it's hard to let the miles pass me by.

What a start to the week. My Monday consisted of severe sleeping in, bad high-fives, the exchange of "stuff," and my favorite movie cuddled up on the couch. A day that started in frowns and a dull, sleepy panic and ended in smiles. That's how Mondays, I think, should always be. I rarely have bad Mondays; this one was no exception, considering. Despite the stress of having to relive a painful moment of the past, it was good to see certain people, even if the feeling was not reciprocated.

I realize this subject has somewhat pervaded my posts of late, but I'm hoping you'll patiently bear with me. I always find it interesting to see how relationship dynamics change over time. How friendships fluctuate from tight-knit to distant to anywhere between those two extremes; how romantic relationships develop and drift apart. The culprit seems to be the very obvious: people change.

Well, that's true.

And yet here I find myself with these relationships that seem to have changed while I have not. It's strange. It makes things more difficult. Communication breaks down where once there was an open exchange of thoughts and feelings. Now is all assumptions and perception. And it starts me thinking that maybe people change as a result of the change of relationship. Maybe they begin to act differently for the simple fact that the definition of the relationship has been altered.

Maybe because of that, they feel obliged to apologize for awkwardness there which I was unaware existed.

But I have not changed. I am still the same person I was when I last saw you. I act no differently now than I did a month ago. My life outlook has not altered significantly. It is merely the definition of what we are that is different. So why must you keep me at arms length?

Which also begs the question of myself: Why exert so much effort into salvaging something that appears to be lost? I put myself out there and have made it clear I have no expectations beyond the reasonable and appropriate. So if nothing happens, it will not be because I haven't tried. I can at least be satisfied in that.

But moving on. No one really wants to read much of my passive agressive rants, which surprise even me.

There is much to look forward to: tomorrow, my weekend, February. After an evening off, Agnes of God rehearsals start again tomorrow night. I really look forward to them - it's just something about the very relaxed nature of the way they run. It's very collaborative, very open, very comfortable. And I'm working with two other incredibly talented actresses. I want February to come so this show can open and I can share it with all my friends. I'm sure I annoy them every time I come back from rehearsal and gush about how great it was.

I'm such an acting nerd.

But I'm in such a good mood. Everything right now feels like it should. There are some loose ends, but it's not my job to tie them up anymore. I'm happy. And while my happiness is never exclusively defined by having someone to cuddle with on the couch watching my favorite movie, it certainly doesn't hurt.

And with that, I should probably attempt to fight this insomnia and go to sleep. It would be bad to start my Tuesday oversleeping as well.

make your past your past.

I have been idle for so long that this sudden onset of activity has left me a bit tired and confused. In a satisfied way, most definitely. The past few days have been full of rehearsal, reading, work, and late nights with friends.

They've also been full of thought. So many things require consideration that I find it strange to fall asleep at night without any number of questions and answers fluttering around my head. They make for interesting dreams, let me tell you.

Agnes of God rehearsals have provided the most rewarding and thought-provoking of those hours in my day. There is so much heaviness in the script, I'm afraid that I won't be able to peel back the necessary layers of Agnes' character and my own emotions to get exactly what I want. I feel so awkward during readings, when I get to a line in the script that instructs me to cry. I don't want to fake it, but I haven't gotten to the point yet where I can feel those emotions acutely enough to create real tears. But my directors seem pleased with the progress, and I know I'm in good hands. And I have more than a month yet until the show goes up in front of an audience, so all I can hope is that in that time I can come up with a performance, a truth, that I can be personally satisfied with. There is so much soul-searching to be had, so much emotion and pain to be uncovered. I hope I'm ready.

The idleness of the past week has allowed me to live in the sheltered present. Oh, I've thought of the past and those people who inhabit it quite a bit. There's a comfortable distance there, between myself and them. I felt so safe. I thought I was ready to face anything.

But then the past came walking into class this afternoon and caused nervous knots to form in my stomach. Then the past hugged me after class ended and I felt so young and bumbling, unable to form coherent and unawkward conversation. Jarring. I forgot that sometimes the past comes back to meld with the present; it was a meeting I was preparing for, but found myself quite unready to face. Thank goodness I've moved from those initial moments of dread that I had felt in the aftermath of reconnection. Someone who knows me so well would not judge me for being so surprised.

And the thing is, my feelings about the past have remained unchanged since the past left me for faraway places. The past can stay at a friendly - if much closer - distance and the both of us will be better for it. Time has given me the gift of looking at the past with an objectivity and rational calm that I did not have before. The past can live in my present if it so wishes. But it can never be my present again.

Because I've moved on. I live in the present. And I look forward to the future without the past holding me back.

too cold for me.

I'm currently thawing in the warmth of a thick blanket. Snow can be a wonderful thing, except that it's cold. And wet. Tonight in the snow was pure bliss: sledding down the hill in a plastic tub, trekking through inches of untouched snow on the quad, the way blizzards look in the light of a street lamp, snow angels, and the raucous company of friends who haven't been together in weeks.

Today, I've experienced a variety of emotions. Sadness, happiness, excitement, thoughtfulness. It happens when all of my friends are gathered in one place after weeks of absence. There is a certain honesty we share when we meet back up. We're willing to be more open, to assure people that the brief absence hasn't changed us, whether or not the circumstances of our lives have changed in that same time. I love it. It's probably the time I feel I know my friends the best.

And tomorrow, we'll have even more time to share and celebrate. Monday classes at Oglethorpe are cancelled. Snowed in for an entire day. You must know what that means...

oh damage, sweet damage.

I've been meaning to post for days, but I haven't really found the words. This post has gone through various incarnations and titles. I've gone through different moods and have finally settled into one far more somber and sad than I'd originally started with.

All I can say is that sitting on my bed here in my room, I have never felt more isolated from my Oglethorpe family. Loneliness is not even the word to describe it. What I feel is more like grief, mixed with a sort of panicked apprehension for Sunday, the day I'm supposed to return home to my family, my Oglethorpe family.

The reason I feel this way is because a member of my family will not be there when I return. Erik Downes is gone, a fact I'm still having trouble coming to grips with but which still makes tears come to my eyes when I think of it. My friend is gone. I will no longer be able to greet him every day when I pass him on campus. I will no longer be able to sit through Senate meetings and share a grimace or a roll of the eyes with him when someone says something incredibly obvious or stupid. And I will no longer be able to admire his level-headedness, his work ethic, his drive, or his kindness in the present tense.

The worst thing about death is that it forces us to add an -ed to the actions of those people who make a lasting impact on our lives.

I honestly wish I could write something much more eloquent than this, but it seems I cannot.

All I can say is this: Erik, you will be missed in such a way that words cannot begin to express. Rest in peace, friend.

it's a brand new year.

To start of 2011, I am exhausted. In a good way. I ventured back to Atlanta for New Year's Eve despite my original plans changing significantly (i.e. being taken to being single). Shared some quality time in McDonald's with Ashleigh, then I went to ring in the new year at Eric's house party with some new and old friends. Highlights included watching the documentary American Pimp and the mini-bonfire on the back porch, and of course a champagne toast. I ended up crashing on my big sister Brit's living room futon a little after midnight, but one of her housemates, Blaik, ended up having a couple of mutual friends over in their basement, and I was continually woken up by friends saying hi and asking me how I'm doing in the aftermath.

And the truth is, in the aftermath, I feel great. I know my policy with this blog is to be intentionally vague about the state of things in my life. But the thing is, break-ups happen to everyone. Good things sometimes come to an end for inexplicable reasons.

Maybe it's just my persistent optimism playing tricks on my emotions, but I actually feel happy. That's how the new year should always begin, I think. Sure, there are leftover frustrations; it comes with the transition process into friendship. But time will iron those things out, I'm certain.

For now though, I have an entire week to get through before I can go home to Oglethorpe and settle back into a new, busy schedule with all of my lovely friends around me. I'll make it through somehow...