need. And even if doesn't make a difference after all, I have to try.

I thought I was just going to college; I wasn't expecting this. And I could transfer and come home and be safe. I could be surrounded by people who think and feel as I do, I could meet new friends who give as much as they take. But as tempting as that is, I can't leave. I have to give up what I wanted, what I've always had. I have to live for something bigger than my own happiness, and my own loneliness. If I am different, then I can make a difference.

Rollercoaster Ride, Indeed.

2007-11-04T18:54:00.001-05:00

Why doesn't anything ever go like I plan it? The play was sold out last night and no amount of title-dropping could get me in. Which resigned me to another quiet night in my room. Then, my ride to church fell through. Sunday morning church is what gets me through my week. Getting up before 11 and watching the Sunday morning show while I get ready. Putting on a nice sweater and dress shoes instead of going straight from pajamas to sweats. And recalibrating myself, getting off campus and being reminded that people beyond the ages of 18-22 do actually exist. Sunday comes just in time to remind me that I live to serve something bigger and stronger and more beautiful than my own life.

I made some calls Saturday night in a last-ditch effort to get to church. But by the time I went to bed I hadn't heard anything, and I had resigned myself to a churchless Sunday. Fortunately, at 8:00 in the morning my phone rang, and someone from Chi Alpha could get me a ride! I got my pink sweater and dress flats and sunday morning show after all. And I got the breath of fresh air that is getting off campus and being in a place of worship, where everyone is glad to be there, or at least sober.

Part of the deal with the ride was a stop to Kohl's on the way home, which I didn't mind one bit. Dishes were on sale, and I bought a bright plate and a bright bowl, all yellows and oranges and reds, and a little bit of green. Eating off of and washing my dishes is something I do every day, and I'm sick of cheap plastic. I needed pretty, matching dishes! I came back for an afternoon of reading, football, and talking on the phone to my family and closest friends. Ahead is a lazy evening of more football, chocolate chai, and some reading for poly sci. I actually enjoy my poly sci reading, it's always so interesting.

So Saturday night, I hate living at college with all my soul and try to resign myself to an unhappy two years. 24 hours later, I'm comfortable and cheered up, looking foward to working on the paper, visiting Stacy next weekend, Thanksgiving, and life in general. I can't get the hang of this. One minute I'm unhappy, and as soon as I settle down to that fact something happens to make life fairly enjoyable. And then the minute I can call myself happy, something falls through and throws me for a loop. Life is either pleasant and promising, or it's tragic and hopeless. I'm up and down and up and down, every day or hour or minute. And the thing is, one miniscule event can make the difference. I've stopped trying to figure out what happens when and why, and just hang on tight.

It's exhausting.

Stereotypical College Saturday

2007-11-03T14:00:00.001-05:00

I woke up at 11:00. Evidently I was tired, because I went to bed at midnight in a benadryl-induced fog and slept for eleven straight hours. My roommate got up, got ready and left for work without waking me. I showered, swallowed about five pills, and headed for the cafeteria for eggs and toast. I came back to my room to watch the game and absently clean up my disaster area of a room.

Then, Ben n Jerry's for a late lunch while I watched the game. Penn State just scored - I think we're going to win. Which is good, because losing to Purdue would just be shameful. As soon as the game is over, I'm off to the swim meet to get a free spirit towel and watch my next-door neighbor dive. I should stick around for the rest of the meet, since I'm writing about it for the sport's page this week.

After the meet I'll come back to my room, and my roommate and I will order Chinese food. For an unemployed college kid, Chinese food is a luxury; pure extravgence. We're going to order enough to last three days, because if you buy $15 worth, you get free delivery. Score. We've been pouring over the take-out menu for three days in anticipation. Then, while eating Chinese food, we are going to play N64; MarioKart of James Bond 007, we haven't decided yet. Probably whichever game decides to work...

At around 8:00, we'll head down to the studio theatre and try to catch the school play. We didn't order tickets in advance as was recommended, so I hope that we can get tickets. If not, I'll tell them that I'm writing a review for the Beacon, and that my roommate is the photographer for the article. It'll save us $5 each, too. Who knows, I might even write the review. I'll get back around 10:00 and get some reading done before SNL at 11:30. Afterwards, I'll inhale some more benadryl, set my clocks back, and most the most of my extra hour of sleep.

# 2

2007-11-01T16:45:00.000-05:00

It's the day after Halloween.

In one hour, 60 minutes, 1/24 of a full day, I saw six Christmas commercials.

Yup...

Bliss.

2007-11-01T14:13:00.000-05:00

I have two free hours with no class, no homework, and no newspaper work.

All of the noisy girls are dead asleep - recovering from halloween night.

And my roommate is out for a coupe of hours.

I hardly know what to do with myself...

: ]

Shopping List:

2007-10-31T09:36:00.000-05:00

- One package of Kraft American cheese

- One loaf of wheat bread

- Campbell's Chunky soup - Chicken Noodle and Chicken and Dumplings

Bread, cheese, and soup. Am I a college student, or a Bastille prisoner?

Ouch.

2007-10-30T17:08:00.000-05:00

I'm remembering the worst swim meet of my life tonight. It was against Greece or Gates or something, and by diving we were ahead by twenty. I was on fire that night, I was giving it everything, I had personal bests in all of my races. But somehow, the majority of the team thought that we were safely ahead and started slacking. By the last race we were only ahead by one or two points. I was in the last relay, and even though I had done my very best all night, it was down to me. I swam against a girl who had a 58.00 free, which non-swimmers should know shatters Class A sectional time by six seconds and is nearly impossible to beat.

I lost, and my team lost the meet. I lost, but I swam a 103.2, which is even today the fastest 100 yard sprint of my entire life. I swam my best after wearing myself out in all of my other races, when my opponent was entire lengths ahead of me. And every girl on my team who patted my shoulder that night and told me that it was OK that I had lost their meet, I wanted to smack. Because they were the ones slacking off, and I was the one that had to carry the loss.

Well, today I got an e-mail from the co-editor-in-chief of the newspaper. He must have imagined that he was whipping us all into shape. He devoted four entire paragraphs to the copy editors. There was caps and cursing, threats about taking our jobs away and giving it someone who would actually work. He quoted our complaints - "blah blah blah" - and advised us to work through our PMS no matter how hard it is (the three copy editors are the only women on staff). He went on about how much he gave for the paper, and how we should suck it up and take it a little bit seriously.

I give 100% to that paper. I write multiple articles a week and edit until late in the night, all for one class credit. I don't even get paid, I just do it because I love it. I love it more than any work I've ever done. I have always delivered to the very best of my ability, and I take it very, very seriously. And yet I get abused, degraded and patronized? I used to look foward to production nights, and now I'm dreading this meeting. I used to love writing articles, proving myself. Now, I have an article due in 36 hours, and I don't want to write it. What's the point, when my best is clearly so inadquate?

Today I discovered the easiest and most effective way to break someone. Wait until they're giving everything they have to give to something that they love, and then kick them. It might be one of the worst feelings in the world. Well, I won't be broken. If he wants a professional, excellent staff, then he'll get it. I will send a return e-mail, because as a professional woman I am not going to take any abuse. I will dress nicely and wear nice flats and refer to him by his full first name instead of his nickname. I will write the article and it will be the best work that I have done yet. I am going to pull off another 103.2, not because he deserves it, but because I do.

It's Official!

2007-10-28T21:18:00.001-05:00

What is the line between girlhood and womanhood? Where is that moment when a girl officially becomes a grown woman? After a couple of years of trying to nail down the answer to this universal question, I have done it. It isn't falling in love, or parting your hair on the side, or getting your first designer bag. It's not your sweet 16, or your driver's lisence, or your 18 birthday. It isn't even graduation, or your first day in college.

You are officially a grown woman the day you find yourself running through Wegman's all by yourself, in heels.

Sweat, Blood, and Tears

2007-10-24T09:27:00.000-05:00

I don't believe in the greener grass on the other side. I don't believe in worrying about what you are missing, instead of concentrating on what you have. I don't believe in sitting in your dorm room, looking up Wisconsin and UNC. Because the simple, sad truth is that we will never find a place made for us anywhere on earth. Places are not made to fit people - people have to make the places fit them. It takes work, and energy, and sometimes a little bit of grief to make your place fit you.

Grief because this may, at one point, have been the greener grass. This may have been the place that you worked so hard to get to, and had been planning for and dreaming about for a long, long time. When you sat with old friends and built castles in the sky, this may have been the place that you built your castle out of. And when you finally arrive, it's hard to realize that it's still just a building on the ground, the kind that you've lived in your entire life. And then the eternal question, "Now what?"

This is the secret, the magic word, the path to a good and worthy life. No one ever talks about it, because no one ever wants to hear it. The secret is work. Dirty, hard work. "Cursed is the ground for your sake; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life." It's a very hard fact to resign yourself to. There's no lottery, no short cut or back road. No magic password or hidden country that will get you from here to happily ever after. You will be working class all the days of your life.

But, here's another little-discussed secret. Once you resign yourself to the working life, you realize that you can still have your greener grass. It's there, it is attainable after all. And if you diligently work at nourishing the good, and weeding out the bad, your life will slowly start fitting into you. And at the end of the day, you have the immense satisfaction of looking out, over everything that you've touched, and saying to yourself, "I did that, I changed that. It is mine." You can make a beautiful life, one worth living. It just takes work.

So, stop waiting for life to be right. Stop waiting for the right place and the right time, stop living temporarily. You are here, now. Take what you can, and leave what you cannot. Then buckle down, get creative, and get to work. Give your sweat, blood and tears to a place, and it will start to look like you. The more you give, the more you will belong. And the passerby will envy your beautifully-kept lawn.

Tid-Bits:

2007-10-23T21:30:00.000-05:00

1) You know how when it rains in the city, you can never get a cab? When it rains in the dorm, you can never get a washing machine.

2) Old Navy online sweater sale will dent your bank account, yet keep you cute and warm for years to come.

3) Electric blankets keep you warm, even without plugging them in.

4) Chocolate Chai is wonderful.

5) I need a haircut. Real bad.

6) Reading is so much easier and faster when the internet is nowhere within reach.

7) Cappucino's are of the least expensive, yet most delicious, fancy coffee drinks.

8) Crayon on wall = lots of elbow grease. And four Mr Clean Magic Erasers.

9) Some days are just made for naps, popcorn, and novels.

10) Secret to a happy life on an Erie campus; an umbrella.

An "Early Night" in the Hellhole

2007-10-22T08:53:00.000-05:00

Last night, I was so exhausted that my eyes were burning an my legs were aching. So I decided that an early bedtime was in order. The lights were out as soon as A Few Good Men was over at 11:00. I was so looking foward to eight and a half glorious hours of sleep.

Well, around 11:30 when I was just drifting off, the Steelers lost to Denver by a fieldgoal in the last two seconds of the game. Which made my nextdoor neighbor shriek and scare the crap out of me. She proceded to run down the hall to continue screaming at one of her friends for a few minutes.

I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, having decided earlier in the year to never get upset about sleep disturbance until after midnight. Right around 12:00, I had just fallen asleep and my roomate comes in from the haunted house an hour away. She proceded to rattle the handle until discovering that it was locked, then came in and asked if I had closed her computer and how my night was.

In a few minutes, she was in bed, and I tried to sleep for the third time. Sure enough, a half hour later, there was a comotion in the hallway. It sounded like 15 girls being cruelly tortured, but in reality it was about five girls running up and down the hall screaming and laughing wildly, doing God only knows what. The kicker is - I think they were sober. I would have gotten up and told them to be a little more considerate, but I was way, way too mad at that point. Talking to these girls when they're acting out requires the patience and diplomacy of asking a five-year old to get in the tub. You'd think the world was about to end.

It's after 1:00am, and I have just stopped shaking in frustration when T-Mobile sends me a text message notifying me that someone else sent me a text message, but for whatever reason it couldn't make it to my phone. At 1:17 in the morning. Thank you, T-Mobile, once again, for making me hate my life.

I finally got to sleep around 2:00, after having decided to skip my 9:00 english class and turning off the alarm on my phone. Maybe I could sleep until 9:00, or 10:00. I could still get my eight hours after all! I did get six good hours in until, at 8am, I hear my roommate's voice. "Rachel......Rachel........You're going to miss English!"

Ew

2007-10-20T23:40:00.000-05:00

Some guy just threw up in my hallway.

I have to go out to wash my face and brush my teeth.

I love college. I love college. I love college.

Ugh.

Who Am I To Blow Against The Wind?

2007-10-20T13:36:00.000-05:00

It is 63 degrees, the sky is blue with white, fluffy clouds, and the wind is blowing. I swear, the sun doesn't even get this bright in the summer, and the lake is the bluest blue I've ever seen. This weather makes me a little bit crazy. It makes me feel slightly outside of myself, like anything is possible and reason doesn't matter.

I'm making a prediction- the wildest, craziest stories of my life will take place in mid-October.

"Daddy I want to drive today
I wanna get up and go
wanna find some time
Mama I hear what you're sayin'
I wanna feel alive and get inside

hey I wanna drive
I'm alright if you're alright

tell me what to think
it's been years since we've been
flyin'
show me what you're seein'
I wanna feel alive wanna take this
dive."

Second of the day, I know.

2007-10-18T17:59:00.000-05:00

Today was such a perfect student journalist day, and I absolutely loved it. I got up early, and started typing up my news piece in the two hours before my first class. I finished with three minutes to spare, threw my Comparitive Religion books in my bag, and headed for my class. We learned about separation of Church and State, and had a debate that I got pretty involved in. I came back to my room after class and wrote a blog about what I thought, enjoying the fact that no one could interupt me with their stupid comments.

Then I wrote up my time managment paper due for class in one hour. I know, the irony. It was a good paper, though. I went to the class in which it was due, and the teacher read some of the student's essays. Considering most of us are Journalism/Writing/English majors, it was more entertaining than you would think.

I went back to my room and killed about an hour on facebook, the Collegian online, the Washington Post online, and the Columbia Review of Journalism online. Then my neighbor came by to talk, and then my RA dropped in to chat with all of us, and before I knew it, it was an hour later. After I had studied for my Plato exam for a while, I heard cheers from the lawn. It was the campus sororities playing tug a' war dressed in togas. I threw my notebook, pen, voice recorder and keys into my bag and sped out of the building, only to find that another staff writer had already been assigned the event.

But, I ran into an editor friend who was also poking around to see if there was a story. He was on his way to dinner before meeting up with the other entertainment page editor in the Reed basement. So after getting dinner (his was a pretzel, mine was Ben & Jerry's) we headed down, looked up stories for next week's page, and then just started chatting. Brittney Spears, Iran, Russia, China, Rupert Murdoch, and Steven Colbert.

The chat then turned to heated and hilarious discussion about the '08 election. I put down five dollars that Hillary Clinton would be our next President, as much as I don't want to see it happen. Because, we determined, no Republican was going to get near office after Bush, and I think that America just isn't ready for a black President, as wrong as that is. Then we watched the Youtube of Howard Dean screaming and laughed. I then headed back to my room for another hour of studying, despite pleas like "Oh come on, stay! Plato is common sense stuff, you don't need to study!" and leaving them to their work. In 15 minutes, its down to the newsroom for a night of learning how to make a page, laughing, and getting hit in the head with tennis balls.

Today, I really, really love my life.

Happy Christma-Hanah-Kwanz-akuh!

2007-10-18T11:14:00.000-05:00

In my religion class, we had a 30 minute debate about whether or not public schools should be able to post the Ten Commandments on the walls of the school buildings. I've been thinking about it, and this is my conclusion.

This is the bottom line. The conservatives flip out when their kid comes home and asks who Allah is. The liberals flip out when their kid comes home and asks who Jesus is. Both are ignorant and fearful, and setting their own children up to become the exact same thing. So the conservative answer is to put biblical ideas all over public schools, so that their children aren't exposed to anything else. And the liberal answer is to wipe out any religous reference at all, so that thier children won't be exposed to anything else, either.

Both are wrong, and both answers will only spread ignorance and fear through a country that prides itself on tolerance and diversity. Separation of church and state means that this should not be a political issue, and it shouldn't be. I dont think the Supreme Court or President or school principle has anything to say on the matter - it's down to the parents and the teachers.

This is how it should work. Teachers and children should be free to share ideas and traditions with each other without being pushy, in the public school. I think there should be Islamic poetry read in english classes along with Bible stories. I want kids making dreidels and Native American dream-catchers in art class. I want buddha statues on teacher's desks, and Hindu artwork on the walls. I want teachers to say, "You celebrate Christmas, but I do...What does everyone else do during break?" And although children should be exposed to all different faiths, nothing should be forced. No group prayer or meditiation. Just the freedom to ask questions and recieve a fair answer.

I want my children well-versed in ancient stories from around the world, and I want them to understand universal values, not just WASP stories and WASP values. I want them to learn how to work with differences early on, and in an environment where parents and teachers can guide them through it. Above all, I want them to decide their own faith for themselves. I want them to know what else is out there, and I want them to understand WHY we believe what we believe. Religion is not a "because I said so" thing. A faith that stands without doubt, without test, is no faith at all but ignorance. I want the next generation to be firm in their own beliefs, and understanding and respectful of everyone else's. This starts with exposure to multiple religions in the public school.

And if you're not comfortable with exposure, with other ideas and curious questions at the dinner table, then fine. If it really is that important, then put your kids in a private school, and leave your poor congressman alone.

Wow, That Was Bad...

2007-10-16T18:06:00.000-05:00

I've learned something valuable today.

Making a flag football team with people you have never met, especially a girl's team, is a massive, massive mistake. Then, when you match up that team with the women's softball team....Carnage. I can hardly talk about it.

To sum it up, after dropping a pass and botching a run, I played center and linebacker. Against a six-foot tall softball player. The first few plays were fun, since she was so suprised that I was actually trying to block her. For the rest of the game I just got ploughed; I already have a very nice bruise developing on my knee. Although I am good snapper. Who knew.

Anyways, it was humiliation. I can't even type the score. Next year, when I have a good group of friends to make a team with (I hear all of the RA's always make a team) what with practices and communication and the whole thing, it should be a blast. But as it is, we only have one other game, and I just realized that I can't make it. Since I am now an editor (still love saying that) I need to be in the office at 6:00, and the game is at 5:45. Oh well, it's not like I helped at all anyways.

My next intramural sport is swimming, which starts in November. That should be much better - at least it probably won't make me want to crawl into bed, hide under the sheets, and never come out until every member of the opposing team is either dead or out of the country. And in the spring...sailing club! I am so excited. I am going to get khaki shorts, a navy blue cableknit sweater, and red keds, and I'll french braid my hair. Just kidding. But really, even though I think I'll be making a fool of myself in the beginning, it sounds like so much fun.

Anyways, the real moral of the story is that you try and you try and you try. And sometimes you get a touchdown, and sometimes you get a big, fat interception. To continue with the annoying football analogy, Chi Alpha was a touchdown, the newspaper was a touchdown, Intervarsity was an interception, and this was an interception. And 2 for 4 is alright with me.

Announcement:

2007-10-15T21:52:00.000-05:00

Guess who the new opinion page editor is?

Go on, guess.

Yes! Me!

I'm so happy.

All I Can See - Brendan James

2007-10-15T14:41:00.000-05:00

I want to walk through this doorway
I want to open my mind
I want to pledge my alligence to
All I can find
I want a car that crash through the barriers
To a road no one knows
I want to feel less control
I want to bend, and land far from home

Forever the illusion of
The earth aroud the sun
Is a perfect lesson of
How it should be
So if I cannot learn
To journey and return
To never rest til I've seen all I can see

I want to learn a completely new language
One I don't understand
I want to help someone lost, someone helpless
With the strength of my hand
I want to come to the base of the statue built
Before the count of the years
And there I'll fall with my face in my hands and cry
And find their hope in my tears

Those who journey can
Easily understand
The more they see, the more they know, the more they will be
So this I swear to you,
And this I swear to me,
I'll never rest til I've seen all I can see

I want to know where strength of a person lies
In their past or their future
Is it in the way that they hurt or they love themselves,
Is it all an illusion?
I want to crawl from this skin that we've painted
Body, please let it give
I want to find the creator of all good things
And ask what it means to live.

There's Beauty in the Breakdown

2007-10-12T23:56:00.000-05:00

I have seen some of the most beautiful things on this planet.

I have seen the Rocky mountains and the Grand Canyon at sunset. I have seen the Atlantic ocean after a storm. I have seen the arches in Arizona, and the sky over the great plains. I have seen the Adirondacks from a mountainside on a June afternoon. I have seen Rome and Florence and Nice. I have seen the Mediterranean sea from Italy, France and Spain. I have seen the Bay of Genoa from the mountains, I have seen the Vatican and the Coloseum at midnight. I have seen Florence from the roof of a belltower.

So why is home, on a sunny October afternoon, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen?

Things I've Learned This Week:

2007-10-12T10:48:00.000-05:00

~ Bob Saget, you know, Mr Tanner from Full House, is in reality a crude, profane, and vulgar, vulgar man

~ Jamie Cullum has another album out

~ Brendan James is amazing

~ Care packages = Joy and Love

~ A "B" is when you support your own opinion well. An "A" is when you support both sides well, and then you win anyways.

~The glass in the picture frames is really sharp on the edges. Just a heads up.

~ Your thumb is not necessary when throwing a spiral

~ My political party. I'll leave you to wonder.

~ How to be comfortable here. Not necessarily feel at home, but feel comfortable.

~ It's ok to sit back and watch how something works before jumping in. It's not shy, and it's not antisocial, as long as you do jump in.

~ You can still be great friends with someone thousands of miles away, living a completely different life

~ Weekends here will just plain suck, for a while. But I'm ok with that.

~ When you do decide to be patient, kind, and understanding, people pop out of the woodwork and zoom over to you like you're a giant magnet. When you decide to care and be interested in others, and start worrying about the people around you instead of yourself, the changes are dramatic and immediate.

Cozy

2007-10-11T09:23:00.000-05:00

It's not like I hate my room here. I've just always been completely indifferent to it since I've come to college. It's a fairly nice box to live in, it's clean and has everything I need. But at the end of the day, it's just a box. The walls have been recently painted a non-offensive color, but they're underneath they're still just cement. The carpet is pretty new and clean, but it's ugly brown and orange. My windows are nice and big, but curtains are forbidden, squashing the simple womanly pleasure of picking out a fabric. The imaginary cutrains would be a nice, soft yellow, I've decided, to compensate for the lack of sunlight in Erie. Then I would hang white Christmas lights behind the curtain, and in the winter when it gets dark at 5:00, I would have a bright, twinkling window.

But this morning, halfway through my article, I had to run out to the union building to buy some milk for my coffee. It was gray and rainy and cold out, sincerely cold, not just chilly. When I got back to my warm, bright room, jazz music was pouring out of my speakers, and I could smell my freshly brewed coffee from the door. The New York Times was open on my bed, and there was a half-finished article waiting to be written on my laptop.

I sat down at my desk, turned down my music a little bit. I poured my coffee and stirred in a tiny bit of milk. I opened up my Beacon noteboook and settled in to write some 500 words in an hour. And I comfortably realized that I could be happy doing this every morning for the rest of my life.

So for the first time, alone in the little box of my room, I almost felt like I had come home.

New Artist

2007-10-10T09:25:00.000-05:00

Brendan James. Throw Elton John and Paul Simon together, and twist it to fit 2007. He plays real piano, the kind that you don't need to plug in, which is nice, and his voice could cut through butter, which is also nice. But, he can write.

Here are some lyrics.

"Its time like these in our search for peace
That it's fear we're most afraid of
But the blood we bleed and the air we need
They're hardly ever cold or used up
Let your beat go on."

"I wish there was more than this
More to run through the viens through my fingertips
For love I'd rather be poor than rich
Rather share my one life, give me more than this."

"In the corner of this world, there are traces
Under stones yet overturned, there are faces who still see
Who are hopeful, who believe, and they say
Won't you fight for us
Won't you write for us."

It's the last one that did me in. So, he only has one album out, with four songs on it. But buy it and listen to it, and keep a lookout.

REDC Cafe

2007-10-09T13:47:00.000-05:00

I have found a spot!

In the business and engineering department, there is a cafe. It's big and open, and one wall is all windows, from three-story high ceiling to floor. The windows look over campus and down to the lake, and since both wings of the building extend on either side, the view is framed by reflective windows. Overhead is a giant skylight. The coffee bar is in the middle of the room, surrounded by tables chairs, and couches.

It's wonderful. The coffee is good and strong and almost worth the money. The barista gave me a large even though I ordered and paid for a medium, and put an extra espresso shot in it. Deal. I sat under the skylight with natural sunlight falling onto my pages, clouds passing occasionally overhead. I could see the blue, blue lake and all of the leaves changing colors. There was a job fair somewhere in the building, so all of the students milling around were in their best business attire. Nearly as many professors as students visited the cafe, so it wasn't just the same age group of people.

I felt like I was off-campus and in the city again. I felt like I wasn't wasting sunlight. It was bliss to be studying not in my room or the library, but next to a coffee bar, smelling the good coffee smells, listening to good coffee sounds, all with fancy, chocolatey coffee just a couple of inches from my books. Breaking every so often to people-watch, or stare out over the lake. The only thing missing was the usual cafe music, but I can get along without that.

So, every Tuesday for the rest of the semester, I will walk up to the REDC building, and spend a sinful $3 on coffee. I won't listen to doors slam, or gangster rap, or TV's blaring, or high-pitched, over-excited conversation. I'll watch the leaves change, then fall, then wait for snow. I'll have some peace and some quiet, and some away-ness from the school that I live at 24/7.

A Day In The Life Of A College Kid

2007-10-08T19:29:00.000-05:00

My alarm went off at 7:16, and I hit the snooze until 7:36. I rolled out of bed, took my shower, and threw on a sundress anticipating the last scorching day of the year. I ran down to the student union building for my free Times, and then back up the hill to the cafeteria for breakfast. I read over my eggs and toast, and then went to English. Where I continued to read the paper.

After English I came back to my room, kicking myself for not allowing time to make coffee before class. I started boiling the water, doing the dishes and making my bed and running for milk while waiting for the coffee to be ready. One nice thing about dorm living - housekeeping takes all of 23 minutes.

I settled onto my freshly made bed with plumped pillows and Plato. Within an hour, I was down two cups of coffee and 20 pages. Someone knocked on the door to inspect my room. My illegal sandwhich griller (don't tell anyone) was safely tucked away in the bottom of my closet, but my crayon artwork covering my wall didn't go over so well. Since I want to be an RA next year, I reassured them that this time next week, it would be 100% gone, even though I'll hate to be without my big yellow sun, and my little sunflower by the window. After they left, I finished my last five pages of Plato. I blogged to vent about the horrificness of last night's game. I microwaved up some of the pasta I had made a couple of days earier, and ate some oreo's, and headed for math.

Math was, as usual, a waste of my time. Poly Sci was, as usual, confusing and immensely interesting. After my last class of the day is for some reason when I get depressed. So I rushed back to my room, threw on shorts, an old t-shirt, and running shoes before my tiny, poisonous midafternoon room could suck me in. I walked the fifteen minutes to the gym and hit the stationary bike for a half hour. After I had thoroughly kicked my own butt, I hobbled back to my room taking much more than fifteen minutes.

I collapsed into my desk chair and listened to my NPR Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me podcast while finishing off my noodles. I get about half of the questions right, and was pretty proud of myself. And yes, I am aware of the fact that this makes me a geek. After a forty-minute rest, I found I could move my legs again. So I got dressed and I did some math homework until dinner. I'm not entirely sure what made me think this was ok, but I got the meatloaf. I don't know, I was starving and beef sounded good, and how badly can you mess up meatloaf, right? Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

After dinner, I watched Friends and read the rest of the Times until my Chi Alpha meeting. Chi Alpha is the non-weird Christian group on campus, they meet twice a week, and I've really been enjoying it. Now, Monday night football is on. My room is not air conditioned, so I'm in a tank top and boxer shorts, with my hair in a ponytail, and I'm trying really hard not to move. I'll call my family, and then I'll make a grilled cheese sandwhich on my illegal appliance. When the game's over, I'll go to bed.

I know. My life is devastatingly wild.

Dear Talking Heads...

2007-10-08T10:17:00.000-05:00

Green Bay did not lose because Brett Favre fell apart in the second half.

Sure, he threw two intercpetions, but everyone, literally, everyone knows that's just part of the deal with Favre. Favre had to deal with 3 fumbles after he had driven the ball into scoring position. And some play calls that were real head-scratchers. And, you know, 12 penalties for a total of 93 yards (by the way, no excuse.) And, on top of that, HE LOST HIS CENTER BEFORE HALFTIME. How would you like to be staring down Urlacher without your first-string center? I'm surprised you weren't wetting yourself from all the way up in your press box.

So, talking heads, if you had to play under those conditions, you wouldn't look any better. Favre did fine, but his young team heard the words "undefeated" all week and got cocky. McCarthy should be whipping them back into shape this very morning.

Last of all, to John Madden:

I know that you're in love with Tony Romo. But he is NOT "The next Brett Favre!" HIs style is reminiscent of Favre, yes. But if all it takes for you to be ringing in the next #4 is to see someone sling the ball a few dozen yards down the field under pressure a few weeks running, you are on crack. Let's see him take out a linebacker with one hand, or what he does when he breaks a few bones, or when he recovers from an addiction, or when his father dies. Let's see a superbowl ring or 3 MVP's in a row. Let's see him play for the Cowboys for the next 15 years without missing a single start. Cut his salary in half and see how inspiring he is. You are supposed to know football better than this! If you can't speak intelligently about the game, stay home and watch the game from your couch, like everyone else!

Love,

Rachel

Remember when...

2007-10-07T15:28:00.000-05:00

I said that if college was like high school, that I would just die?

Well.

I'm not dead.

G to the hetto

2007-10-06T11:41:00.000-05:00

At breakfast this morning, I was sitting near some RA's. They were all talking about the problems they've had with their residents, and I was listening because some of the stories were funny. But then they started talking about how glad they were that they didn't get X Hall this year, it being the worst hall on record. Guess where I live. That's right.

Not only that, but when I came back from breakfast, there was a page-long, single-spaced rant from one of our RA's posted on the hall door. She ripped us all a new one, let me tell you. First was the notification that in one month, our hall had wracked up $400 of damage. She was ashamed to admit that we are her residents, of having to babysit us instead of trying to get an education, of what a nightmare it all was. There was caps and cursing and the whole deal. The last line was "P.S. When you all fail at life, the only thing that I will do is stand and point and laugh. Laugh really, really hard."

I thought my living situation was just the typical Behrend experience. Stepping outside of your room in the morning to find that your whiteboard and Halloween decorations have been torn off your door and your third dry-erase marker is gone. Finding unconscious guys in your hall on a weekday morning, having to wipe the penis drawings off of my whiteboard every so often. Girls shrieking and slamming doors in the wee hours every night of the week, walking into the bathroom to find that someone was sick and missed the toilet. Drunk kids playing tag around your hall at 2 am on a Thursday night, then running outside to scream profanity in everyone's open windows.

Nope, I just got lucky. On one hand, it's comforting to know that Behrend as a whole is not as half as bad as I thought. I mean, if this is worst, then it has to be better everywhere else, and I'm just surrounded by the exceptions. It's also good to know that I'm not crazy, that most people think that what I live with is ridiculous. It's such a relief to know that it isn't in my head, that I'm not stuck-up and snobbish - it really is this bad.

But still, this is where I live. What kind of luck is this? I get in at the end of the day, and I shut my door, but I can't get away. It's constant, it's all around me every second of every day. If I had my car, I could just get off campus for a few hours a week. I could find a park to swing and study at, I could get to the beach, or out for a meal. I don't go home every other weekend because I'm homesick (although I love my family a lot), I go home to get away from all of this for a couple of days.

But, I don't have my car, and I do live in the nightmare hall, and nothing is going to change that. Pretty soon I won't be able to leave every other weekend. So it's time to get creative.

Things I've Learned This Week:

2007-10-05T09:03:00.000-05:00

~ Plato's three-realms of reality theory

~ technology tends to do anything other than make life easier

~ I hate BS-ing, but I'm good at it

~ Putin will not let go of Russia, and Russians are OK with that

~ how to dish it back out and make it count without being profane or crude

~ that you can play catch with a tennis ball for two hours, and it never gets old

~ I'm pretty bad at writing reviews and sports pieces

~ I'm pretty good with news and opinion pieces

~ if you're going to run old news, you have to put a local spin on it

~ that my math professor will find a different way to solve every single problem, no matter what

~ the Daily Show is hilarious!

~ the thing I miss most in Rochester is the coffeehouses

~ the secret to success is initiative; they assign you one article, and you write two. Eventually, someone fails to turn in a an article and the editor is flipping because he has empty space to fill. It makes you look really, really good when you have one ready to go, and they remember it.

Adventures

2007-10-03T17:55:00.001-05:00

" 'O!' said Bilbo, and just at that moment he felt more tired than he had ever remembered feeling before. He was thinking once again of his comfortable chair before the fire in his favorite sitting-room in his hobbit-hole, and the sound of the kettle singing. Not for the last time!"

Yes, I am referencing The Hobbit. Out of all of the literature I have ever read, from Hans Christian Anderson's fairy tales, to the great classics, even to the Bible, the Hobbit is what's getting me through this stage in my life. It is the only thing I have ever read that accurately represents adventure.

One day Bilbo is reading and eating by the fire, when everthing is turned upside down. Before he knows it, he's out the door without hat or handkerchief, off on this dazzling adventure. And it is a real adventure, not the average kid lit adventure where the heros are never afraid, and always win the big fights, and have witty lines at the most perilous moments. He is short and chubby, and always hungry, and he nearly does his company in a few times along the way. Every few pages he longs for home, for everything to go back to how it was. The adventure is long and exhausting, and it rains and the food isn't always good. There are even a few times when Bilbo believes that he will not survive, that this adventure will kill him and it will be the last thing he ever knows. In short, this book is not about a happy, comfortable hobbit.

But Bilbo does survive. He makes it home alive, and he brings exotic weapons and lots of money. He looks at his old maps and he knows what hangs off the edges. He has made lifelong friends, some scattered all over the world, others closer to home. And he knows who he is; he knows what he can take, what he can accomplish, and what he can change. He writes a book, because he has lived a life worth writing about. And I grew up on the book. I read it before my double digits, and now as a just-barely adult, I turn to it again.

It's ok that I'm tired and stretched too thin. It's ok that sometimes I wonder if this really is going to work out in the end. That every hour or so, I just want to hang it all up and go back home, where I'm safe and comfortable. But I don't go home. You see, they don't write books about safe and content people. They write books about people that don't even know if they'll make it, but keep going anyways. And even though I don't enjoy it now, I trust that at the end of all of this, I'll look back and be glad that I did it. I believe that I'll look back and shudder at the idea of what could have been; a life safe at home by the fire.

Calling It Now:

2007-10-01T17:20:00.000-05:00

Favre announces his retirement at the Superbowl.

Remember I said it.

Rule Number Two

2007-09-30T14:24:00.000-05:00

There are two main rules to Christianity. 1) Love God with all of your heart, soul, and mind. 2) Love your neighbor as yourself.

The hardest time in my life was a lesson in rule #1. I learned to love and trust God through anything and everything. The second hardest time in my life is now, and it has just occured to me that it is a lesson in rule #2.

I've been doing this wrong. And those of you that know me well understand how hard it is for me to say that I was wrong. Sitting in my room and hating the lifestyle that surrounds me is not OK. Being lonely, homesick, and sad is alright, but being snobbish, indignant, self-righteous, and irrate is not alright.

The rule does not say love only the people that live and think like you do. Love your neighbor. Even if they are cheerleaders and party at the drop of a hat and live a lifestyle that you don't agree with, love them. There are no kind, forgiving, understanding or compassionate things on this campus. All I am is lucky - I have been on the receiving end of good, healthy, strong things my entire life. What if I am the only person in my classmates' lives that can show them this life, and I blow it because I'm farther ahead of the game than they are?

It doesn't matter what I get back. I have been getting since day one, and I already have everything I could ever need. I have a good family and good friendships at the end of a phone. I have ambitions and priorities and respect for myself. It's time to stop worrying about what I'm going to get out of it, and it's time to think about what I can give. I know better. I can be the one person that is giving and compassionate and understanding, I can be the one that cares about someone for no good reason. I can be the one unconditionally safe and kind thing in that life.

I can't do that if I sit in my room and hate everything around me. I can't do that if I'm impatient and judgemental of people that haven't been able to learn what I was fortunate enough to be exposed to. I know better. I know better than that. I have to grow up and realize that it's not about me. If I have anything to give, I need to start learning how to give it. Because the things that I have never run out, never dry up. And they are the very best things, and they shold be given joyfully and freely. So I'm going to turn the tables. I'm going to see what I can give, what I can change, instead of what I can get.

Real Glamorous

2007-09-28T09:54:00.001-05:00

Editing for the Behrend Beacon. Being part of the production team of a college paper. Late nights working in the newsroom. Sounds great, doesn't it?

Let's break this down. The editing team is all male except for the other two copy editors and myself. (The ad editor is also a woman, but she is never in the office during production nights.) The grand total is 16 people. Our newsroom is a tiny basement office a little bigger than my dorm room, no windows, with five functional Macs, each about as old as I am. There is a table is the middle and two couches lining two of the walls. Most of the office chairs are in varying states of disrepair. I've worked there for three weeks, and I couldn't tell you what color the table is. Covered with old papers: the Times, the local paper, the Collegian, Beacons from last week to last year. There are pizza boxes everywhere, and a common question is, "Is this pizza from tonight?" Up on the far wall is the board of shame. Nasty notes from companies whose ads we've botched, really, really bad articles, and a note screaming "LEARN HOW TO WRITE, COMM 001!"

As for the actual work of a production night. Since my job is to proofread, I have to wait around until one of the editors finshes their page. This could be a half an hour to three hours. I read whatever papers are lying around, talk with editors waiting for a computer, try in vain to get studying done. My night starts at 7:30, but it really starts to pick up around 9:30. Then pages are getting printed out, laid out and proofread. Our editor-in-chief is usually throwing tennis balls or wads of paper at his staff, cracking the most terrible jokes I've ever heard, or trying to get someone to wrestle with him. Youtube videos are a common pastime as well. Last night he was singing Rufus Wainwright's Hallelujah in Spanish.

It's hilarious, but it is far from glamorous. The women are vastly out-numberd, and the guys don't hold anything back. I've heard things that have actually made my eyes water. The saddest thing is, it's the sharpest conversation I get all week. Since there's never any space on the table, I check for an empty pizza box with the least-greasy bottom, and edit pages on top of that, sitting on a decrepit couch. I spend from five to seven hours in the office, waiting until the last page is done.

Last night was particularly fun; the kid who had been assigned the front-page article didn't turn anything in, and somehow myself and another person had been assigned the same article. So at 11:00 pm, I was given the front-page article. Somehow I interviewed three people, started up an incredibly slow and ancient PC, and cranked out 500 coherent words by midnight. As for next week, I have three articles to write, 500 words each. That equates to a six-page paper at least, complete with an interview with...I don't know who yet. On top of that, I have my four actual credit classes, and meetings Monday through Thursday nights.

Do I get paid for this? Not a cent. How about credits? I did the math, and for 10-15 hours of work per week, I get one credit in my transcript. So why do I do it? Because for whatever freakish reason, I love it. Reading this blog, I have no idea how I could even like it. But I'm gone, I'm sunk, I'm head over heels. I want this to be my life.

Go figure.

Beware: A Rant

2007-09-27T16:06:00.000-05:00

Guess where all of the cool kids are going Friday night. (My entire dorm is in a flurry of excitement.)

The mardi gras party at skins (frat). Here is the idea. Upon entering, all of the boys recieve a strand of beads. During the course of the night, the boys then hand off their beads to whatever pair of breasts they are most impressed by. The owner of the winningest, most-beaded breasts gets free liquor.

Seriously. What happened to going out for coffee? Movie marathons with cookie dough? Going to a playground at 1:00 am? Trips to the lake, spontaneous expensive meals out for no reason, hours around a fire? Midnight sledding, sports bars for the Monday night game? Conversation! What happened to conversation? Two or more sane and sober people enjoying each other's company? Arguments and jokes and stories? God, what I would give to interact with a HUMAN BEING.

I may be sitting alone on Friday nights. But it's better than pandering - no, I'll say it, whoring - to numerous, nameless guys whose last shred of common sense has been consumed by alcohol and hormones. Who even thinks this is fun, getting drunk on cheap liquor and then having your body blatantly graded by strangers? When you wake up, you'll have a dim memory of half the night, a headache, maybe some plastic beads and perhaps an STD. Stupid!

Look, I know I'm insane. I know it's earth-shattering to go to Penn State and refuse to party. I'm aware of the fact that it makes me a freak. And I don't care. Here's to the sober people, here's to the 16%! Someday we'll find each other, and how glorious the conversation will be.

An Ode To Coffee

2007-09-27T09:06:00.000-05:00

Joe, Java, mud, perk, ink, cafe noir,
A rose by any other name.
Dark, rich, almost too bitter
Potent in your strength
On foggy Erie mornings
You warm my toes
And make life worth living.

I'll take my chances
With insomnia, high blood pressure,
and anxiety.
Not to mentioned stunted growth.

When your first drop sizzles in my bloodstream
The neurons begin to fire,
My brain connects to my spinal cord,
My eyes open unto the day,
And the sun appears bright.
I am once again capable of standard speech
and human interaction.

I'm not addicted -
I'm in love.

Rachel: 1 Life: 0

2007-09-26T15:09:00.000-05:00

Wow. There really is a God. And he is brilliant.

So, I was poking around on princetonreview.com, trying to find Behrend's national safety rating for my police and safety article. My statistic is nowhere to be found, but I did stumble across this glorious tidbit.

Penn State, Univeristy Park has the tenth best college newspaper in the country. Number ten. Out of thousands and thousands. But here's the kicker. Syracuse, the goal of my life, my dream, the school that cooly and cruely wait-listed me, leaving me hard and bitter, ranks eighteen. Hahaha. Eighteen. That's eight whole places after ten. That's barely top twenty. Way to just squeak through, SU.

Am I gloating? Hell yes.

So, what good does University Park's paper do me? Thanks to my late application, I'm at Behrend for two years. Aren't I missing out on two years of writing for the tenth best paper in the USA?

But that is the most beautiful thing about all of this. If I didn't get shuffled into Behrend, I would have never written for the paper. I didn't even do it on purpose, it's just what my writing freshman interest group makes me do. I never even thought that journalistic writing was appealing. Only because it was pushed on me, have I fallen in love with newspaper reporting.

So, two heart-wrenching, dream-shattering, wait-listing letters have put me the one perfect place I could have ended up. Just 24 hours ago, I was praying to God, asking if I've made a mistake, begging Him to show me that I belong here.

I belong here! I'm here for a reason! Did you hear that? Do you understand? This is exactly where I am supposed to be.

"This Above All, To Thine Own Self Be True"

2007-09-25T12:32:00.000-05:00

When I began this blog, I swore honesty. It's hard to write honestly, mostly because it's hard to face the truth yourself.

College is not what I was planning on it being. I was expecting glorious higher education, living with people that shared some interests but had different backgrounds. I was looking foward to intelligent discussion about world affairs over coffee. I was looking foward to meeting all kinds of people that were in the same place because they had similar goals and ambitions to mine. People that were here because of their initiative and gusto and clear priorities. I knew that the transition would be hard, but I've done harder things. This should have been a breeze.

Well, I don't go to Yale. I am a freshman at a state school. I'm not living in the honors building, I'm taking general ed courses. And, shocker, people don't magically age five years in one summer. The claim to adulthood that most people have here is getting drunk off of cheap, frat keg beer and getting laid every weekend. (Weekends range from Wednesday night to Monday afternoon.) It's exactly like high school, only cruder and more blatant.

There's the kind of lonliness where you're in a strange place with strange faces, and everyone you know and love is miles away. Then there's the feeling you get when you know that you are the only person of your kind. When every single person(excepting five - no joke) that you talk to in the course of a month is cut out of the exact same mold, and you aren't. It feels like you are the only human being surrounded by cardboard cutouts. I am the language that no one understands. I am the quiet religious girl, the frigid, sober prude. I don't know how to have fun, I don't know what life is about.

It's hard. It's painful, and sometimes I wonder if I really am insane. But this month, as long and as lonely as it has been, I have learned so much about myself that I couldn't begin to expain it all. It's like reading the Qu'ran parallel to reading the Bible; suddenly your own faith is defined in completely new and powerful ways, just by the contrast.

When all that's left is what I believe, it is enough. When everyone says that I'm wrong, I am right. The life I choose is a good one, the biggest parts of me are the best. Life has pain and lonliness and fear, and I can take it. Life has big questions, and I ask them. Life has wonderful possibilities, and I demand them. Life has truth hidden away in it, and I pull it out and display it to the world. I am radiant, I am whole, I am precious and I am strong. I take chances, I hope when I shouldn't, I carry on long after I should quit. I am unstoppable. I am winning, and I will win. I won this morning when I woke up and decided to be myself.

So what, you may ask. So what if you have your white plume of honor if all it gets you is a Friday night with Remember the Titans and a bowl of popcorn? It's true that life right now is lonely and hard and I don't like it. But it is life, big and real, and I'm not hiding or running away from anything. My quiet weekends are wilder and more rebellious and far more grown-up than any party. There are 4,000 people on this campus. It will be long and hard work, but I will find the select few that came out of my mold. I will find people that take no less than they ask for, people that I can share my big, wild and fulfilling life with. I will meet people that know and love who they are. We will start friendships that shatter whatever half-relationships I was supposed to settle for. And until then, I can survive on my own. It is worth it, and I am enough.

I Have A Dream...

2007-09-24T14:33:00.000-05:00

That's right, I have a new life goal. I'm actually surprised that I've lived this long without one. The Penn State Daily Collegian. I was looking at it's webpage. It's beautiful, it's glorious. It's so unlike the Beacon that it isn't even funny. The Collegian is the real deal. The newspaper office is actually a building, a two-story building a short way from University Park campus. Outside there are three newspaper stands: New York Times, Washington Post, and the Collegian. (I have the picture taped to my desk.)

I watched clips from a documentary made about the Collegian, following it for a year. There are editorial offices, conference rooms, and great big newsrooms full of Macs. The people working there seem well-dressed, articulate, sharp. They seem to each be their own person, and they take reporting very seriously. The paper itself (I have a copy of Wednesday's on my bed) is well-written, sharp, and tells good news, from global to campus stories.

It's very competitive. During the third week of every semester, there are staff-writer try-outs. They sit everyone down, give them a headline concerning a current event and one hour, and the students have to write 500 words. That is how they decide who works for the Collegian. No portfolio, no prior experiance, no interview. Do or die.

It might be a little bit stupid for me to pursue this. At Behrend, I can be an editor from my sophomore year. I could build an extremely thick portfolio. It's even conceivable that I could be Editor-in-Cheif by my Senior year. Whereas I could go to main campus, never get accepted into the Collegian's staff, and my portfolio would come to a screeching halt my junior year. That doesn't look too good when you're trying to get a job.

But - I want to know. I want to know if I'm good enough. I want to know how far my talent and hard work can get me. And I just plain want it. I want to belong to something serious and important, something historical and prestigous. I want to work with other reporters and writers, people who have a global perspective. I want the big news, the big stories. I want the real thing. I want it so bad. So, I'm going for it. No fear, not in this lifetime. I'm going to write my butt off this year, snap up an open editing position next year, and read the paper (Times, Collegian, Beacon) every day of my life. I am going to become well-versed in everything that's going on everywhere, and I'm going to become a writing machine. I'm going to take history, science, politcal science courses. I'm going to learn how to think big and write well. And when that audition comes along in exactly two years, I will rip it up.

Hmm. I guess this makes me a journalism major.

Church-Shopping

2007-09-23T12:13:00.000-05:00

Church #1:

I guess the easiest way I can describe it is with a food analogy. For communion, the ushers passed around a loaf of homemade, white bread. As I ripped off a piece, I couldn't help but notice how like the church itself it was. The walls and the floor were as white as the bread, and the pews and the piano and the cross on the far wall were the same rosy gold as the crust was. It was small, but had nice high ceilings. They had good lights, and widows all along the wall, wide open to the sun and the breeze.

The minister was a little bit old, but he was big and wore a black suit with a white shirt and a bright red, silky tie. He had curly black hair, a graying beard and bushy eyebrows that almost hid his glinting eyes. When we met, he took my hand in both his giant own hands and I watched him process my name and attach it to my face. When he spoke, his voice was much softer than I had imagined. The sermon and the ideas and the language were traditional and kind of old-fashoined. We sang a few hymns, and prayed, and took communion.

I spent most of the sermon and an hour afterwards watching the people. Fifty people total: mostly younger families, maybe only three other people my age. The place was full of children, coloring away in their family pews. Everyone was was clean and well-dressed, their eyes were bright, and they sang better than the 300 peple in my own church. All of the little girls were wearing bright skirts and bright, patterned leggings. After church, the kids went to play in the patch of woods next to the church. The men all went outside in the sun, with their jackets off and their sleeves rolled up, studying some construction that was going on in the front of the building. The women stood in the tiny foyer by the open doors and asked all kinds of questions about me and how I was doing with the move. One woman invited me to her house to help make applesauce, which I had to decline since I didn't do any homework yesterday.

I've been to churches like it before and haven't liked it. I have always thought that they were too quiet and comfortable. I have always steered away from tradition in religon. This church was not about bringing people into the faith, it's definitely made for people that already have their faith. But is was exactly like the communion bread; it was clean and fresh and comforting and wholesome. Everything else about my life is new and challenging, and that isn't what I need from God right now. Today I needed something that I understood, something simple and relaxing.

So, I don't plan on going there every week. But once a month they have church luncheons, and I think I will go on those Sundays. All of the mothers were planning for next week's luncheon, baking breads and pies and making sauces and desserts. So once a month, I think I'll go and be comfortable and well-fed by mothers, and get dragged all over the place by their kids.

I'm a Genius

2007-09-21T16:56:00.001-05:00

Seriously. I'm so proud of myself right now I can hardly speak.

Here's what I'm having for dinner tonight. Grilled chicken alfredo over pasta cooked to al dente perfection. Without leaving campus.

I'm cooking the pasta in my microwave. Although you can get it at the cafeteria, it's mushy and overcooked and has been sitting for an hour. After that's done, I'll go up to the cafeteria to the grill station. I will ask for one grilled chicken breast with no bun and put that in a to-go container. I will go to the pasta station and scoop alfredo sauce into the soup bowl in the to-go kit. I will bring it back to my dorm, and dish out the pasta onto a nice red plastic plate. I will cut up the hot, grilled, unprocessed chicken and mix that into the pasta. I will pour the alfredo sauce over everything. I will sit down and eat off of a plate with a real knife and fork. Pasta cooked just ten minutes ago to my preferred specifications. Fresh, hot meat and nice, fatty alfredo sauce.

Tune in tomorrow for lunch, when I get texas-sliced bread from the toast station, add meat and cheese from the sandwhch station, and give it to the panini lady to grill up.

I know, I know. I'm brilliant.

All In A Week's Work

2007-09-20T11:42:00.000-05:00

Exactly a week ago, I was standing in the newspaper office with the editors and all of the freshmen staff writers. Our copy editor was reading off the list of assignments, all of which were being reluctantly accepted by writers one at a time. However, when she called out "New plastics training academy at the school of engineering," heads went down, and people inched behind thier classmates to hide. After about 120 seconds of prickly silence and tension, I sighed and said "I'll take that one." I wrote down the basic info into my notebook and left.

I tracked down the Chair of our Plastics Engineering Program - I like to start at the top - and then e-mailed him asking for an interview. A couple days later I got a reply, referring me to the Injection Molding Chair and head of the program. I fired back a nice, professional thank-you e-mail set up a meeting with the referred-to Dr. He told me to meet him in room 113 of the REDC building. I agreed, and sent him my cell number in case anything should fall through.

After about an hour of background research and preparing questions, I arrived at the engneering building 20 minutes early. I found room 113 in a massive, warehouse kind of hallway, with three-story high ceilings and no windows. The room had two giant doors that looked that they belonged on a loading dock instead of an office. I read the panel next to the numbers 113 - "WIND TUNNEL."

Hmm. The Dr seemed to have sent me the wrong room number. I walked around the building until I found a board listing the faculty and their office numbers. Dr.....213. Aha! I walked around some more until I found the hallway with the 210 offices, and found 213 at 4:00 exactly. Of course, the Dr had completely forgotten about the appointment and was 15 minutes late, leaving me with a quarter of an hour for a decent interview. I asked my questions, and he answered without the understanding that I was not an engineering major and had no idea what he was talking about. "Then the processors inject the molten plastic into heat-tempered coagultion modules," and the like. It went a little better when I asked him to describe things to me like I was a humanities major. Or a five-year old.

I went back to my room, sat at my desk, and played over the recorded interview, pausing every 5 seconds to write down potentially important quotes. I went to the bathroom. I read the blog of everyone I knew, and some blogs of people that I have never met. I shook up my bottle of extra concentrated dish soap and squeezed it so that little bubbles came out. I wrote down each point on a sticky note and arranged everything on my desk so that I had a flowing, coherant article all color-coded and lined out. I took a picture of it on my phone. I watched Gilmore Girls, I went to dinner. I came back, I spent all of 45 minutes writing it all up into a beautiful, 600 word article with a nice lead and ending quote. I sent it in to the on-line drop box.

Then I sat back for the Wednesday night feeling. No matter how dull my story is, it's a thread that keeps my week connected and linear. Once I've finished, I've met someone new, I've learned someting new, I've faced a new writing challenge. But my week kind of unravels. So I pick up the Times, or whatever book I'm reading, or flip on the TV, and wait for Thursday night, when I get my new story.

What if?

2007-09-19T09:34:00.000-05:00

I've learned lots of things in three weeks. How to sleep when your roommate is moving around your room at 7:30 am. How to hook up a TV, how cereal combines on a molecular level to your bowl if left for too long. How amazing of a football player Paul Posluszny is. How to write for a published paper, how to dish it and take it with upperclassmen guys. How to microwave pasta and steal butter and salt from the cafeteria. How to go for a walk or call someone when I'm feeling blue. How not to go get fall-down drunk even when evryone else is. How to get my morning paper out of the fussy paper machine, how to coax my key into the lock of my dorm door. That when all else fails, a grilled chicken sandwhich from the cafeteria is good, moist meat. That sometimes, a pint of Ben and Jerry's is perfectly OK.

Most importantly, I've learned that there are things much, much worse than fear. I'm not talking about the trepidation someone experiences right before they do something incredibly stupid, that's different. I'm talking about the solid, real-life fear that settles in your stomach for more than 30 seconds. I've been confronted with new fears every few days here. Some are big and some are little. I've also watched some people handle thier own, personal fears. One thing that I've noticed is that whenever someone complies to fear, their lives get a tiny bit smaller, and a tiny bit sadder.

So, what would happen if I lived my life in complete disregard of fear? If instead of concentrating on how afraid I am, I think about how I will feel in twenty years, looking back on every scenario. Can you live life that way? Is that much courage possible?

Am I afraid that if I don't party every weekend, that I will never fit in here? Am I afraid that if I don't join the swim team, I will never meet any good friends? Am I afraid that if I go to the youth group on Monday night, it will just be weird and disappointing? Am I afraid of looking for a good church, of how long it will take and how lonely it will be? Am I afraid of pursuing what I love, just to find out that it isn't good enough, that I don't have what it takes?

Yes. And yes, and yes, and yes again. But I have decided that either I can sit in my room, comfortable and unafraid, or I can make the hard choice every single time. I've decided to sit down and separate the fear from what I really want to do, and then throw the fear right out the window. I'm not kidding myself here, I know that it will be hard. It will be exhausting, there will be times when I will fall on my bed and wonder what I could have been thinking. My downs will be lower than most - I will fall harder.

But I know that I was not made for fear. I know that I do not want to look back on my freshman year of college and wonder what could have happened. I know that Brett Favre has the most interceptions, and he also has the most wins. I know that even though I will fall harder than most, I will also live higher and bigger than most. I do not want a small, constant, slightly sad life. I want a big life, alternating between tragedy and joy.

So I'll give this life a try. I will live so that I am slightly crazy, and constantly tired. I will live the sweaty-palmed, shaky-kneed life. I'll take the big hits, trusting that it will be worth it in the end. And I'll keep you posted.

I used to be a swimmer.

2007-09-17T13:34:00.000-05:00

I've hit the three-week mark. My life has stopped consisting of large, detached glumps and is now linear again. Classes, grades, organizations, the paper, people; it's all coming into perspective. And I'm glad of it. But I didn't realize what was missing until everything started coming together.

Swimming. It's fall, it's getting chilly and the sky is super blue and I know I'm supposed to be running and weight-lifting and working my butt off with friends every day. I'm jittery and snapish, never really hungry or sleepy. The smell of chlorine makes my knees shake, I'm turning to gangster rap instead of my usual mellow music. My body, for for the first time in five years, is not breaking into fall in the pool.

But it's more than just missing the sport. As far as relationships go, there's mentors and then there's coaches. There's friends and then there's teammates. When you spend most of your time and energy working to hear one person say, "That was perfect, that was exactly what we needed," they supercede mere mentorship. And when you spend 40 hours a week with the same people, going through hell together, doing what you love together, you get to something more than friendship. The cheers and the songs and the jokes, posters and puffy painted t-shirts, communal saltines packages, bonfires. Being on a team like that is the next best thing to family.

Since I was thirteen years old, I have been a swimmer. I wish I could explain how deeply engrained it is in me. It was part of my identity, not just an activity. I grew and learned so much in that pool, I would not be the same person without that experience. And I can't explain how it feels for it to be September, and knowing that 3 hours away my coach and my team are having practices and meets without me. I had no idea I loved it so much. I had no idea that losing it would hurt so much.

So, my college does have a swim team. It's a six-month season, training without one race for over a month, then traveling most weekends for meets. Morning and evening practices. And I don't really want to do it. I want to give everything I have to the paper, and I want to do women's flag football in October, then I want to join the sailing club in the spring. I need time to get my A-average, I have other clubs I want to be involved in. It's college, I want to do new things, find new things to sign my life over to, meet new people to get close to. But I'm afraid of life without a team. I'm afraid of the hard things in life if I don't have swimming to take it out on. I'm afraid to give up such a big part of me.

Ta-Da!

2007-09-13T12:31:00.000-05:00

You know you are totally moved into a new place when the milk stops tasting funny.

My Eleventy-Hundreth Post!

2007-09-12T11:49:00.000-05:00

I am in love with life today.

It is fall, and the air is crisp and it seems like I haven't seen such a blue sky since Europe. I wish that I had a football to throw around on the lawn, because that is exactly what this weather is - football weather. Cold hands and cheering and marching bands and school colors. It's sleep-under-the-covers weather and brand new jacket weather and "It was a dark and stormy night," weather. Warm pajamas and hot popcorn and warm, heavy throw blankets weather.

Fall is my favorite.

As if this weren't enough, my math class got canceled. No math, no math professor, no math homework. I didn't even get to my math room before I was told to turn around and waste my gloriously free hour. AND my jersey came. My brand-new, blue and white, Penn State #31 Paul Poluszny jersey. The jersey that I will wear every Saturday of college football season. And, since Penn State is ranked #1 in the Big Ten, hopefully for many Saturdays into post season. It's hanging over my desk right now.

It is a beautiful day to be a college kid.

So Embarassing

2007-09-10T10:03:00.000-05:00

Of course T-Mobile does not finally, finally switch me over from recording to a human being, after twenty minutes of cat-and-mouse games - which was sapping my minutes - until I'm bellowing into the phone "BURN T-MOBILE, JUST BURN!"

Poor Jim.

Settling in.

2007-09-09T10:40:00.000-05:00

I have been two weeks and one day at college, and every day I like it more and more. It's now just beginning to feel like I have one life, instead of two very separate lives; one here, one at Home. Today is the first day I can listen to my favorite music from this summer and not feel sad. It's starting to feel more like school than this alien world where nothing make sense.

Part of this is my busyness. I'm taking four classes and I need an A in all of them. I have meetings every night of the week except for Fridays - for the school entertainment board, hall council, and the paper. And I absolutely love working with the paper. I had two articles printed last week; one previewing the upcoming alumni weekend, and one was a bit on the first week as a freshman in college. I sent in the freshman bit on a whim, I didn't expect them to use it. But the editors said that it was good, and that I can send in anything else in the same genre. They also asked me to production nights, to get to know the editors and learn how to edit myself. So, this week I have three articles to write and maybe another column, and I'll be in the office Thursday night until the paper is done, which tends to be 1:00-2:00 am. I'll be meeting new people and learning how to make a newspaper - I'll be able to watch the pieces that I wrote go into print. Is that the coolest thing ever?

Yesterday was my first college game day on a Penn State campus. I wore my PSU t-shirt, and decorated the board on my door with things like "WE ARE......PENN STATE" and "I heart JoePa!" and "#31...Always." There was about 20 or so people in the lobby watching the game. It's fun watching football with people that know football. It's fun to watch football when your team is excellent, and really, truly belongs to you. College football is just plain fun - the massive stadium, every single spectator wearing white, the marching band, the noise, everything. Next time I'll go to the cafe - they project the game on a giant screen and I guess it's standing room only.

So, I'm starting to get to know people that don't feel the need to get fall-down drunk every night of the week. I have one of the best college teams in the country. The paper gives me something to participate in and belong to. I'm building up a resume and a portfolio and grades good enough to get me into my major. It finally, finally feels like I'm moving foward.

Independent Living; Installment Two

2007-09-06T19:21:00.000-05:00

Another major accomplishment today:

I cooked pasta in my microwave. I took my little pasta cooker and filled it with water, running my two-cup pyrex measurer back and forth from the drinking fountain three times. It took about 20 minutes for my little, old microwave to get the water up to boil. Then I took some pasta and poured it into the water, and it took another 20 minutes for it to cook. Occasionally I would pop open the door, wait for the blistering steam to disperse, snatch the cooker onto my desk and stir it with a fork. When it was at al dente perfection, I stuck the little pasta strainer in the laundry room sink, and I gingerly picked up my little plastic vat of pasta and drained it.

After it had cooled some, I put the noodles into my bright red soup mug with the handle. I scooped butter out of the little packet I had taken from the cafeteria at breakfast. I added some salt from the shaker I had stolen out of the Cafe an hour previously. Hey, if I'm paying thousands a year for out-of-state tuition, I can steal a salt shaker if I want. And I ate it, and it was wonderful.

However, this is not the clincher. The best part was when I put my dirty dishes into the little pasta vat and almost clapped my hands in joy when I realized I could wash my dishes using the pasta vat as a sink.

Independent living is when you're standing over the massive sink in the laundry room, and your microwavable pasta vat is full of soapy water and dirty dishes, and you're scrubbing away with your disposable dish rag, and you're happy. Because it's the easiest way to clean your dishes that you've used in two weeks.

So, I'm going to eat a brownie with a big glass of milk, and watch Friends (on the TV that I myself hooked up to cable) and then call my family.

Who says you have to be drunk to have fun?

September

2007-09-05T14:55:00.000-05:00

Things are starting to settle in here. I've evern referred to my room as home a couple of times. Although in my head it's just "home," while Ro-cha-cha is "Home."

Classes and the workload are picking up a little bit, but nothing too scary. I'm joining clubs and organizations and the like in my free time. The paper, the school entertainment bard that brings in movies, bands, and comedians, and my hall council. I like busy.

But overall, complete independence is a bit overrated. It's definitly less exciting than it seems.

Take last night, for example. My biggest accomplishment was getting my TV hooked up to cable. I wrestled the cable out of its box, undid the twist-ties, and unrolled to cord. I spun the TV around backwards so I could get to the screwy cable thingy. I then spent ten minutes trying to twist on the cable the wrong way. After a few suppressed curse words, some extraneous tools, and sore fingers, I remembered, "Righty tighty, left loosey." Ahh. Well, that made it a lot easier. But I still had to screw the other end of the cable into the jack...in the wall...behind my roomate's fully loaded, solid wood, triple tier desk. Lovely.

Between the two of us, we got the stupid honking big piece of furniture moved out a couple of inches. With one arm angled over the first tier, and the other angled behind it, which had me practically sprawled, flat-out over the desk, it only took about 6 minutes to righty tighty the cable into place. And I flicked on the TV, and Gilmore Girls was on! So my roomate and I shrieked "Gilmore Girls!" and jumped onto my bed and spent the next half hour trying to figure out if it was Rory's high school or college graduation. It was college, the one where she turns down Logan's marraige proposal so he dumps her.

Welcome to the adult world.

I'm a newspaper woman!

2007-08-31T15:01:00.000-05:00

Well, maybe not quite. But I'm on my way.

I had my newspaper practicum class last night. When I heard about this class, I thought maybe we would learn about writing for a few weeks and then towards the end of the semester maybe write something that we could put in the school paper. I was ready to sit at a desk and take notes for an hour.

Instead I found myself standing in the tiny newspaper office, accepting an assignment on the upcoming Behrend Alumni weekend. Head still reeling from what I had signed up for, an editor threw an old edition of the school paper at me and told me to read it, because then I would know how to write. Class dismissed.

On one hand it's scary. I've never had anything of mine in any kind of paper before. I've never interviewed anyone before. They didn't even give me an angle, I have to come up with my own story. I mean, I still walk out of my dorm and spin foolishly until I figure out which way my next class is, I'm still trying to learn how to survive day by day here. And if I blow this, I have a professor and a room full of upperclassmen editors to answer to. Oh, and I have less than a week to finish it.

On the other hand, it's wonderful. For the first time since I arrived at college, someone is already assuming that I am an intelligent, capable adult. I have to turn almost nothing into a 500 word newspaper article. I'm already building a portfolio. I'm responsible for finding who I need to, making an appointment, and asking them the right questions. I then have a to write something clear, accurate, and at least a little bit interesting. And then whatever I crank out will be published, in black and white, with my name attached to it, and people will read it.

I wish I could explain what this has done to my life here at college. Until now, everything has felt fragmented and out of place. My days haven't been strung together, they just kind of float aimlessly around while I try in vain to peg everything down. I was a nameless student drifting around a big, new and strange campus. But now I have a name and I have a voice in this place. People are counting on me and I belong to something. When the paper comes out I will hold it and say, this wouldn't have been the same if it weren't for me.

"Horses? How novel!"

2007-08-29T13:20:00.000-05:00

OK. So some of my classes are boring and painful, like English and Math. And some are very interesting, like Earth science (even though the professor is a die-hard global warming doomsayer) and Comparitive Religon. And then there is Intro to Political Science. It's a fascinating class in a read it and learn it yourself kind of way. The professor is insane, but that just makes it really fun.

Today, for example, she was talking about how she had one of her classes last year act out part of Plato's Republic. Turns out there is a basement in her building where the theatre stores all of the old props from previous plays. And she says,

"There is some really great stuff down there, in perfect condition, and not even that securely locked up. If you wanted a practically new, 12-person dining set for free, for example, there is a big grate in the woman's bathroom just down the hall. Now if you take a tire iron you can pull out the grate and descend into the basement, it's all right there. That's what my class did for thier costumes last year, anyways. I don't really want to do it again, so I'm just going to befriend the theatre department and then ask for the key. You know, to the door."

I almost died.

Mmm, another insight to life at Behrend. I have two essays to write and a little under 100 pages to read tonight (but 30 of them are Plato, so they should count for about five times as much.) And I've climbed 288 stairs, and it's only 2:30.

And I'm out of milk.

My first college class!

2007-08-27T09:41:00.000-05:00

English 015, M W F 9:00-10:00.

We sat down, and wrote out our names, majors, hometowns, intrests, and something special about us. Then we got the syllabus, and a diagnostic essay took up the rest of the class. We recieved our first assignment and left.

I got back to my room and sat down to do the assignment; read the intro and respond to it. The whole idea was that this book would provide templates for each of our essays. It's set up like this.

"Of course some object that_______________. Although I concede that ___________, I still maintain that ___________."

My first class in higher education, and I get fill-in-the-blank essays! I just sat down and wrote a fill. in. the. blank. essay. I cannot wrap my mind around this. I just spent all of last year learning how to write outside of triangle-block-block-trainagle format. I've just learned how to be an independent, clear-thinking writer.

And I'm writing fill in the blank essays! I just wrote an essay about how much I hate the templates, in the template form. The irony is so beautiful. It's like taking an art class, finding your style and becoming confident in it, and then something flings a color-by-number book at you.

Oh well. I need a 3.3 GPA for my major, and this class will help me get it. I just hope I can actually learn something in the other ones.

College = Summer Camp

2007-08-24T20:51:00.000-05:00

I'm not kidding. The similarities are uncanny. Your family unloads your luggage in the 90+ degree weather, into your tiny, un-air conditioned room. You spend the better part of the day unpacking and organizing and cramming. Then your family leaves and you feel roughly ten years old and three feet tall. You eat with strangers, and then go to a couple of forced, sit and roast while we explain obvious rules kind of gatherings. Throw in a bad comedian and an awkward shower with flip flops on.

On a serious note, I like my room. It's new and clean and bright and not too cramped. And it has a great big window. It's just so hard to believe that I'll be living here for one year. It seems like after a week I'll pack up and go home. I haven't really talked to my neighboors - everyone is hot and exhausted and finishing unpacking. I'm sure I'll meet more people tomorrow than I can keep straight.

Tomorrow is a bunch of mandatory, repsonsible drinking, repsonsible sex, this is how you do laundry kind of meetings. I need to buy milk and get an ID card for my keychain, and pick up my textbooks. I can't wait until classes start - I don't really like not having anything to do. It'll be easier to make friends when I have classes and clubs and studying and a life.

Too tired to see straight anymore. I'll keep you posted on all of the horrific ice-breakers they make us do.

Quotes

2007-08-22T17:35:00.000-05:00

"Are you anxious?"

"I am going forth into an unknown country where I shall have no past and no name, and where I shall be born again with a new face and an untired heart."

"Life is short and the world is wide."

"And don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got til it's gone?"

"When we get out of the glass bottle of our ego and when we escape like squirrels from the cage of our personality and get into the forest again, we will shiver cold and fright. But things will happen to us so that we don;t know ourselves. Cool, unlying life will rush in."

"And I'm free. Free falling."

"Nobody understands anyone 18, including those who are 18."

"Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there, with open arms and open eyes."

"My favorite thing is to go where I've never been."

"You show me a girl with both feet planted firmly on the ground, and I'll show you a girl who can't get her pants on."

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear."

"So take a shower, shine your shoes. You got no time to lose. You re young men, you must be living."

100th Post!

2007-08-20T13:33:00.000-05:00

I didn't spend anytime packing yesterday!

After church, I picked up Lindsay. We went to the school to swing and catch up on the past year, going over the highlights and the best stories. Then we drove out to the lake, and walked the pier. The sun was warm and the air was cool and the sky was blue, blue, blue. Everyone had their sailboats out for one last time. I decided that I wanted enough money someday for a bright red sailboat, a navy blue cableknit sweater and khaki shorts. I would sail it down the East coast and back, and the local paper would write a story on me. Still haven't decided on a name for my boat, though. We walked the beach in bare feet and enjoyed the fresh air instead of the usual, polluted stink. We inspected the old, empty train station and watched some beach volleyball.

I got us thoroughly lost on the way home. I missed my exit and we had to crack open my mapbook and navigate our way down isolated country roads back to familiar territory. On the way back we passed a sweet corn stand and I pulled a U-turn and squealed over to the dirt pull-off. We paid the very bored kid who was running the stand (and had a mysterious southern drawl) to finally return home a half an hour later than planned. But with dinner we had the most phenomenal corn on the cob anyone could remember eating.

After she left, I went with my family to Coldstone Creamery. I had homemade chocolate ice cream with massive chunks of cookie dough mixed in; it was incredible. Tonight continues the summer farewell with a local baseball game birthday celebration. Provided, of course, that the weather gives up this noncomital drizzling nonsense.

It's a week full of last things. Last Sundays as a regular at my church, last visits until the holidays, last minute paperwork. Last beach trips and ice cream runs for the year, last time I'll see something until I unpack it into my dormroom. Last day at training camp, last swim in my pool. Last nights in my own bed, last mornings with a toaster, last drives in my own car for a while. Everything changes soon. And it's a little bit sad, but it's also good and exciting.

Oh. So this is bittersweet.

A Week Full Of Last Things

2007-08-18T10:00:00.000-05:00

The other day I piled every single article of clothing in possesion in a heap on my floor. This heap was as high as my waist and about six feet in circumference. I spent an hour dividing those clothes into the following piles: garbage, whites, darks, jeans, sweats, gentles, and that funny pile full of things not quite denim but too heavy to wash with the t-shirts and skirts, like capris and jackets. The two garbage bags went into the trash, and I began the laundry cycle. I got half washed and folded that day - enough to fill my dresser.

So, today I will resume laundry and get everything packed away, either into a fall or a winter tote. Then I'll have to go through my desk, throw out or store all of the old stuff and pack up everything I need. I'll have to weed out my book and journal collection - I can only bring half. Finally I'll go through everthing I have bought or received recently and pack all of that up. Lastly I'll take down everything on my walls that I want to bring, pictures, my calander, my flag, and tons of other little stuff.

I'm hoping I can get the majority of packing done today. I still need some computer stuff, all of my toiletries, and finish leftover paperwork. I also have to figure out my phone payment system and get the mail-in rebate sent in.

I also have to see Lindsay while she's home, and celebrate Stacy's birthday with a Muckdog's game. I have to go to Bill's training camp with Nate, and get my family to Coldstone Creamery, as they've never been. I should wash my car and my dog before I go, and do some research on the Penn State football team as well as Pittsburgh. I need to get to Lugia's and my favorite swingset to watch the sun set.

I'm waiting to get anxious. I'm not really, yet. I wonder if I will be...

Glamour my foot

2007-08-14T18:14:00.000-05:00

I'm slowly coming to the realization that being a grown-up is not all that glamorous.

Take getting ready for college. The big moving-out, you're an adult for real now, time to get your life together event. For whatever reason I've always envisioned sitting in my sunny room, loading magically laundered and folded clothing into new, shiney totes while my friends flop around my room and keep me company. Or carefully assembing new school supplies into boxes, dressed in sweats and listening to music in a very mature and independent way; perhaps eating chocolates and drinking wine. Or shopping cheerfully with mom buying bedding and pillows and fancy pens and new clothes, throwing the new items carelessly over our shoulders into infinte shopping carts and whipping out my magic debit card to pay.

Well guess what. Moving is stressful. I spent ten hours straight shopping Thursday of last week. And not "Oh, look at these great towels," shopping but "Why the @%$& can I not find a purse-sized umrella that works properly?" Shopping when you finally stop for dinner at 7:00 and can't make another decision to save your life and want to just tell the server to surprise you. And how do you get all of your clothes clean for packing and still have clothes to wear the few days before your move? Why is a lock for a Macbook hard to find? How do laptop locks work, anyways? And do you kow how much NOT fun it is to spend money that you've put in agonizing hours to earn? Buy a bathrobe and you're going "This is 3 hours of work..." and a little piece of you dies.

I have a notepad by my bed so that when I remember things at night I can write them down and then maybe fall asleep again. My to-do list just gets longer and longer becuase I only have evenings and weekends to get all of it done. I have to be in bed by at least 11:00 or the following 8 hours of work are just to painful to bear. I overslept a half hour today. I woke up with my alarm blaring and my face burried in my brand-spanking new, $30 (including cover) body pillow. The clock said 6:37 and I mumbled angry nothings while I flung clothes onto myself and braced for a long, dull day without a shower in it. Not all that better than high school, really.

OK. I need to quit procrastinating and get to my list.

Stupid list.

Love.

2007-08-13T20:24:00.000-05:00

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails."

1 Corinthians 13: 7-8a.

I have a new favorite Bible verse.

Preseason football

2007-08-10T19:15:00.000-05:00

I have missed football. A couple months after the Superbowl I missed it painfully, consciously. I would sit on the couch on Sunday afternoons, staring into space, longing. During the fall I would kill myself on Saturdays so long as I had my Sundays free. Curl up with a blanket and popcorn and my sweat pants and I would just revel in the sport for hours.

After a while the bite went away. Like when you lose a leg but get used to your wheelchair. OK, so I exagerate, but you know what I mean. And now, preseason has begun, and my leg is back! And I'm running and jumping and doing cartwheels.

Slowly it's all coming back. Manning Peyton audibles. JP Losman scrambles. The Bills have lost McGahee but we have the A-Train. Tony Romo is showing up to play. I remember things like fumbles in the endzone and hail mary's thrown down the field in desperation. The pressure when a quarterback is thrwing out of the end zone, when a kicker decides the score. 50-yard rushes and one-handed catches. Bad beer commercials, the referee's silly socks, the yellow flag, the crunching sound when two brick walls of human beings collide. The clean, new uniforms, the dirtier, rowdier fans. Coaches prowling the sidelines, muttering into their headsets, screaming at players and refs alike.

And the anticipation. Who will be the suprise team, what talent is yet undiscovered? What name will achieve fame and glory? Everyone is playing to earn their place; the hits are hard and the stakes are high. Every single time the ball is snapped, players jump off the line like thier livlihoods depend on it - and it does.

I am falling madly in love with football all over again.

I am ready

2007-08-04T11:02:00.000-05:00

I move out in 20 days.

It's a strange thing. I've never moved out before. Then again, it's something nearly everyone does. So it can't be that bad, right? Besides, I'm ready. That's such a vague statement, "I'm ready." This is how I know I am ready.

I used to feel panicky about it. Every once in a while, something would trigger the panic, some statement or realization. And then it felt like I was caught in a massive, grey tornado, moving too quickly and too loudly. Not knowing which way was up or down or foward or backward. Watching the things I loved the most being ripped away from me and flung who knows where. And all I would be able to do for a few moments was to stand still, hang on to something, and concentrate on breathing. It's very hard to breathe inside of a tornado.

This happened for the last time at the beach with Mel and her family. I had set up the beach as the barrier between me and change. After that vacation, Mel would leave, and more friends would follow, I would start working 40 hours per week, and I knew that school would hit me like a brick wall soon after. Fortunately, the beach has a certain timeless quality. Minutes, hours, days drift by and no one bothers to keep track. Until. Until the second to last day, Ange mentioned that Mel had three Sundays left at home. And that brought on the tornado. It was the biggest and blackest of them all, and while everyone else was lazing in the sand, I lay face down on my towel, fists cluthing the fabric under me. For a few minutes I thought about breathing. When I had re-learned how to do that, I grabbed my journal and anchored myself as well as I could. It worked a little bit. The center of the storm had widened, and I could see that day and the day after. But if I looked any further, all I could see was blank, dark, walls of wind.

I spent the afternoon staving off the tornado. It required a lot of moving around, a lot of half-thinking about things. When a real storm cloud gathered over our house, I volunteered to run down to the beach and rescue the towels. No one wants to pack soggy, heavy towels. I left the house full of people and laughter and love, and walked outside. My fright was juxtopsed in the thick wind and grey sky. My tornado closed in again, and I turned to the only constant thing I have. I told God that I couldn't do it if it was a trade-off. I couldn't go foward if it meant leaving everything I cherished behind. I explained that it felt like the end of that week was the beginning of the end of everything that I loved.

When I reached the beach, a herd of kids were running along the water and shouting. Adults were standing and pointing out to sea. I saw a grey back with a fin slide up out of the water, just beyond the sandbar, and then glide back in. It reemerged a few feet down the beach, and disappeared again. I had never before in my life seen a dolphin. But ever since my parents at Myrtle Beach, I must have been 3 or 4 or something, had told me that they had woken up early and saw a whole group of dolphins, I have wanted to. I smiled for the first time all day. After I watched it progress out of sight, I gathered the towels into a heap and began to walk back to the house. I talked again to the constant thing. I thanked Him for showing me a dolphin after all this time, in the middle of my panic. And then my tornado broke into a million pieces and all I could feel was sun.

New words, warmer and more solid than my own thoughts, said, "Rachel, I've given you wonderful things your whole life. What makes you think I should stop now? Your future is full of love, even more love than you have today. More love than you can imagine for yourself. I promise. More love." Then a warm and solid chuckle that clearly said; have some faith, you crazy girl.

Usually I don't go for the whole finding God in the wind thing. But then I remembered that we had a washer and dryer in the house, and I looked at the heap of sandy towels in my arms, and the rain started to fall and I just laughed at myself. I've also noticed that the tornado hasn't been back. I now know that the future does not belong to me. But my future does not belong to blank, dark wind, either. This is why I am ready: I do not feel like my life is being dragged out of my grasping hands. I gave my future to God, and He put great and wonderful things into it. Now all I have to do is go after the life that He has made for me.

A Poem Worth Memorizing -

2007-08-01T20:28:00.000-05:00

Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good fame,
Plans, credit, and the muse;
Nothing refuse.

'Tis a brave master,
Let it have scope,
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope;
High and more high,
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent;
But 'tis a god,
Knows its own path,
And the outlets of the sky.
'Tis not for the mean,
It requireth courage stout,
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending;
Such 'twill reward,
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;—
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,
Keep thee to-day,
To-morrow, for ever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.
Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
Vague shadow of surmise,
Flits across her bosom young
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free,
Do not thou detain a hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Tho' her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.

~Emerson