Weekends at School

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.....

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.

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

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

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.”

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

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...

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...

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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!

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,

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

"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.

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

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

It's the day after Halloween.

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

Yup...

Bliss.

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...

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