i set fire to the rain

The boy has been playing that Adele song repeatedly for the last two days, and it's been such a gloomy day today with all the rain and cold hovering outside that it just seems appropriate. It's been the strangest week for me - I find myself stressed and burdened with the knowledge of problems I cannot fix.

But February is almost over. That is some solace at least. March always promises to bring good news, or at least a brighter aspect to my life in relief from the persistent sadness that pervades February's character.

I'm writing again. I've been very inconsistent the past year, and have neglected my journal and this blog - which I do often. But the fact that many of my friends have taken up their own blogs has inspired me to return here to see if I can make sense of what direction I would like to take from this point on. An old friend told me a while ago they enjoyed seeing my own writing here, which I'm still somewhat shy about because of that nagging self-consciousness that nothing I write is really worth reading. But a creative writing class I took last semester definitely helped develop my confidence, so perhaps I will post a little more often. And I would like to discuss the books I read, though not necessarily in a formalized book review sort of way. I just like good writing, and would like to share those passages I come across that I find particularly compelling.

Currently, I've been reading Margaret Atwood's Blind Assassin off and on since the new semester began. During Christmas break I was able to read a lot of books within a short period of time, but I really do like to allow myself time to digest Margaret Atwood fully, and so I find myself trying to fit in a chapter or two between the mountain of reading and work I have for school. I came across a paragraph or two that really seemed poignant to me, but I don't want to overwhelm myself in ambitiousness with this first post back and will share and discuss it in the future.

Besides reading, I'm scrambling to figure out my future. This time next year I will be a college graduate, which is both exciting and terrifying. I'm attempting to ignore that for now, though. The summer is what is proving to be an obstacle. So far, I've applied for four different internships at publishing companies in Nashville and New York, and am contemplating applying to three separate internships with PR firms in Atlanta. I haven't heard back from any of them given that it is so early in the year, but I'm still waiting in eager anticipation until the end of March. Wish me luck, amigos.

I suppose that is enough to inundate you with for the time being. Until next time (there will be a next time, promise).

and so i tell myself that i'll be strong

Disappointments.

I've had a couple of those lately. People have disappointed me. I've disappointed other people. I've disappointed myself.

It's been a strange couple of months for me. And while that is no excuse, it's true. I still don't think I've quite recovered from February. You know when people talk about digging a hole you can't get out of? I think February did it for me; it dug an emotional hole that I can't seem to crawl completely out of even now. And it's one of those things that seems to have affected other aspects of my life. Bad things happen. And I'm usually one to get over them. But sometimes, I think, blows like the ones February dealt me can manifest as something unexpected. I feel somewhat shut down. In March and April I felt like I was constantly overcoming some unknown distance between people and school and while it got better, I think I could have done more. And in not doing more, I think I suffered disappointment. I let someone down; I didn't live up to their expectations. I didn't do. And that's not who I am. Now I have to suffer the consequences and lose something that I once took a lot of pride in having.

I'm disappointed in myself. But I guess it's something I'll have to accept.

And it's not just myself that's disappointed me. Other people have too.

I remember writing a post a while back where I expounded on how a change in the nature of a relationship inexplicably changed the way someone behaved. It was a perplexing thing to me. I understand that things change, I never question that. But unless something really significant happened to change things, I don't understand why communication between two people has to completely break down into passive-aggressiveness, sporadic meaningless conversation, and the occasional emotional outburst that yields real talk. Maybe I just need to learn not to hope so much on other people? I don't want to do that, but perhaps it's time for me to really accept that not everything works out the way I would like it to. People can't be controlled, people won't always act as they should. And yes, changing the intimacy of a relationship invariably changes the way people treat each other. I wish this was not the case. However, I know that the way a person treats their friends should not be inconsistent from one person to another. If I did nothing to deserve rudeness, I feel like I shouldn't receive it. My patience can only last so long when taken advantage of.

One specific incident spurred that last rant, but it's a frustration of mine that can be universally applied to every lost friendship I've ever had. It's a disappointing thing.


Last night's exercise in breaking free of writer's block seems to have worked. Also, it's an overcast day and my hopes of spending Sunday in the park were dashed by cold weather. And gloomy days tend to my affect my mood to the point where I cannot be content unless I'm listening to sad music and doing nothing with my day. Maybe it's stir-craziness; I just have to make it through the week, and then I will once more be reunited with my Ogle-family for the summer.

Also, a new haircut is in the future. Something different. I'm nervous and excited at the same time. So my life is not all disappointments and bad moods. It just always seems to be pertinent to talk about on the blog. I'll do better, I promise.

tremble little lion man

I know I've been absent. Many apologies; life has been rather overwhelming these past two months. And now, I'm almost at the end of my fourth semester of college. Just one exam and two more papers to get through and it will officially be summer.

As of the moment, I'm watching Dexter and packing up my life into boxes. I've made a goal for myself that when I move back into the dorms come August, I will only have one car load of stuff...we'll see how well that goes. I'm currently transferring half of it into the apartment I'm sharing with a friend this summer - I'm living in it for another friend who won't be back until August, so it seems weird to me to completely take over what in my mind is not my personal space. It's strange, lying in a bed that's not mine looking at walls covered in Lady Gaga posters. Not that I'm complaining in the least; it's a nice apartment in a convenient location. Plus, being able to do my laundry at no cost is a relief.

Even once I finish up with academia, I really have less than a week to rest before my internship with Peachtree Publishers begins. I'm working as an editorial intern, and I'm really excited and nervous. This is potentially what I will be doing for the rest of my life. I've always been someone who likes to plan for the future, but this is daunting.

I'm halfway done with college and preparing for what will happen after. Ohmygoodness. I don't think I'm ready.

i love the view from up here.

“We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.” - Dr. Seuss

I find that quote especially applicable to life right now. February is finally over, and I have high hopes for March.

It's just that first I must re-assimilate back into life. Agnes of God is finally over, and I'm only now realizing how much of myself I put into it. I'm proud of my performance, but in the aftermath I find myself a bit exhausted and a little distant from my friends. It's weird how life goes on in my absence; it's given me so many surprises. I was vain and just assumed that everyone would wait for me until I came back, but I'm realizing now that's not the case and that I, obviously, am not the center of everyone's world. Not that I really believed that, but it's been an odd week. I miss everyone, and I hope the adjustment won't be too painful.

Writing is coming easier.

whatever happened to saturday night?

Last night was opening night.

Wow is all I can say. The support and love myself and the other cast members have gotten is just overwhelming.

I'm just sad it's almost over. Two more shows and then never again.

But for tonight, I can only hope to do even better and hope people walk away from the show with a deep appreciation for what theatre is capable of doing.

i'm always in this twilight, ruminating.

The worst is over. Thank God. I can breathe again.

Well, not really. I have a cold and therefore can only breathe through one nostril.

But now that the day has passed, I feel like I can return to normal again. The year mark was supposed to be the milestone. It's supposed to be easier from now on, right? Time slowly heals all things. But I also feel like time pulls us away and makes us forget. I don't want to forget.

I suppose that's why I write. I go back to my old journals sitting in my closet often to see if I discover anything new. And I can remember the moment I wrote each poem, each bit of prose, each story. I remember exactly what I was thinking, exactly what I was feeling consciously and unconsciously when I put the pen to paper. I don't forget things easily. Maybe it's because I write so much. I can never truly let anything go. All my memories are immortalized in ink, and I prefer it that way. Writing shows me who I was, who I am, and sometimes even glimpses into who I will be. I don't think a lot of people have that.

I mean, I know that our memories aren't often completely truthful, that we reflect back on the past with bias and edit ourselves. And while writing in the moment or about a moment also brings with it my emotional biases, I like to think I have an accurate record of my life that I can refer to. I like that.

Which is why it frustrates me that I haven't been able to write. I'm afraid if I don't write I won't remember this brief period of my life, which I feel is rather important for me to remember. Everything is important for me to remember.

Even the mundane things.

Even the moments that cause me pain.

it's empty in the valley of your heart

A year ago today, the world lost Clinton Taylor. I miss him dearly. I know everyone he knew feels the same pain I'm feeling. Last night I looked at the clock; it said the time was 12:54 and I started to cry because I realized it was the 15th of February.

But really, I greatly dislike this month. I want it to be over.

sing a sad song in a lonely world.

I'm exhausted. Just exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. All over. My head hurts. My body aches. And it takes all my energy to really smile.

Erik's memorial service this morning was inspiring. I'm envious of his positive outlook on both life and death. I wish I could view them the same way, all calm and collected. It was an honor to be able to sing in his memory.

I just wish that uplifted feeling carried over to my evening.

I drove home this afternoon in order to attend Richard's funeral service tomorrow morning. The family gathered to watch the Super Bowl at Aunt Gerry and Richard's house, and while it was nice to them gathered in one place again, I was completely unprepared to handle it. Gerry started crying as I walked in the door because she was so thankful I was there, and the rest of the night she called me Miss Agnes. I spent the rest of the night gathered around the dining room table listening to and sharing stories about my Uncle Richard, which was really nice and comforting until we started reading through the notes Richard wrote while on a ventilator in the hospital...

I've always thought myself to be a strong person, but this has been really trying. I just want some closure.

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...

my own personal waterloo.

I can't sleep. What a surprise. I'm lingering in the early hours of the morning before my final exam of the semester. My alarm clock is blinking 10:40 at me, which is wrong, because I haven't bothered to reset it since the power went out last. I have (mostly clean) clothes strewn about the floor that I haven't picked up and sorted yet from Thanksgiving break. It seems almost pointless to do anything about them now; they'll just end up stuffed in a bag for home on Friday.

Weird. I don't want this semester to end. I don't want to go home. If I could just opt out of Winter Break and stay cuddled up in my bed in Atlanta for a month, I would. Even if no one else was around. I could read and write all day. I miss being able to do that regularly. I haven't written a word since November, and I haven't touched my journal since before then. It's so strange developing a personality away from an object that seems to have been one of my defining characteristics for so long. It brings up some interesting questions as to why that is, but I'm not sure that's a question I want to answer. Maybe it was a security thing, something to keep myself hidden away in at one point that I really have no need for anymore.

But having to go home for the break brings up all my old awkwardness and irritates those long-held insecurities that I don't really fit in. I don't really want to be reminded of high school; I left it behind for a reason. And it doesn't necessarily help that those who I once considered close friends seem to have all but forgotten me. While I say it doesn't really bother me, at some unconscious level it does.

But then again, maybe the break will be a good thing. It's a chance to alleviate tension, for one thing. There's been a lot of it building up for a while now that I think would be good to get away from. It's like a balloon ready to pop. If I leave it alone for long enough, perhaps it will deflate on its own. Plus, some people I'd lost touch with recently resurfaced for a get-together, so maybe that will be a good thing. We'll see; I remain wary.

I think I have grown into this dislike of breaks since coming to college. For me, Oglethorpe contains my second family; I don't like being away from them for so long, especially when I feel like the only thing waiting for me at home is loneliness and a long marathon of my favorite Disney movies. Thinking positively though, alone time is always a necessity, and who doesn't love Disney movies?

Perhaps this break could be spent productively, minimizing all the clutter (literally and figuratively) in my life and getting it organized. I could learn to be less over-analytical, a nasty habit that often sends me spiralling violently back into those somewhat comfortable high school girl insecurities. I could finally finish the books I've been reading in short spurts for the past few months. I could get back into the habit of writing regularly; I could actually finish something for once instead of starting something and leaving it. I could learn to sew - that skill always comes in handy.

But I guess I'm really just anxious for the break to be over, if I'm going to be honest. Next semester promises to be full of both Shakespeare and Jane Austen with my two favorite professors. Being employed as a Writing Center Tutor again is also exciting; it's so nice to get paid for a job I love. Also, next semester is when I commence my search for an internship - wish me luck in that respect, it's rather daunting. Theatre-wise, once the semester starts up, I jump right in to what I think will be a very challenging but very rewarding role in Agnes of God, and I'm collaborating on a production of The Vagina Monologues to go up in March.

Perhaps I should just focus on the present. My ambition and excitement for the future won't help the issues I'm facing at the moment. I should focus on getting through this last exam tomorrow afternoon and keeping all the conflicting philosophies of Aristotle and Hobbes and Locke and Rousseau and St. Augustine in order.

Oh well, this is what I get for going to a liberal arts school. Silly me.

summer days drifting away

If you were expecting frequent updates from me this summer, I'm afraid I must apologize once again. It seems I always promise more but never deliver. For those empty promises, I am sorry.

Hehe, I feel like the president...empty promises.

But let's not get political, shall we?

I suppose I could give reasons, justify why I have been so oft neglectful. But I suppose the most relevant one would be that I've just been so happy these past few months. Once I returned to the Oglethorpe campus, everything just happened. I had the opportunity to see so many school friends, make a lot of new friends working for summerstock theatre, and got caught up in a whirlwind romance that has just left me so content. And at the risk of sounding like that pensive, sad writer I claimed I was not a few posts ago, there hasn't been so much to write about.

This kind of happiness is something I don't really like to use my pen for. I suppose that for me, it becomes redundant after a while (although, I believe you could argue that all emotions become redundant if you constantly write about them) and what I write out of happiness isn't as personally compelling.

Does that sound weird? I hope it doesn't.

The summer is ending. I have less than one week until Joscelyn and Zach drive through Birmingham on their epic cross-country road trip from Los Angeles, which signals to me to pack up my car and hit I-20 once more for the beginning of the school year. I'm 19. I'm going to be a sophomore in college. And for some reason, those two facts seem totally disparate - 19 seems so young. Being a sophomore in college makes me feel old. I suppose my goal this year is to reconcile those two things.

But so many things are beginning. And I like having an idea of what the future holds for me. I am excited for classes to start. I'm ready for all of my friends to congregate in the same place once more. I'm excited to perform on stage. I'm excited for all the new people I'm going to meet and the new friends I'm going to bring into my life.

And I'm excited to cultivate that one special relationship that has given me such joy these past few months. That's probably the thing I look forward to the most.

is pensive a state of mind? or is it more of a mood?

There was a lot of rain today. And I believe it is a commonly accepted thought that rain is generally a cleansing thing. But there was so much of it that it was difficult to think of it as anything more than oppressive. But now I’m sitting here in the living room feeling a lot better.

If we were going according to the five stages of grief, I suppose I have finally reached acceptance. Things end, and though in life nothing is certain, I’ve learned that I cannot put too much hope in that fact. Eventually, I must part ways with my girlish wishful thinking and my naive desire for all things to be perfect. Not that any of it is bad, I just can’t presume to be able to effectively face the realities of life with such an outlook. It seems I must strike a balance, for I find being bitter and cynical doesn’t quite suit me either - I’m perceived to be much too small and dainty to be jaded and brooding. But I think it would be healthier for me to be a realistic optimist; you know, hope for the best and not break down when things don’t work out the way I want them to.

Hmm…it sounds eerily similar to something I’ve said earlier in this blog. I’m sure it has something to do with my New Year’s Resolutions.

I should review those more often or I’ll just end up looking silly.

As if I haven’t done that already.

But as I was saying: acceptance. And rain. I don’t really know what they have to do with each other, but one seems to have brought me to the other. I think I can finally tell myself I’m okay. I think I finally mean it. And I think I finally no longer have to rely on someone else to reinforce it.

And that, I know, is improvement.

may 19, 2010

Forgive the lack of creativity with a title. I’ve been in recovery mode for the past week and a half.

It’s a natural process, time taken at the start of the summer to just…recover. From everything. I guess I never noticed it before, this obligatory period of recuperation – perhaps this is because this time a lot of things seem to have piled up in my mind that I subconsciously stowed away for this very moment to sift through. A lot of things have happened since I last thought to update.

But I’m going to have to leave you in the dark about the exact nature of these things. Essentially, they are in the past and don’t particularly matter anymore. I shouldn’t waste my energy explaining the details and then getting myself worked up again. I’m exhausted enough.

But the good thing about recovering is that I’ve written a lot more. Not only have I been neglectful to the blog, but my poor journal has had to suffer through almost three months of empty pages. That is my fault. I got caught up in other things and lost focus on improving my writing and getting my ideas on paper.

And I come back here wondering what my intent was in the first place, starting a blog. I believe it was to share my college experiences. I realize I did very little of that. I tried, but there is something very stilted, very awkward, about reliving events for others in the form of written word. I feel strange sharing details of my personal life in this medium…I feel exposed. I feel like I should have been writing letters from camp, explaining all the things I’m doing and the people I’m meeting and how much fun I’m having and so on and so forth. It feels somewhat forced and disingenuine.That’s not what it should be to me. And I realize that I would do better if I wrote more about my reactions to people and events and the things I see and read. I think that would be more suited to my style.

And so I start with a random bit of prose from my journal today that sums up how this week and a half has been for me:

She covered herself with night and drifted through the house on soundless feet. She went through all the rooms and in the dark her presence echoed against the floor and the walls and the ceilings as if they were all blank and empty. She danced naked in front of the windows and no one stopped to watch her because they were all asleep and thinking of nothing. She talked to someone who wasn’t there in the sitting room where all sorts of formal conversations took place, saying things she never said aloud before. She pulled the sheets from her bed and stalked the shadows in makeshift garb, a pretty young thing whose veneer of strong calm had cracked and who was afraid to she she could be anything less than composed. She hid away her memories in a box and burned them in the bathtub and washed the ashes down the drain. She collapsed on the stairs and sobbed for an uncountable number of minutes and the house in shades of blue wept with her. And when the sun came up she stood in the kitchen with a smile on her face.

Recovery can be difficult sometimes. But I think part of it may be because I feel so out of place back at home. I’m not surrounded all the time with the people I’ve come to consider my second family, who all know me and can help me in recovering in a way my friends from back home and my family cannot. But having to go it alone makes me stronger, I hope. It makes me realize that I don’t always have to rely on other people to get me through tough times. And in a way, hitting the publish button at the end of this and sending myself out into the internet world is helpful.

And when I go back to Atlanta and bury myself in class and books and what remains of my second family, the recovery process will end.

Hehe, I just turned up the volume on my computer and R.E.M.’s “Everybody Hurts” was playing. How appropriate, no?

Expect more frequent updates, those whose tone will hopefully be of a happier nature. I hate for you all to think I’m some sad, overly pensive writer. Because while at times I am, that’s not the person I generally strive to be.

please don’t drown me in holy water

It’s Friday. The week – and the month of February – is coming to an end. I must apologize for the lack of updates. Admittedly, this has been the most stressful of my months here at Oglethorpe, but I think I’ve managed to survive.

Least important of these is the break-up and subsequent make-up of my relationship with my boyfriend. I don’t want to go into it really, but I will just say that it takes a little time apart to realize what you really feel for someone. I hate talking about things like this – it makes me feel so awkward and sentimental.

So moving on.

I’m sick. I blame this on exhaustion and a compromised immune system. After House of Blue Leaves ended I took up work on Complete Works of William Shakespeare [Abridged] and have barely had any sleep. I’m definitely overworking myself and I need a break. Thankfully, Complete Works is finishing up this weekend and I can rest.

But I guess the most traumatic thing to happen this month was the death of my close friend Clinton. Dealing with that was incredibly difficult, especially being so far away from home. But I was at least able to go to the funeral, which was a very beautiful tribute to him. From it I took away a resolve to be more faithful and loyal to those that I care about. Hopefully I can stick to it, for him.

I think the best thing about all of it was how I truly experienced the community of Oglethorpe. Of course my friends helped me through it, but even people I didn’t really know that well would come up to me and offer their support. And the wonderful thing is, they truly meant it. That’s what I love about my school. The people here are truly thoughtful and genuine. And you never have to be alone.

…

But I look forward to March. I look forward to my weekend. I was a hermit this week, working studiously on papers and French work, and (ashamedly) abandoned my friends to spend time with the boyfriend. This weekend will make up for it. Already, it has involved a trip to Waffle House and finger painting (which predictably devolved into face painting). Tonight: the Complete Works cast party. Saturday night: Chi Phi’s belated Mardi Gras party.

Geez - looking at that, I sound like a regular party animal. Maybe I am. But I’m having responsible fun. You can’t blame me for that.

breaking through the funk in the morrison hotel.

I’m enjoying this Monday. I’ll attribute it to the fact that it’s warm and sunny today and not simply to the fact that I have no class after 1:30. After my weekend, I feel I deserve a chance to enjoy listening to The Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues” while cleaning up my room and sorting laundry.

Not that my weekend was particularly bad. Friday and Saturday I helped out with Oglethorpe’s Scholarship Weekend, so I met a lot of prospective freshman. And while it was very fun, it gets exhausting having the same conversation with twenty different people. Then my Sunday was just one of those days where I woke up in a funk I just couldn’t get out of. Play therapy with adorable puppies at the pet store and picnicking on Jessica’s floor with Chinese take-out were the highlights of a rather miserable rainy day though. I’m so thankful for my friends. All of them.

The song is now “Land Ho!” and I’ve transferred my first load to the dryer. I’m now going to take a moment to reflect on the fact that it now takes me $1.50 to do one load of laundry instead of the $1.00 it took a few months ago.

Moment’s over. The song now is “Queen of the Highway.”

I should probably take some time out to read. For tomorrow’s classes I: have to finish Remains of the Day, have to read chapters out of Don Quixote, and have to make myself familiar with various tools used in stagecraft. But instead, I’m blogging and looking up the lyrics to David Gray’s “This Year’s Love,” which quite accurately reflect my romantic situation at the moment.

Which is another explanation to my Sunday funk. But I don’t really want to go into that. I don’t do well with bad moods.

Maybe I should grab my journal and venture out onto the quad and plop myself into one of the big adirondacks and just write. I’ve been neglectful recently. Shame on me for slagging on one of my New Year’s Resolutions. And it’s so pretty outside too.

Once “Maggie M’Gill” is over, I’ll do just that.

After I transfer my last load over to the dryer.

and so it begins.

A new year. A new semester. Like a stack of presents waiting to be opened. There’s something so overwhelming about it; I have the need to take my time unwrapping and savor each moment. That I’ve arrived back at Oglethorpe and seen most of my friends and sat through my French class hasn’t completely sunk in. Maybe I’m waiting for things to be set in motion.

That must be it.

I am so glad to be back here, back at home. It is home. Even my parents recognize that. I’ve learned to stop correcting myself, clarifying that Oglethorpe and home are the same thing, because it seems as if everyone already knows and understands. I suppose that’s what college does to you. And now that I’m here, everything seems to be falling into position. Nothing seems to have really changed significantly about this place and these people I left a month ago (with the exception of the snow on the ground and the ice on the sidewalks).

It’s as if I’m just picking up exactly where I left off – I’m waiting to see if that will end up being a good thing or not. There’s still that idea of the clean state at the beginning of a new year, starting fresh with people; no expectations still lingering from the last time you saw them. I think that seems like the best attitude to take, don’t you think? I’ll try it and see how it works out. It could be my official New Year’s Resolution, since I really never got around to making one.

And while I’m at it, I’ll make some more:

I resolve to write more. I attempted to do that during my month-long break, but it only happened sporadically. I know I shouldn’t force it, but getting into the habit is better than coming back to my journal every few days or so. And maybe updating the blog will help.

I resolve to read more. I brought two bags of books back with me. Makes sense that I should get through some of them before the semester ends.

And, I resolve to be more patient. Things won’t always work out the way I would like them to, so why fight it?

 

That’s all I have for the moment. Lunch is calling. But really, what more could I add?