Inspiration

Today, I was inspired in class. You might be thinking, "Well that's not news, you're in college!" but sometimes, classes can go weeks, even semesters without leaving me with the least bit of inspiration. They sometimes even leave me feeling less inspired than when I walked in the door.
But today, I was inspired in class. I was inspired to write. Every day. To "stretch my muscles," as my teacher, Dr. Lyn Lepre said. And why shouldn't I? I love writing. Ever since Garrett asked me to dance in 4th grade, I've kept a diary. Sometimes, I'd neglect it for a week, and then have three pages of gossip to catch up on (mostly during those tumultuous Middle School years). Other times, I can go without writing for half a year, and be able to sum up that time period in a page.
Dr. Lepre suggested that starting a blog would help us to show our talent, to maybe help us get an internship, or a job. But I want to do it for myself. To give myself an outlet, and to write down what is happening in my life.
It seems that my life is flying by, (Steven can attest to this, as I often say, "Well last year at One Acts, our grade..." and he'll remind me that senior year of High School was, in fact, two years ago). Which seems insane. I've done so much in those two years, and yet if I tried to sum it up right now, I'm not exactly sure what I would write.
I guess I'd begin with the move to Marist College. I had to arrive early for band camp. My "band buddy" sucked, not helping at ALL; she even broke my lamp. It was a terrifying three days. I had to talk to people I didn't know, and wasn't even sure if I wanted to know. I had my dorm room to myself, and spent my spare time tacking pictures onto the wall of friends and family.
Then, my roommate arrived. We had chatted on instant messenger a little, and I had pre-judged her to be a slutty, ditsy, California beach-bum. Which, when I put it that way, she kind of was. Well, minus the slutty part. Actually, she's pretty smart too. And if by beach-bum, it somehow connotates a hard-working, dedicated water polo player then, well, she's that too.
My cousins teased me, role playing a potential future conversation between Kelly and I:
Amy: What sport do you play?
Kelly: Water polo. What do you play? Like, intramural volleyball or something???
Amy: Uh... actually, yeah.
The first time I saw her, I was coming back from band camp, hot, sweaty, and a little annoyed I had to take the stairs, because the elevators were jam packed with luggage and irritated parents moving in their non-band freshman into a 9 story dorm. I opened the door, and there was Kelly. She exclaimed, "Hiii!" and hugged me. From that point on, I knew everything was going to be okay.
I don't know how I lucked out so fantastically with the roommate I was assigned freshman year. Most people have horror stories; I just have hundreds of memories. Like convincing ourselves that we should write a book about how Tetris is a metaphor for life; or converting to the California time zone, which meant we were up until 2 or 3 am every morning so that she could talk to her boyfriend, Jeff, on her webcam; to sunbathing on the green; or dishing about the latest scandal with our friends from home; or chips and salsa parties on the floor with Rachel (Kelly later told me that she was ready to kill me after the first week of school because I ate chips and salsa all the time, and apparently I'm a really loud chewer...); or rearranging our room, quite haphazardly; or asking for endless advice, sharing secrets, and laughing until we cried. She was everything I could have asked for in a freshman year roommate, and more. And then she left. More on that later.
The first semester was pretty much hell for me. I liked my classes and clubs, but hated the dorm life. It was loud, and dirty, and annoying. It seemed as though all anyone did on Friday and Saturday... and Tuesday and Thursday, for that matter, nights was pre-game (loudly) in their rooms, go out to skeezy bars, get ridiculously drunk, come back to the dorm, cry (loudly) in the hallway, throw-up in the bathroom, and pass out in their beds until 1 pm the next day. That was not how I wanted to spend my time; these were not people I wanted to spend my time with.
But eventually, I found my real friends, and made some great memories. My two best decisions were making an intramural volleyball team (adding to my cousins' jokes) and joining Literary Arts Society. For volleyball, I was having difficulty figuring out how to make a team, as I knew practically no one. But knowing that, out of the 1100 students in our class, there had to be 6 people who wanted to play volleyball once a week for half an hour, I started my search. I ended up finding some pretty cool people, and through those people, met more cool people.
As for Literary Arts Society, it's where I feel at home. With them, the hours pass by so quickly, and I never seem to care that I have a paper due the next morning at 8 am, or that I really need to be packing to leave the next day. We have our meeting, and then we just stay, and rant, and laugh, and give ourselves some down time with some awesome people.
Second semester was a lot better. Spring is my favorite time here, with people playing Frisbee and sunbathing on the green, going swimming at the pool, going to the water polo games, wearing tee-shirts and capris, looking forward to summer, etc. I'm going to be so sad to miss it next year, when I'll be abroad. More on that later.
So anyway, that was freshman year. It was a roller coaster of emotions... sometimes I felt like I was stuck, upside-down, at the peak of the highest coaster in the world, other times I felt like I was free-falling, the wind in my face, smiling widely.
The summer after freshman year, I had the opportunity to go to Peru with my High School. It was the trip of a lifetime, and I'll never forget the memories from that trip (I might even list them in detail later, to make sure I won't forget them).
And now, I'm back here again, 3 and a half semesters in my belt, four and a half to go. And then life begins. But I can't think about that now. I have reading due for tomorrow, an essay due for Friday, and I just spent an hour writing. And I don't regret it at all.