The End II

How can it possibly be the end again? And in some of the same ways as it was last time... I was not ready for this end, and don't want to write about it really, because maybe if I don't write about it, then it's not really the end.
So I'll just be off, with tear-stained eyes, to pack up my room, load up my car, and settle in for the night. Without him.

17 McMaster St.

I recently wrote this essay for my Nonfiction Workshop class.

Yellow with red shutters. 885-4953. Staircase railing so tempting to slide down. Two doors to each bedroom. A huge mirror next to the stairs. These are memories of my old house. It feels like I went through with a mental camera before we moved and took a picture of each part of the house. Why is it that certain images, and not others, are stuck in my head? Disjointed, random, sometimes meaningless – that is the form my memories usually come in. They are small snapshots of a time gone by, fragments of my life, arbitrarily cemented permanently in my mind.

***

The Porch

I learned to roller blade on the porch, with my big sister at my side. With my purple knee pads strapped on tight and my ankles wobbling with uncertainty I rolled myself along the railing, not willing to let go. Why should I? I was perfectly content with this pseudo version of roller blading that kept me on my feet… most of the time.

Pictures were always taken on the porch: first day of school pictures, with my sister and I standing near the stairs, about to embark on a new adventure, dressed to the tee. My lunchboxes changed over the years, from Barney, to Beauty and the Beast, each with a matching thermos inside.

My sister’s prom pictures were also taken on the porch, her with her arms slung around her boy of choice, with a face saying, “Mom… no more pictures!” We pretended to dread them, but it was all an act. Getting pictures back from being developed was, and still is, one of my favorite things. My memories are preserved for me; I don’t have to worry about losing them.

My Bedroom

My best friend since nursery school and I used to play “Pet Shop” in my bedroom. We bought and sold animals, and when they were sold, we chucked them out my doorway into the hall. One time, we drew a red mark under one of the bunnies’ eyes, an “unknown ailment,” and I thought for sure I was going to get into huge trouble. I don’t remember if I did.

The tree branches always scraped against my window, I swore that a witch was lurking in my doorway, and I was convinced that when the teenagers got done skateboarding across the street, they were going to come rob our house. Sometimes, during a nightmare, I would fall out of bed with a thud onto the floor and my mom would come running. I don’t move at all in my sleep anymore.

The Living Room

My dad always lies on the carpet in front of the T.V. head propped up on his elbow. and 45. He looks extremely uncomfortable, but he’d rather be there than on the couch. In our old house, the T.V. had no remote and only five channels – 6, 10, 13, 23, Some nights, while he was laying there watching Jeopardy, I would tie his hair into millions of little ponytails while trying to answer the questions with him. We would play with coins; whoever got a question right would get a certain amount of coins added to their pile. He pretended the ponytails bothered him, with their multicolored hair ties; inside, he loved it.

The “Wizard of Oz” is always on T.V. once a year. One year, my aunt, sister and I decided we were going to reenact it. I spent hours making a “yellow brick road” leading from the kitchen to the living room. I was so proud of it, so upset when people would mess it up. It just consisted of pieces of yellow legal pad, arranged into a path, but I treated it like a work of art. It was in the living room where I found out that my Great-Grandma Amy died. I remember that the call came through on the gray phone under the side table. I don’t remember who told me, or if I cried, or how I felt, but I remember that the phone was gray.

***

My mom’s walk-in closet, watching lightning storms from her window, the CD rack in my sister’s room, a mouse in the paper bag in the garbage can, antiques above the cabinets, the Christmas tree with apple ornaments in the greenhouse, the wooden swing in the backyard. My memories are a mile long; they may not be continuous, or important, but they’re mine – mine to hold onto. There really is no place like home.

Procrastination brings out the best in us

I am ashamed to see that it has been six months since I last blogged. I can't even begin to sum up everything that has happened in the past six months, so I am not even going to try. Glimpses include San Francisco, Florida, the fulfillment of very long-time-coming dreams, random reoccurring friends, lounging in the pool with Tonya, spending my days with a 5-year-old, going on my first date in over two years, making a new best guy friend because of a common goal of saving each other, torrential downpours, interesting article subjects, trips to Connecticut, a momentary revival of a flame thought long dead, Cold Stone, accusations, flower-picture-taking, working, living in Champagnat again (flashback central), walks by the river, Grease!, Avenue Q, Phantom of the Opera, Chicago, Texas, papers, poetry, kisses, snuggling, parties, Boston, Australia-planning, internship applications, newspaper and Mosaic editing, lack of sleep, and finally the feeling that college may be the best time of my life.
For the first time the other night, as I was surrounded by my literary friends in the Henry Hudson room, I thought, "I'm going to be sad to leave this place," and I never thought I would think those words. But now that I actually am leaving, in February for Australia, I am starting to get a pit in my stomach. I'm going to miss my friends, my coworkers, my fellow club members. I'm going to miss my house, and the river, and even that annoying noise the cross-walk light makes. I'm going to miss hot cocoa with the girls, Chinese food with Alex, and late nights putting together the Mosaic with Amanda. I'm going to miss losing every game of intramural volleyball with my dedicated team.
It is so strange that this place that was once so foreign, so daunting, so unwelcoming to me is now the place I am going to long for; it now holds the people that I care about so deeply, the memories that I can only hope to remember.
But now, an essay and a snuggling partner await me, so I will stop writing for tonight. I promise to write more later, and post some pictures (sometimes it helps to "say it outloud").

The End...

Turns out it's the end of many things this week... Some expected, some unexpected.
It's the end of classes, finals, essays, tests, sophomore year... but also the end of laughing with the girls, cooking dinners, hanging out on the balcony, trying to learn as much as possible.
It's also the end of my relationship with Steven. I wish I had some insightful things to say about it... but I'm too close to the heartache right now, and don't want to look back on this post and regret things I said. I know that I should just treasure the time we had and hope we can be friends in the future, but it's so hard... I know I shouldn't want someone who doesn't want me back, or someone that sometimes I don't even want, or someone that broke up with me three times now, but I find myself having a difficult time with the whole "not wanting him" thing...
But I'm going to San Francisco on Saturday, for an impromptu visit to my sister, and to Kelly, which I am so excited about. I get to escape, at least for a week, from the summer of living three doors down from my ex-boyfriend.

It's Crunch Time...

I had the crazy busiest week ever. So far, just this week, I have:
- preformed in a band concert
- seen Art in a pirate hat
- met an independent publisher poet
- worked at least 16 hours at Marist Poll
- solidified a perspective student's decision to go to Marist
- did two class presentations
- wrote 16 pages for papers for different classes
- watched a stupid Spike Lee movie
- got accepted to the Honors Conference
- had to tell the nicest teacher ever I was bailing on his Hawaii trip
- saw a Holocaust survivor speak
- talked to someone I hadn't talked to in a long time
- had crazy dreams
- played tennis
- watched Crash
- made lots of lists
- gotten the finished Mosaic back

And I have yet to:
- watch my housemates win MAACs for water polo
- go to Mark Twain's house
- watch the One Act Play Festival
- attend two BBQs
- work some more
- write some more papers

Oh college. I bet I'm going to look back on this post when I have grown up, and just go to work and come home every day, and wish I were doing all of these crazy things.
Only two more years of this kind of life... and then... who knows.

This sounds awful, but I think walk-a-thons are kind of stupid

It's true. I do. I understand the idea behind it, to raise awareness... but I think more awareness could be raised if, instead of walking around a track for 12 hours, which is what the Relay for Life, the American Cancer Society's, event consisted of, people walked door-to-door for 12 hours, collecting money from each house, and handing out a pamphlet with information about whichever disease they were trying to raise awareness about.
I'll admit that Relay was really nice, I had a lot of fun, and it made me reflect a little and realize how good my life is. When I saw the the bags, lit by candles, (called luminarias) all labeled with people's names who had or have cancer, on the border of the walkway, it really made me realize how lucky I am.
And when I heard that my friends had raised $100, $200, even $300, I wished that I had put more effort into raising money. But I have to believe, if I understood the idea of Relay more, I might have put more effort in.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with this post, but I just kind of wanted to get the idea out there that we think that walk-a-tons are a great way to raise money, but there may be other ways out there to raise even more money, and help to fight the awful monster we call cancer.

Memories and Senses

It's amazing to me how songs can evoke such emotion. Today, I was in the gym for open house (crazy that mine was exactly two years ago now) to play for band, and the Kenny Loggins CD was playing (Rainbow Connection, House at Pooh Corner) and I immediately was brought back to the times when my sister and I would sing those songs. I still have all of the lyrics memorized and still remember how I felt when we would sing them. I can still hear our voices singing them, a little off key, but it never mattered.
There are so many songs like this... "I Love Rock and Roll" and "You Shook Me All Night Long" bring me right back to high school dances.


If I hear any John Denver song, I'm immediately transported back to Sunday afternoons, with my dad playing guitar on the couch... he never really got all the words right, but to him, the words didn't matter all that much, it was the feeling he got from playing the songs of his hero.
Different songs bring me back to different seasons and times in my life. "Summer Girls", "Allstar", "Soak up the Sun" "SOS", and "Unwritten," have the ability to make me feel like the sun's beating down on my shoulders no matter when I hear them.


Backstreet Boys and N*Sync songs remind me of the good old days, when Sarah Todd and I thought it'd be a good idea to do one of their songs for the Talent Show... luckily someone discouraged us.
"Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays" brings me back to two memories now; the first: rocking out to it in the car before the Christmas dance when we all (except me) wore matching outfits; the second: this past Christmas, blasting it in the kitchen as my house mates and I made cookies for our A4 Holiday Party.


Any of the pep bands songs make me feel like I'm sitting on the bleachers, cheering on my favorites.



The same thing is also true with smells. For some reason, my Herbal Essences shampoo makes me think of Peru every time I use it, and I can't figure out why.


The smell of brownies makes me think of my mom, the smell of "just-showered-clean" makes me think of the mornings Steven would come over before school. If I get a certain whiff of something, I'm immediately brought back to Lindsay's house, Grandma Veet's house, the middle school cafeteria.

I wish my job could be something to do with memories... I'm a big fan of them... I just have to remember that if I'm too caught up in the past, I won't be making any memories in the present to reflect upon in the future...

Oof...

Steven was driving with his sister on the way to school the other morning. When he came up over a hill, he saw someone stopped at a stop sign, and then saw that person pull out, cutting him off. He braked, and everything would have been fine, but then the man stopped. In the middle of the road. Steven swerved to miss him and hit this tree. Hard.

He and his sister got out of the car, and Steven was complaining his back hurt. The man said he would go for help, and Steven told him it was okay, that he had his cell phone. But the man repeated himself, and left. And never came back.
A 60-year-old man left two teenagers on the side of the road, at 7:30 am, with their car in a tree.
What an upstanding citizen.
I don't understand how someone could do that. I would never be able to sleep at night knowing that I caused an accident and then didn't own up to it. I hate that there are people in the world that would do this. No, it's not murder, but it still really stinks.
On a more positive note, this video made me smile and tear up a little today.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4DTme1SZ10
It's nice to be reminded that there are good people in the world.

I'm Stuck

No time for a long post, but I came to the realization today that I'm stuck in 2006. Whenever someone says, "Oh that movie is from 2000," I think it was 5 or 6 years ago. It's over 8 years now... 8 years since Y2K, 7 years since 9/11 and Jocelynn's accident, 6 years since freshman year of high school and "To Kill a Mockingbird" with Mrs. O, 5 years since I started dating Nick and had Mr. Kirvin for Social Studies, 4 years since we met Mr. Fredericksen and squeaked through AP History, 3 years since NHS Lounge lunches, 2 years since I started dating Steven (4/29 will be our anniversary), and a year since I went to San Francisco for Spring Break to visit Julia.
Time is flying... and I'm stuck in 2006.

Independence

Well, it turned out not to be strep... which means it must be a "viral thing," or so they tell me... so I just took antibiotics that made me feel sicker since Thursday for nothing... gotta love Marist College Health Services...
Anyway, I was thinking today, that if nothing else, college as taught me how to be more independent. In high school, we couldn't go to the bathroom without bringing at least one of our friends along with us. But here, I'm perfectly comfortable going to things by myself. Usually, for me, it's random sporting events that no one wants to go to with me. For instance, the water polo game today.

That's Sam, one of my house mates. It was so much fun, and I realized at the end, that it hadn't even fazed me to go by myself. Two years ago, I probably wouldn't have gone, and if I had, I would have been self-conscious the whole time, worried that people were looking at me, thinking I didn't have any friends.
So I guess, along with the independence, came confidence. Something I thought I had a lot of, but turns out, I think I was only confident in my little Galway bubble. Outside of it, I kind of lost the ego, and along with it, the self-confidence. Which isn't always a bad thing, but I'm kind of glad I'm getting it back.

Strep

Nothing like bringing in the nice, warm spring weather with a case of strep throat... gotta love it... I wish I felt like writing, but I really don't...
Until I feel better,
Sickie

Last curtain call...

I miss being in plays more than anything. I miss it so much, I even miss the things I didn't like about plays-- the endless rehearsals where nothing seemed to get done, the frantic directors after dress rehearsal flopped, the nightmares the night before the first performance. I miss it all.
When I look back on the plays, I think they were the best part of my experience growing up. From "Oliver" in 2nd grade (with a solo in "Food, Glorious Food"), to "Fiddler on the Roof" (my first Galway Players experience), to "Bye, Bye Birdie" (my grand finale), I enjoyed every second of it. Okay... well that's a lie. There were definitely times I sat at Galway Players alone on a Sunday afternoon, wishing I were anywhere else but there in the auditorium, listening to Tilda clonk away on the keyboard (haha... clonk is a real word- no little red line under it) and having to dance with Indian men who didn't know their left from right, but for the most part, they were a blast.
I met so many people through the plays (the Cerny boys, Nick Schrader and Steven (my two favorite lighting boys), Matt Weaver, etc.) and got a lot closer to people during the plays (Kait, Tonya, Ashley, Lindsay, Dan R., Nate, Jayce, Ryan, Nicky V., Rike, Bradley Rooke, Charlie, Dan Clemens, Kara, Will S., etc.). Plays are just such a great opportunity for bonding because of the hundreds of hours of hard work you put into the show.

I still get a little teary-eyed when I go back to see a show, and realize I don't get to be backstage, having the last minute, "I definitely have to pee right now," feeling, or have the anxiety and then overwhelming relief of pulling it off when the curtain closes after curtain call and a cheer erupts from the cast backstage. I don't get to be up there, waiting behind the curtain, trying to sneak a peek at the crowd to see how full the auditorium is, to see if I can find my family. Ash and I don't get to be kick-ass chorus girls, saving a few numbers a show.


I'm not the one running backstage after curtain call to grab the flowers for the directors, the one rushing to the chorus room for a quick costume change, the one painting the backdrop, making the program, selling the tickets. I miss being backstage for the shakedown and helping the boys with their makeup. I don't get to know the inside jokes, or know when the mistakes that the audience never knows about happen (okay... so maybe I still know that...). I don't get to panic when someone is missing their cue, or messing up their lines, or not showing up on stage. I don't get to learn dances from Lisa, get fitted for a costume by Beth.

I don't get to have my hair done, pose for any pictures, get any flowers when it's over. I don't get to wait anxiously for the DVD to come back with the bloopers and laugh at the funny things we all did.
All I get to do is relive the memories of the best times of my life, and wish I could do it all over again.

Spring has... meandered in foggily?

Sprung would NOT be the word to describe how spring came in today. I'm going to use meandering... It was foggy and 66 degrees today, complete with a rainbow (which Maria and Michelle thought we were "April-Fooling" them about). It's 7:00 pm, and the sun is just setting. Nothing could make me happier than it staying light late. I can't wait for the days of laying in our backyard, sunbathing, listening to music and casually studying for finals (I'll miss Kelly trying to squeeze into my tube tops though...).
Spring is my favorite time here. This year, it's going to include going to the gym to go swimming, and lounging by the river often. I'm perfectly happy putting up with a few rainy days with that awful fishy smell, in hopes of them fading away soon to beautiful, sunny, 70 degree weather, and the smell of sunscreen and people cooking on their barbecues.

His curly locks are gone...

Before:

After:

I can't believe he really did it! But he did... his signature curly, crazy hair that I learned to love is gone... Even he can't get used to it, saying he when he catches his own reflection, he doesn't recognize it as himself! Craziness...
Nice shot from the weekend... I love home in small doses...

Procrastination

I'm having some major issues getting work done today. I literally have 12 hours until I need to be eating breakfast and heading off to class, and still have an unbelievable amount of work left to do. So I thought I'd write a post, so that there literally is nothing left for me to do except my two (big, mostly un-started) assignments due tomorrow, pack, and go to volleyball.
I had tennis class today and it was a lot of fun. But it also made me realize, I'm kind of a dork. I never really thought of myself as a dork before, but today, I felt extremely dorky. Maybe it was because of my outfit -- sneakers, knee braces, comfy blue pants from like 8th grade, a Marist long sleeve shirt with a $4 Old Navy fleece over it, and black gloves. Yea... I guess it was the outfit...
But other than feeling a bit dorky, it was so much fun to be outside, learning from an awesome teacher (who happens to be the Men's Varsity Tennis Team Head Coach), and being active for once. And then, pretty soon, I'll be headed off to volleyball to be active again today! This has got to be a record...
Enough procrastinating... I'm in serious danger of having to pull an all-nighter, go to an 8 am class, finish my work, pick up a prospective student at 11, take her to lunch, to my 12:30 class, my 2:00 class, and then head home, have dinner with the family, including Joce and Armani, and maybe Steven, and then go to the Galway HS play, Beauty and the Beast. That is way too busy a day to have after pulling an all-nighter...

Things I'd forgotten...

The other day in Readings in Journalism (that class seems to be a trend for blog-inspirations) we read a story called "American Man at Age 10" by Susan Orlean. She basically followed a typical 10 year old around for a while, and wrote about his life. Some of the things she wrote about, I had completely forgotten I had done/seen/heard. So I started to make a list.
Here it is (in no particular order):
I had forgotten about...
- having to put the chairs up at school at the end of the day
- computer lab games
- marble jars
- free homework passes
- Mrs. Koines' "oops" coupons
- diarammas
- sitting in "squads" in gym class
- counting at the water fountain
- paintings in the bathrooms
- the RTC room
- pulling a card
- wearing snow boots and snow pants on the bus; Ashley P., Sarah Todd and I all crammed into one seat
- missing the bus
- the mini-courses bus ride
- dancing for 1/2 a song with a boy
- Karilee teaching me about shaving my legs
- carpenter pants
- platform shoes
- Giga pets - cubbies
- spelling bees
- toe socks that I could never wear because of my weird toes
- beaded bracelets
- beanie babies - TGIF - Boy Meets World!
- Full House

- Furbies
- S-I-T on the R-U-G in Mrs. Griffin's class
- letter people in kindergarten
- playing with water babies with Lauren (and hiding them so we could get them first the next day)
- walking through the high school to get to band
- Halloween parades
- Pet Day
- my grandparents driving me to school
- Amelia Bedelia
- walking to school with Dan and Dave
- Jo-Jo teasing me about Dante
- Trix cereal
- my dad always saying "Home again, home again, jiggity jig" when we'd pull onto McMaster Street
- watching my sister's plays and bringing her flowers
- Malta's Magic
- warheads
- the swing in my old house's backyard
- the green house
- the skate boarders across the street that I always thought were going to break into my house
- having dreams about witches
- Doris and Warren next door at the old house- her giving us rhubarb
- the Cline's
- the upstairs bathroom tub and popping the little balls in the bowl (still not sure what they were, but I thought I was so badass for popping them)
- the scary laundry room
- playing Pet Shop with Lauren
- Junior Achievement
- Jocelynn filling up pools with balloons in them in the front yard for some holiday
- Alan's 40th Birthday Party- David wearing a grass skirt and bikini top
- Cathy Fragale who loved Lisa Frank
- Mrs. Tomeck dumping out Andrew Carpenter's entire desk onto the floor
- childhood books
- chicken pox
- how much braces sucked
- losing teeth
- Dr. Rulos's office- the rug, eye test, and Pedialyte under the tables
- my snowman

- Amanda Webb
- square dancing in gym, sweaty hands, hoping to be in a group with cute boys
- gymnastics
- making up dance routines
- Mrs. Riggins
- Mr. B on rollerskates
- Mad Minutes
- playing Jeopardy with my dad, keeping track of our points with coins
- lock downs
- Star Lab
- sitting boy-girl-boy-girl at the cafeteria tables when we got in trouble
- having to raise our hand to throw away food
- the Soc Hop
- Luke Bateholts popping bottle tops in the cafeteria
- Mrs. Druziak always yelling at me for eating in the hallway
- too-pink lipstick
- line leaders
- dipping my pinky in my mom's peppermint schnapps
- watching the Wizard of Oz with Jocelynn, making a yellow brick road for the living room
- Aunt Betsy
- church school excitement because of Garrett and Martin
- the playground
- running the mile
- Mrs. Weaver
- Sarah Todd and I getting in trouble on our first day
- blowing on the grass to make that whistling noise while watching the other kids play kickball
- indoor recess, found out by looking at the flag
- jumping over the light tile
- the "Sankowski kids"
- Mr. Brickner
- learning to light matches, and having the boys do it for me
- Ken Ponte
- being called chipmunk
- being teased about the gravestone with the last name Wheeler
- Mrs. Koines' couch
- THINK
- Karilee always eating my dunkaroos
- sitting every other seat in the auditorium in 8th grade for movies
- the giving tree assembly
- going to Dan and Dave's after school- Ben Hurtt trying to kiss me, his dad's name was Buddah
- Camp Chingachgook- everyone singing to Jayce and I for our birthdays
- Candi Ridge
- sitting on the edge of Grandpa's recliner
- the TV show "David the Gnome"
- Armani losing it when Grandpa died, him and Gianni leaving notes to him on his coffin
- Christmas Eve that year
- putting my dad's hair in tons of little pig tails
- sitting in Mrs. V's class when the news about 9/11 came through
- Mr. Joe
- Mr. Gray- calling us Simba, Nala, Wheels

The list could continue for ever. There are so many things I don't want to forget...

Memory

Today in my Readings in Journalism class, we read a piece called "Memory" about people with Alzheimer's disease, and it struck a cord close to home (is that a mix of two phrases? My brain is fried...). For the past few months, my family has been dealing with the process of my Grandma Wheeler losing her memory. On Monday, she was moved into an assisted living apartment. The only question I have is, where did my Dramma go?
Where is the Canasta playing, wise-cracking, sarcastic Grandma? Where is the Grandma who would tease me about my grades, how I hold my pencil, and my awful first eyebrow plucking experience?
She seems to be lost in her own mind, at times totally fine, and at other times asking my dad's gray-haired friend if he's in 11th grade or 12th grade now.
My parents aren't taking it too well. They don't seem to be able to grasp the idea that the woman who is sitting on that hospital bed, sneakers on, bags packed, ready to escape the place she's essentially been held captive in for over two weeks, is someone with a disease. A horrible disease that makes you forget your sister died, makes you forget where you live, makes you forget who just left the room.
It is someone who, before about a year ago, was completely in control of her life, completely independent, completely lucid. In her mind, she's not old, and her forgetfulness is nothing to be worried about. "Who doesn't forget things?" she always asks us.
While she's forgetting, I'm struggling to remember. I don't want to forget the times that I had with her, singing show tunes while playing double-solitaire, showing her endless pictures, projects, and papers from school, drinking the best milkshakes in the world.
I need to remember, because soon, I'll be the only one with those memories.

So much for writing everyday...

Dialup= not blog friendly. Therefore, as you can see, there are no posts from over break.
But I am going to make an effort to post everyday I'm at college. Break was amazing. My sister and I planned lots of surprises for my mom's birthday, and she loved it. Julia came home from San Francisco, and we had a surprise dinner for her with all of her sisters and friends (they "hid" behind their scarves so she wouldn't be able to tell who they were).

I had a great time with my friends, Steven and my family. Gianni turned into man in the month I've been gone. Look how much taller he is than me now... 9th grade next year.

It was an ideal week and 4 days, even though I wasn't laying in the sun, sunbathing somewhere. Although, my sister and I decided to start sleeping downstairs where it was warmer than 60 degrees (as opposed to in my room), and the one morning the sun was coming in right at my face, and I didn't even turn away (as my dad noticed) because it felt like I was on the beach.
I babysat for the Barrows, which was hysterical. Erin grew up so fast!
I'll write more when I have more time. Right now I have to go brush my teeth, have the nightly chat with Steven, and then get some work done... or upload pictures to Facebook, whichever one ends up winning over on my priority level...

Time for a break...

I finally get a break from my schedule-driven life. No more yellow boxes meaning free time, blue meaning class, green meaning other. For the next week and a half, there will just be boxes for friends, family, and sleeping... and of course doctor's appointments, work, driving to the airport to pick up a surprise, haircuts, and Easter! Then... it will be back to reality...

"Amy Stories"

"Oh no... this sounds like an "Amy story," one of my fellow LAS (Literary Arts Society)'ers said tonight. Apparently, my stories all seem to fall into a type... that type being the long rambling kind with random tidbits that have nothing to do with the point of the story, all leading up to an anti-climatic, not so funny final line. People usually laugh more at my attempts to get to the end of the story, than they do at the part that I find funny. At least I make them laugh I guess.
Maybe it's just because I find everything funny, which Jayce can attest to... I usually ended up being the only one laughing at every stupid thing he did. Maybe it's a nervous habit, but I find myself giggling at practically everything anyone says. Sometimes it's because I'm thinking in my head about what they said, or something that what they said made me think. Kinda of like what Tonya does, when she just starts cracking up, and can't stop laughing for long enough to tell us what was so funny.
I also have been dubbed an "interrupter" by LAS. I'm really bad at waiting for people to be done with their story before I jump in with whatever I'm thinking. I've decided it's a) because I know I'm not going to be able to remember what I was going to say by the end of their story because I feel like I have short-term memory lately and b) because if I don't say it, I'm just going to be thinking about it hard the whole time they're talking so I won't forget it by the time they're done. Either way, it means I'm a pretty bad listener, which is always something I thought I was good at. I'm an especially bad listener at LAS for some reason, not sure why, but I always seem to come out with the most random, occasionally awkward comments. Maybe it's because LAS is one of the only times during the week that I'm actually thinking on somewhat of a deeper level.
Thinking on a deeper level, like I should be right now, about my 8-10 page paper due Friday about "In Cold Blood" that I haven't started yet...

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.