Excuse the Bad Grammer, I Didn't Edit Because I Don't Care

I've had a number of blogging freak outs, of various sizes. Perhaps most notably was my first day home sick post. That was a terrible day. I went to class and fought back tears, and then I went home and let them loose. I was so home sick that the sight of 808--the area code from home--made me tear up.

I sat on my bed for a full day, thinking how most of the people who loved weren't even on the same continent as me. And I cried. It has only recently occurred to me how uncomfortable that must have been for the apartment next door. After all, you can hear everything through those walls, and I was sobbing for hours. Part of me feels bad for them. Part of me thinks that they should have knocked on my door and brought me cookies and made sure I was OK.

I haven't been home sick like that for a few months now. I've missed home, but I've been happy. Home sickness became an ache for hugs or a craving for salad, instead of lung crushing sobs.

Until today. Today I went to print off my itinerary and found out that I'm not actually going to be home tonight at 9:30. Nope. At 9:30 I'll still be in Utah. I don't catch my flight home until 3:18 Monday.

A few days ago, when I was desperately studying for astronomy, I looked online and saw that one of my final grades, which was a 99% when I walked out of the testing center, was and 82%. I freaked out. Really. My cousins were unsure how to handle me. I went through every possible scenario, sent an email to my TA and called every friend I had in the class. After about forty-five minutes of panicking a friend explained what had happened and how everything was OK, and I was fine again.

Today was so much worse.

Two days. Forty eight hours. Two thousand eight hundred and eighty minutes. That's how much time I no longer get to spend at home. It feels stolen.

It's been about two hours. My face is stiff with salt, the impatient airline lady assured me it was my fault, my head feels pounded and it is time for me to get out of bed and figure out how to be happy again.

The funny thing is, if I'd always known that I was leaving Monday, today would be a great day. I'd hang with cousins and there would only be two days left until I got home! Just two! Days! Not counting down my months anymore--actual days. But now that's two days that I'm not home.

I've read about so many writers who speak about writing as a compulsion. It's something that they have to do. I remember one woman saying that she had to write everything, otherwise it seemed like it never really happened. It's funny how, in a certain way, we can only experience through words. Any shape we give to the world around us comes through consonants and vowels. That's why, when I was done talking to my parents and done crying, I pulled out my laptop and wrote to you.

What good therapy you are.

Rambling

Do you remember that Christmas story? About oranges.

That one. The one with the little girl (was she an orphan?) who got one orange a year, and she always looked forward to it--its roundness, its smell, the way the peel broke open and juice squirted out. Every time I ever read that story I suddenly desperately wanted an orange. But no orange I got ever tasted as good as hers.

Last night I had an orange that was as good as the orphan girl's. I hadn't had an orange in six months. They're expensive at the grocery store I shop at, and they always look ill. So I opt for the apples in a stand across the street instead.

But I am now at my aunt's--an actual house with people are not college students, more food than is needed for a week, a fireplace, and a beautiful piano with accompanying sheet music. And oranges. Orange Christmas bulbs in a glass bowl on the counter. I've had one and a half. And I've been here less than twenty four hours.

Am I pathetic?

Don't answer that.

It feels so good to be away from college. Yesterday, at three o'clock (ish) I finished my last final.

My Book of Mormon teacher told my class that when we finished our last final we wouldn't care if we passed or not. We would be delirious with joy. We'd dance down the street, singing, and laughing maniacally. My Book of Mormon teacher lied. I'm still waiting for the delirium, Brother Merrell.

When I walked out of the testing center for the last time I called my mom and consoled myself by spending money and gaining unneeded calories because the (over) twelve hours of studying I devoted to studying for Astronomy did not earn me an A. It's one of the only times I can think of that I gave something everything I had and didn't get what I wanted back. That probably sounds prideful but think about it--How often do you give something everything you have? How many things do you actually do to your utmost capacity? How many times do you work so hard that you literally do know what more you could have done? Not very often, right? Or is that just me?

To do something the very best you can, and then for that not to be good enough... I hate that feeling.

My dad says this is very good for me. I believe him. That doesn't stop me from hating it. In any case, I've had a talk with my four-point-oh and informed it since I know it's going to break up with me when fall semester grades come out I need some emotional distance.

I should have known from the beginning. GPA's like that will only love you and leave you--when you are me, anyway.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter. Itdoesn'tmatterdoesn'tmatterdoesn'tmatter. It's just a letter. Just a letter.


I wonder if this is what I'm going to be like after a break up? Because that would really stink for my roommates. I hope I go more All-American Reject than Taylor Swift, but who knows. Maybe I'll sit in a corner and cry instead of jumping up and down and screaming to vengeful music.

Man. I started this post with oranges and now I'm hypothesizing about future break ups. I worry about me sometimes. Definitely time for a subject change.

I will be home tomorrow night. Where Christmas is green and bright, and the sun will shine all day and all the stars at night. I can see myself standing outside of the airport, my red suitcase on the ground next to me and my backpack on my back. Eleven hours of traveling behind me. Warm, wet air around me. My family will be late (because they're my family) but when they get there they'll all jump out of the car and give me hugs. I have missed their hugs.

I have this feeling it will be ten o'clock and we'll be driving through the pineapple fields, and Prairie Home Companion will be just going off the air, and I'll the see ocean rising over Haleiwa...

And I'll completely forget that the last six months have happened.

What We Talk About in College

I like listening to people talk. I really, really do. So I know that my religion teacher (like many older men in Utah) says, "hwhat," and "hwhere," and "hwhen" instead of the usual what, where, when. I know that my popular culture teacher says, "d'ya know" as a filler when he is trying to figure out if we're following him. And that my roommate says "y'all," even though she firmly denies it.

Anyway, my obsession with the way people talk is responsible for the quotes below. They're just things I've heard people saying over the semester. Some of them made more sense in the context. Some of them really didn't.

Enjoy:

"I speak truth, you speak ideology."

"Sorry, right, we're talking about Nazi's. Not my cat."

"The guys in black are evil."

"Burning alive from a nuclear thing sucks."

"I get violent when I wear glasses."

"I'm a little squishy on the issue."

"Our attention now needs to be drawn back to Batman."

"Let's talk about the overall organization of hell."

"I look in the mirror and look at these eyebrows and I'm like, 'Wow. I feel like I should be feeling contempt for everyone ever.'"

"Did you eat the muffin? Did you like it? Did it taste like the laughter of small children and water relief in Africa?"

"I stole a golf cart today."

"Dang it--he's on drugs! Good comment! I missed that--I wanted him to just be nuts so badly--but he was on drugs!"

"Superman is basically an eagle scout in tights."

"Lets face it, James Bond should have died by now."

"This marker is potent. I might get high. If I get high just, treat me gently. Sit me down and give me a glass of water, or something."

"His face is just too attractive for Sunday."

"Dating is a socially acceptable lie."

"I don't hate you. I don't want to fail you. I don't want you to loose your scholarships. I'm sure all of your therapists are very expensive."

"The U.S. birthrate is almost down to nothing. That's why we need Mormons."

"If everyone is in debt... where did all the money go?"

"You're walking across campus and suddenly the thought comes to you--kill your roommate. And you think--I should have had lunch."

"It'll be potluck. Heavy on the luck, light on the pot."

"In the West we're greedy, needy, self-serving, egomaniacal, and technologically advanced. It's not a good combination."

"Babies have disproportionately large heads."

"I'm going to say something offensive now."

"My kitten could play that guitar solo. OK, not maybe my kitten, but my fully mature cat could definitely play that solo."

"I read in the National Inquirer that we found Eskimos on Mars."

"My eyebrow hurts so bad."

"Imagine what marriage would be like if you couldn't say, ‘you know, um, sometimes your shoes are ugly.’"

"I'm going to respond to the stink positively."

"He turned back and said in the loudest voice pssible, "I hope you rot in hell." That is love, my friends."

"Things need to add up to one hundred. It makes me feel warm inside."

"He makes the classical music version of rap videos."

"I'm going to kill them, for the record. They will soon find their dorm room violated by my batweapons. I have a utility belt--Don't mess with Texas!"

"I don't agree, and I'm not 100% sure I care."