There is Snow Flying

Two Things.


One: I've become addicted to string cheese.

Two: I haven't written about Belize yet. I haven't fully described Belize yet. It's tricky and I feel really really sad and nostalgic every time I try to start that entry. Maybe if you're curious you should just ask and we can both hope the right words come out.

I am seriously considering taking a leave of absence for fall term next year, and moving to New Zealand this June. I think I need it.

When I say considering, I mean I'm taking the steps to get the money/sell my parents on the idea. If it doesn't work out though...camp counselor for summer? Working at Bjorklunden?(LU's 400acre estate on lake Michigan)


Another thing I know for sure is happening, is my trip to Belize. I'm going, the tickets are purchased. There are 9 of us total, doing a project out in the bush. It'll be so much fun, so much reggae, so many bug bites. I can't wait. And we're going to spend a day on one of the Cayes off the coast. Caye Caulker. It's a mile long island in the barrier reef, and I have found a way to rent a sailboat(s) and I am going to sail the barrier reef. Holy God I've only been dreaming of doing that, if only for an hour, since I was about 12 years old, and I cannot even fathom that it is going to happen.



Also, how would guys feel if a month from now I got dreads?

Last week I wrote for the first time in a year. Real writing, for other people to read and hear. I wrote and it felt honest, and good, and I didn't feel foreign in my own skin doing it. I felt like myself.

What strikes me, is that what I was writing was a speech for the memorial service of a friend who passed. The woman who got me writing in the first place actually.

Observe the irony, please.

And now I'm working on a story, something I haven't done since the summer before college. For whatever reason, I'm re-connecting with what writing is and why I do it. I'm re-discovering why I ever wrote at all and why I simply have to start again, even if it's hard. I never thought I would be in a place where writing is hard. And the longer you don't, the harder it gets. The harder is gets, the less you write.


see a cycle anyone?

But I'm doing it. Slowly. Each paragraph feels like a deep breath at the doctor's office, and Julie's memory is a cold stethescope on my back, observing the motions, the ins and outs.

Is it sounding alright Julie? Am I breathing again?

Let's talk about how I auditioned for, and got into, the Vagina Monologues.


Interesting.

The costumer asks if I'd worn womens clothes before.

I snickered.

Then she asked for photos. EEP.

I don't have any...do you?

.

Why is "zorz" a suffix?

My staff is pretty amazing. It's brand new friends off the bat/ getting closer to friends I already had. And we work well together.

And I think they're all attractive. I mean, come on, look at them. The hottest staff on campus.



More on this when I'm a little less giddy and can be a decent writer.

Off the Buras, yo. Finally.

Home=Yes for real now that I'm back from NY. Hit up the cell bitches.

Home=Yes

It is early in the morning, and in a couple of hours I will be sitting the two final exams that will end my first year of college.

This is not as momentuous and poignant a moment as I am sometimes tempted to make it out to be, because hey, I'm dramatic. But it is a moment worth thinking about, worth examining.

Sometimes I cannot decide if the year has treated me well. We have all learned the nasty lesson at some point in our lives, that sometimes the world is just gratuitous. This year really rammed that lesson home though.

On the other hand, in the long run, that's good for me. What doesn't kill you...right?

But mostly I'm thinking about friends right now.

Real friends.

My birthday passed without any fanfare or streamers. Most of my friends here didn't know it was my birthday. That was fine with me. I mean it. I've never made a big deal about my birthday. Because real friends are glad that you were born. They're glad everyday that you are here in the world. And you can feel it. And you know it. You know it every time that you're around them. And so you don't need to hear it. Because there's love.

I've made some real friends this year.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that I'm going to miss them.

Hey. Why not?

I would like my tattoo now please.

Alright. Well. I wasn't fucking kidding. I uh.. alot of campus has now seen me very naked, though I'm very drubnk as well and few have seemed to notice thaat.

Uh...

I think I might go back out to the parties, seeing as I'm in some girl's amaizing tights andI have NOR idea HOW i got into them. Uh...let's sseee uh.but they're auqua and they look really good on me....well...they look goodf on me to one particularly interesting individual...uhl.....uh....FUCK ...uh...

let's see..um. update tomrrow? Maybe? We'll see.

I can't help feeling guilty for liking my single. Don't get me wrong, if I could choose between having a double single, and being Tom's roommate, I would pick being Tom's roommate without hesitation. If I weren't being an RLA next year I would be his roommate again.

But there are some nice things about a single. That's all I'm saying. There are some nice things about a single.

Also, my parents came to the show, and my dad had grown a beard. He had never done that in my lifetime, and it was scraggly and grey and he looked older and I was just struck with this sudden...indescrible feeling...about my parents age. Just sharing.

Also, I was just thinking about how the year is almost over. I was just thinking about how I would describe my first year of college. I'm not sure how I would do it. BUT this I will say.

I have endured the most unbearably embarrasing moments of my life in the 8 months I've spent here, and I feel very lucky that they are also-for the most part-the moments I look back on with the most amusement, and sentimentality.


With notable exceptions.

ahem.


Well that's that.

Oh, and my show ends tomorrow and that makes me sad because I think it's really good and I love it a lot and I like my uniform and my character and the cast and crew and my director and the SET and lights and props and I WANT TO MAKE A LIVING WITH THIS PLEASE and if you haven't seen my show yet tomorrow is your last chance so come see it.


...THAT'S that...

Living in Hiett will be a challenge, but hopefully a challenege I'll enjoy...probably a challenge I'll enjoy. While I'll love being an RLA, and while I do like Hiett, I can't pretend not to have a little twang of dissapointment knowing I won't be working with freshmen. That was what excited me the most, though it wasn't the only thing that excited me, and now I won't have it.

On the other hand, I'm watching shit hit the fan as the 60 some odd people who haven't been hired open their letters, and I feel complaining out loud would be insensitive. Thus livejournal.

Hey, at least I get my own bathroom.

Hey...I'll have to clean my own bathroom...


No really this is okay. It wasn't my top choice but I'll like my staff and I already know some of the residents who'll live there next year, and I have other avenues of meeting next year's class...

EHHHH I said I would take the job and I will but why do I suddenly feel conflicted? Nervous?

I bet I'll get passed around to do odd jobs during welcome week too, seeing as no freshmen are in the building.

This doesn't suck though. It WILL be fun. LOTS of fun. It all really boils down to the freshmen thing and I'll get over that.

I'ma go look at diagrams of Hiett singles now.

I do not yet have the words to describe New Orleans. It's been seven months. Downtown is gorgeous. The rest of the city is in shambles. We had a few street lights though, running water the closer you got to downtown. Not where we were though. The levee broke next to our suburb. It's very hard to fully describe. I have some photos I can send if you'd like to see what I'm talking about... Someday though, ask me about it. It's a story that needs to be told. You could sit down next to the people of St. Bernards Parish and ask how their day was, and you'd get their life's story, what happened to them in the storm, how they're trying to rebuild. It's a sea of FEMA trailers and hungry enemployed people right now. They are angry, but grateful for our help. It is the consensus of the residents that currently the volunteers are doing more than the politicians. Talk to a victim, if you can. Their account of the situation is priceless.

I have stored in my memory, in my journals, in my heart, the tales of loss, anger, courage, anguish, hope, renewal, forgivenes, that will never make it into the annals of American History, though they are an integral part of how it is unfolding. These are the stories of the individuals, the low income families, the displaced. The returning inhabitants of a broken city. Right now, each day, history is being made in Louisianna. If you can, try and help, and be a part of that history. It's a broken city, but it's a city worth saving. God bless us all, it's a city worth saving.

I miss photography. Time to petition for a new camera

Don't like dances. Nope. Don't like 'em.

There are not enough grand romantic gestures in the world. They just don't happen enough. I'm not talking simple chivalry (ask me later about a discussion I had where chivalry was desrcibed as neo-sexism) I'm talking look-at-the-somewhat-insane-and-foolish-lengths-I-shall-go-to-to-communicate-my-affections-in-a-more-meaningful-way-than-words romantic gestures.

anyway, I just read my last post and thought about what my rooommate did for his girlfriend last week and it made me think of that.

I attended my very first opera tonight. I was a little dissapointed I have to say. I think maybe it was just the story that got to me. The music was fine. I dunno. Maybe I'm just not meant to be an opera fan. It's okay though, I still love me.

Merf.

In conclusion, I want to go camping. *bow*