"Will, look at the pumas!"

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!

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...

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.

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

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!

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...

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

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

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


Thank you.

Livin' By My Own Rules!

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

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:

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:

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

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

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?

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!

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!

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

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.