today, one year ago

today, one year ago

I wrote my name on a purple star and stuck it on top of the other Carleton and St. Olaf stars
I laughed at how many people were trying to cram their stars onto the tiny college town of Northfield
I stepped back and looked at this bright yellow map, full of our futures
and I didn't know what I was getting myself into

today, one year ago

I "officially" became an Ole
I was "officially" going to St. Olaf, college, something beyond high school
and it was within my grasp

today, one year ago

I ate cake and marveled over the fact that college was a thing
that college was a thing and I was going to be attending it in the fall
I didn't know all that could happen within a year

today, one year ago

I never imagined that I'd declare my dance major and fall even more in love with dance
I never imagined the people I'd meet
I hung my hope on the attractive college boys
that hopefully existed even though they weren't commenting on the St. Olaf Class of 2017 page
I was scared and excited and in awe of what the future could and would be
but I was anxious about leaving my loved ones and friends and mentors

today, one year ago

I could sorta-kinda imagine myself lounging in my dorm room drinking peach tea
I wanted senior year to be done and I wanted to get on with my life
because now it was "officially" possible

today, one year ago

I didn't realize all this first year would put me through.
I didn't realize how many beautifully amazing people I would meet
I didn't realize that I would do more self-discovery than anyone would ever want to do
I didn't realize that college would try me in ways that I couldn't imagine

today, one year ago

all I wanted was the future, to be in college, away from high school, moving on with my life
I wasn't aware that I might struggle
I might struggle to find the "right" friends, to maintain relationships, to take care of myself
I would struggle with my inner demons, but with the most support I've ever received

today, one year ago

I committed to St. Olaf
and I know it is the right place for me
I know these are my people and this is my niche and this is where I belong
I didn't know how fast time would fly, but boy did it fly
because now,
today,
one year later,
I'm here.

As long as it needs to be...

"As long as it needs to be" is a phenomenal rule. Instead, here I am, forcing my three-page paper into eight pages. It's safe to say I think this is pointless and an extreme waste of time because I'm just babbling at this point. So here's what I'm doing instead: wasting my time by making lists of things I could do instead of making this paper longer:

·      Sleep
·      Hang out with friends
·      Investigate the lost cheese-it
·      Discover the meaning of life
·      Write this list
·      Watch House
·      Pack for break
·      Do laundry
·      Organize my Easy Mac
·      Watch Pablo swim
·      Learn to sing fast like Ed Sheeran
·      Hide the Kit Kats from everyone, including myself
·      Take a shower in the awesome stall
·      Watch the Frozen behind-the-scenes thing for the fourth time in the past 22 hours
·      Watch Frozen – the actual movie
·      Dig a snowcave – I don’t know what that is, but it sounds cool
·      Creep on pictures from Texas #CCTakesTexas #Bitter
·      Be artsy
·      Find my roommate
·      Plan my inevitable naps for tomorrow
·      Put post-it notes all over our door
·      Crawl into my bed and hibernate
·      Check if my roomie’s protein bars are made of sand
·      Move this damn chair so I stop hitting my head on the lamp 24/7
·      Blog this list (oh wait…)
·      Bitch about how my paper doesn’t need to be any longer (oh wait…)
·      Pretty much anything under the sun and the moon and the stars

Angst.

This post comes through blaring Florence + the Machine and my angst as a human being.

In all honesty, it's internal bitching from the little bitch girl I tend to be when I'm pissed off, especially at myself... Please accept this apology for what is to come, and also take it as a warning of what is indeed to come.

I am continually frustrated by the ways that I respond to everything. Everything anyone says comes as a personal attack to me and my weird brain, and I respond thus. How does this work out in the grand scheme of things? Pretty terribly.

We recently had a couple/marriage counselor in our class for a couple hours, and she talked about the role the amygdala plays in our responses to everything. As a lover of everything psychology and how-we-work-y, I was instantly intrigued. Here's what she said:

• Prefrontal cortex isn't involved in an amygdala flare
• An amygdala flare is where you find yourself going from 0-60 just like that (insert snap here)
• Facing chronic stress increases the size of your amygdala
• An increased size of amygdala leads to oversensitivity and interpreting others' responses as personal attacks

Nothing has ever made this much sense to me in my life.

So here I am. I'm supposed to be writing a two-page paper and working on my eight-page paper (I finished the six-page paper two hours ago), but I'm too angsty and pissed and GEH to do anything but vent hopelessly and hope that nobody actually takes the time to read this.

That being said, I apologize and now I'm going to write my papers and go to bed.

I have been inspired.

I have been inspired.

Yippey, right? Actually, yes.

Tonight I hopped down the stairs, waddle-teetered across campus (pulled inner thigh + pumps = waddle-teetering), climbed aboard a big yellow bus and rode through cornfields for an hour and a half (you know you live in Northfield when it takes you an hour and a half of corn to get to civilization). I disembarked from the bus and waddle-teetered around a building as fast as my zombie/duck/stupid girl gait would let me. I waddle-teetered myself to the bathroom, and "rushed" to my seat.

Where did all of this put me? In the Rochester Civic Theater, watching my dance prof in a Stuart Pimsler Dance and Theater production.

I have been inspired.

I've never been one to have a ton of people I look up to. My littlest sister can name her idols in three seconds flat: the quarterback my junior year who happened to be her TA, my best friend, and Taylor Swift. She doesn't even think about it. I, on the other hand, have to think about it. As a freshman, I looked up to the (nice) senior dancers. As a sophomore I looked up to the (nice) senior theater kids. As a junior I looked up to the (nice) senior choir kids. As a senior? I guess I looked up to the adults in the real world (as opposed to the fake world?).

My prof drove us up to the cities a couple weeks ago for a master dance class where we  got our asses handed to us  became very intimidated lost hope gained experience. On the way up, we threw her question after question after question, and she humored our every inquiry. She didn't start studying modern - the style SPDT is based on - until college. As it turns out, she was debating between graduate school for law and graduate school for dance. Take a wild guess as to which one she chose...

While every parent (ever) does not endorse the arts path, I can't help but lean towards it. If someone asked me what my dream job is, I would immediately respond DANCER. Everyone keeps telling me to do what I love. Well, there's no doubt about what I love. So why am I afraid to major in it?

I want to dance. Dance is what keeps me going. I could honestly do it forever and ever amen. But it is not practical, in this world of entertainment and commercialism, to major in dance. What do I do when I can't get a job? When I'm injured? When I'm too old to dance? There is a reason artists are usually called starving artists.

But after tonight, I know I must dance. Seeing my prof up there, clearly loving what she does, inspired me to go for my dream. (It's cheesy but true). Sure, I'm not going to jump into it head first, blindly floundering about as I try to decide what to do with myself and what to study and how to make a living and how to provide for my family and deal with injuries and rehearsals and my love of peanut butter. That last part just snuck in there...

I'm going to make this work. I have been inspired. Really, I've been inspired all over again. The performance bug has sunk its teeth into my ass, and the only way to get it out is to deal with it. I want to do what she does; I'm truly a kid in a candy store, saying, I want that because she has it and it looks good. And I really do want it. Now it's just a process of convincing the rents, finding something else to study so I can double major, doing all of this without dying, actually sleeping, and somehow without losing my perspective on what's important in life. Ready, set, go! But I think it will be okay. Why? Four words that sum up my night:

I have been inspired.

...and remember.

Hello there.

It's been quite a while since I last posted. Over a month, actually. Yikes. I'll use this as my excuse: college?

Tomorrow is my last day of fall break. I've gone to Starbucks, Noodles, Panera, had dinner with the grandparents, obsessed over my dog, obsessed over Scrubs, driven small children places, and even visited teachers. It's been quite a break, to say the least. I've slept in my own bed - in my own room, by myself - used my own bathroom - in my own room, by myself - and gone to the doctor (shots) and the orthodontist (broken retainer). Have I done homework? Of course! Well, duh. Yup, right away. Definitely. Fosho. Ummm...let's just say that self-incrimination isn't generally recommended.

So here I am, 12:51am, in my own bed, in my own room, in my own basement, in my own house, in my own town, all by myself.

I can hear the usual sounds that I've both forgotten and grown accustomed to: the washing machine on its continual runs, the water as a random family member decides to go to the bathroom, my dog's nails clicking as she ventures to the bathroom (aka the back door to be let into the backyard), my mom's sleepy footsteps trudging behind her. Sometimes my dad is up, insomniac that he is, walking around or surfing the web or coming to check on me. In approximately one hour and thirty-four minutes, the water softener will do its thing, generally scaring anyone in the basement who hasn't slept down here for five years.

I'm so happy to be back.

But I'm also so sad.

Home is such a bittersweet place. Don't get me wrong - I absolutely love laying on the couch, falling asleep on the dog, walking around in my underwear, enjoying the familial (yes, familial, as in relating to the family. I didn't spell familiar wrong) bickering and the lack of forced conversation - but being home makes me want to stay here.

It isn't that I'm unsatisfied with college; I absolutely adore college and couldn't be happier! (Yes, that was an exclamation point. Feel free to a) chastise me, b) cut off my fingers, c) kill me, or d) all of the above. I know it's a pretty serious offense). But at the same time, I miss being able to curl up on the couch with my dog to take a nap. I miss the late night country jam sessions I have while cruising the backroads to pick up my sister. I miss the beautifully under appreciated silence of my basement. I miss launching myself into my parents' bed to watch the end of whatever show is on and the beginning of the news. I miss - WAIT WRITE THIS DOWN BECAUSE I WILL PROBABLY NEVER SAY IT AGAIN - driving to school with my sister. I'm homesick while being at home. I am literally perched on my bed, pondering my homesickness. I haven't even left my house yet.

College is basically an exaggerated form of you-don't-know-what-you-have-until-it's-gone. This is both good and bad, beautiful and heartbreaking, happy and sad. I've learned a ton about myself in the past month and a half, but I love being here, in my house, with the people who know I meow/squeal/make pterodactyl noises/cry/burst into song/bitch about life/am I dork/love them. My guard is permanently down here, and I don't want to let that go. I don't want to give up my ability to belt choir songs and show tunes and commercials in the shower, to cry when I want to cry, to climb into bed with my little sister just to annoy her or talk about boys (of course, now I'm crying. Go figure).

I guess I just miss the unconditional acceptance that comes with being related to someone (Okay, I know you don't have to love someone unconditionally just because you're related to them. But at the same time, the bond between family members is kind of like that, in its own special way). Especially my dog... (classic)

Where do I go from here? I carry this feeling with me. I use it when I feel like life is taking a shit on me. I remember to call/text/email/pray for the ones I love. I remember not to get too caught up in my own life; as I'm growing older, so are my grandparents and my parents. Even my siblings are different from when I last saw them: one is stressed as seems to be losing herself in the dangerous world of high school, another is recovering from a long year of pain, and the other is wasting away because of her medicine. Their lives are changing as much as mine, but it's something I keep forgetting. I just need to latch on to this feeling and remember.

Start out strong, finish stronger.

Everyone else has gone back to school and started their classes (save Carleton, but they're St. Olaf's rival so do we really count them?). I'm finally registered for classes, and most of my textbooks have been secured. There's the $200 textbook I'm renting from the attractive upperclassman downstairs for $30 - this deal has more than one perk to it - and my other textbooks are in the mail/sitting on my mess of a desk/will be bought when the bookstore opens tomorrow morning.

It is done.

I find it strange that tonight is my "last night of summer," as the JC's pointed out. It doesn't feel like summer; I've been in my dorm for almost a week, therefore "summer" has been over for quite a while.

Tomorrow I actually start classes, which means this whole college thing is real. Mind you my first classes of my college career are Psych 125 (first-level psych required for a bunch of things, plus it's interesting), and Modern I (first-level dance class with an awesome prof). Now that is college.

I also skipped a mini workshop on how to sleep and drink caffeine and get good grades and be a good college kid to take a nap today (ironic). The tornado sirens sounded during this nap, and I like to call that karma. That also sounds like college to me.

Here's a ringing endorsement for AP Comp over AP Lit: my AP comp score is the equivalent of testing out of first-year writing, aka YAY. And this school doesn't even consider AP Lit scores, no matter how high they are. Thank you, Cardona!

I just looked up and realized what a mess my desk is, and classes haven't even started. So instead of sitting here munching on cheese-its my eleven-year-old sister sent me, the occasional pack of Scooby Doo fruit snacks that don't taste quite right, and listening to the frantic typing of a roomie who forgot to check her email - and in this case, write a paper that was requested in that email - I'm going to be a good kid and clean my desk. Start out strong, finish stronger.

And for all you highschoolers that are realizing what a bitch MoPro/whatever they call it now is how stressed you will be how much your back is going to hurt what a great year you're going to have, just know you got this. There is another side to the madness, and it isn't half bad.

Start out strong, finish stronger.

Can't. Sleep.

It's another one of those sleepless nights, but unlike just like the rest, where my brain cannot shut itself up. I mean really now. It's three-effing-oh-eight in the morning. It has to take a break at some point, right?

I've come to some conclusions whilst threatening my brain with the absence of naps.

1. This is an ongoing thing. I'm not a normal sleeper. As Mark Twain said, "I realize that form the cradle up I have been like the rest of the race - never quite sane in the night." Sir, I feel your pain.
2. Blogging is freakishly helpful.
3. There are a couple of things that are preventing me from sleeping tonight:

• My brain.
• The fact that both my new pillow and my new mattress topper thingamajig smell funny (yay college).
• My brain.
• I get hungry when I can't fall asleep?
• My brain.
• Too many fleece blankets (three).
• My brain.
• And my brain. That about sums it up.

4. My future roommate (she's from Texas, not that it has anything to do with this) will not appreciate the click-clack tapping and iridescent glow of my laptop at 3am.

But there's something about the night that intrigues me, and not in the I'm a bat/vampire/creeper sort of way. There are so many possibilities in the night, and it depends on the kind of night-person you are.

The first type of night-person is a normal person (I strive for creativity). Nighttime is when you crawl into your bed, comfortably nestled into a cocoon of pillows and blankets, ready for your imagination to go wild as you slip into a restful sleep, filled with dreams and the promise of tomorrow. Nighttime is simply the time to recharge, a time of passing-through to the next day. This is the ideal kind of night-person.

The next type of night-person is somewhat afraid of the night. Nighttime does not always hold the promise of the morning (let me take this time to acknowledge the beauty of Craig Hella Johnson's voice in the piece, his impeccable sense of personal style choices within the piece, and the truth behind Emily Dickinson's poem, after which this piece was crafted), and you feel as though you could be trapped within the night, sucked away down a dark hole, never to be seen again. Tossing and turning is normal, with many introspective moments throughout the long hours between dusk and dawn. For this type of night-person, the hours of darkness are not always frightening; nighttime can cause anxiety or over thinking, both of which can arouse without fear of the night.

The third type of night-person thrives unexpectedly in the hours while the rest of the world is at rest. Night owls, these people take the dark silence as an invitation to dwell in the peace that arises from the rest of the world being seemingly dead. Laundry is folded, thank you notes are written, rooms are cleaned, books are writted - you name it and it's probaby being done by some insomniac somewhere.

I'm surviving on the assumption that we are made up of bits and pieces of each type of night-person. I have a little bit more of the unexpected productivity during/fear of the night. This invariably leads to naps on naps on naps on naps; my hours spent napping tend to surpass that of the average three-year-old. This insomnia thing - whatever the heck it is - is rather cyclical. No sleep, stay up, do something, fall asleep, wake up earlier than I want to, nap longer than I want to, no sleep, etc. It's quite tedious, really. But right about now - 3:36am, ladies and gentlemen - my brain has finally decided to calm the eff down. That means it's time to shut down my lovely instrument of insomnia-related banter/relief. Amen.

Keep on keeping on, fellow insomniacs.

There's gotta be something more?

I'm writing this with my 32-minute break between walking the dog and picking up the brother.

That seems to be how my summer is going. Mom said, "You should get a job this summer," and I answered with a half-assed, "Uh huh," while mostly ignoring her and (kind of) glancing up from my book. I'm not against working; I actually love having something to do (e.g. five years of working at my dance studio). But the only place that was hiring that I wanted to work at was inevitably not hiring "seasonal employees." Seeing as how that thing called college would inhibit my ability to work in the store come September, it was a no-go.

So I'm the live-in nanny of my household. Two parents, both working all day, three younger siblings, and a lot of places to drive. I'm talking drop kid one off, wait an hour, drop kid two off, wait an hour, pick up kid three from wherever she ends up, wait two hours, pick up kid two, wait an hour and a half, pick up kid one.

The radio and I have become best friends.

I'm not complaining. It may appear that I am, in fact, complaining, but it's better than working all day every day. I recognize that. I just feel like I haven't done anything with my summer. Most of that can be attributed to the fact that I prefer books over people. Hardcore prefer books over people. I spend my non-running-around-driving-kids-places hours minutes reading book after book after book after watching Wizards of Waverly Place after book.

But hey, I leave my room for food, walking the dog, and the occasional sleepover with the bestie.

It's July 25th. In one month's time, my best friend will have already started school halfway across the country. She will be settled in to her dorm at NYU Tisch. Most of my other friends will have already left. I'll still be here, packing and whatnot. But that's one month away. And I have so much to do before then.

Bridget and I always start out the summer with a summer bucket list. Classic, eh? My bucket list items are sub-par: get healthy, learn to rollerblade, put glowsticks in the pool and go swimming, have a paint fight, go on a boat. Yep. Insane, right? And yeah, go on a boat is on that list - I've only been on a boat twice in my life. Rager.

Nope.

And how many of them have I accomplished? Well, I went for a bike ride and took the dog for a walk this morning. And discovered apples make me sick. That's pretty cool. I also bought rollerblades and went cruising around my neighborhood until I cruised a little bit too fast down the death trap of a hill I live on, concluding my rollerblading escapade on my neighbor's lawn, flirting with their fence.

It's July 25th. I have little over one month left. I need to do something with my life. We always chalk  summer up to being endless days on the lake, partying with our best friends and living life to the fullest. Admittedly, that's not really who I am - the whole prefer books over people thing - but I still want to make this a summer to remember. There's gotta be something more (insert Sugarland singing "Something More" here) than wishing there's something more.

That "OMG I NEED TO BLOG" moment I just had.

I know, I know... I'm a terrible blogger.

I'M SORRY I'VE REJECTED YOU BLOG, WILL YOU PLEASE TAKE ME BACK?

Kidding not kidding.

I'm back because a) it's late at night, and we all know that's when I blog the best (I'm a weirdo, what's new?), b) because it's about time I blog again (once again, blog, I am sooooooo sorry about that. Life, ya know?), and c) I totally had an epiphany where I sat up in my bed (I was just chilling on my phone...my typical level of being social) and said "OMIGOSH I NEED TO BLOG ABOUT THIS IT'S SO BLOG-WORTHY WHERE IS MY COMPUTER I'M HAVING AN EPIPHANY LAUREN BETTER NOT STILL HAVE IT OH WAIT THERE IT IS OKAY."

Ta-da. Typical Julia banter. So here's my epiphany (with a little prologue, of course):

I took risks today. Not the typical teenager risks, as in go-out-drinking-and-hope-I-don't-get-caught or sneak-in-waaaaaaaay-after-curfew-and-hope-I-don't-get-caught (although I've totally done that, more often than I'd like to admit) or (fill in the blank with whatever stereotypical risks teenagers take).

First of all, I rode in the car while my sister - who has her permit and has only driven twice, never with the entire family in the car - drove. Big mistake. I will not being doing that again. Why? Because a) I forgot what sheer terror is when you're flying down the highway and you almost hit the median, b) I actually want to go to college and fall in love and have a family and get old yadayadayada, c) it's too damn stressful, and d) her driving makes me nauseous. Point made.

The real "risk" was texting a boy. Oooooo a boy! Those are rare! Did it come climbing out of the forest? Nope. I just have an assertive friend who apparently said Here, text this girl, you'll like her.

Works for me. Haven't met the kid, but he's an absolute sweetheart and quite the gentleman. (Not the point.)

So we're getting to know each other, I ask him why he loves to run, and he asks me why I love to dance. I had to pause and think in the awkward type one sentence, pause and think. Type two more sentences, go back and alter the first. Continue until you think you understand why you love what you do style. It was quite the process. Shitty first drafts, ya know? When I had it all figured out, I texted him back, then took a screenshot because I'm an idiot and it took me a good eight minutes to figure it out. Here's what I said:

Because I cannot not dance. Haha :) Because when I'm on the stage, nothing else matters. It's the music, the floor, and me... I get lost in it. I'm doing something that involves every part of who I am, from my body to my emotions to my memories. It's like feeling nothing and everything at once, and I live for it.

Well, that's as profound as I get. Hahaha...yeah, no really, it is.

The conversation got me thinking, why is it that I love to dance? How do I put that into words? It's like explaining what water tastes like...you just can't (you could try, but you'll probably end up looking like an idiot; that's a fair warning).

A lot of people dance because they're good at it. Valid reason, eh? (Canadian, eh?) I don't. I don't know why I dance. Because I always have. Because it's fun. Because I cannot not dance. I can explain what I feel when I dance - and even when I don't dance - but I can't explain what compels me to do it. Maybe it's my brain going Hey, remember what it feels like when you nail your turns? When you're one with the music? When you feel like you are the song and the story behind it? All that stuff you like? Maybe you should do it again. Good job, brain! You've created a fifteen-year addiction. At least it's not meth.

This question has become more relevant as the summer comes to a close and college looms closer in the not-so-distant future. I'll be dancing because I cannot not dance, but it'll be different. It'll be Companydance, not Kay Marie and Carol's School of Dance or whatever-theatre-production-I'm-in-at-the-time. It'll be a place where people are perfecting their craft, majoring, minoring, frolicking, wandering, questioning, creating, and hopefully enjoying. Me? I'll just be there, doing my thing. Trying to be better than myself, better than the day before, the hour before, the minute before, and the second before. Why will I be there? I don't need a thesis statement for that. I'll be there because I physically want and emotionally need to be there, living for the feeling of nothing and everything at once. Live on, dance addiction, live on.

28.5 hours.

28.5 hours. What's that, you ask? That's how long I'll be in this car.

28.5 hours until we get to enjoy the beaches, the sun, the ocean, the warmth, and everything not-Minnesota and all-Florida . At the moment we're cruising through rural Wisconsin, enjoying the awkwardly tall and skinny and lined up trees, the snow, and the excessive amount of semis. Aside from the semis (I hate hate hate hate hatehatehate semis...they're scary and big and sure to crush little cars like the one I drive), I'll willing to tolerate this for the sake of Florida. After all, waiting makes the reward better, right?

You might ask why we drive. I'll tell you...I have no idea. "My dad is frugal" is probably the best and most commonly used answer. Plane tickets for six, going both ways, are not something we love to pull out of our pockets. So here we are, trucking through Wisconsin on our ridiculously long and avoidable car ride. JUST PASSED WISCONSIN DELLS! We have 25 hours left...hahaha.
I've braced myself for this trip: new iPod playlist entitled "#SB2013," new headphones, new sunglasses, trashy magazines (shut up we all read them), concert choir music (bahaha I'm a nerd and I've accepted it), crayons, coloring books, glowsticks, and books books books books :) And my pillow pet of course. And my awesome amazing favoritest camera ever. Yes I know 'favoritest' is not a word but it's spring break so shut up and go with it.

Yet somehow I'm not amused. Okay wait, let me clarify: I am content with staring out the window. Everyone else (my sisters Lauren and Erica, and Lauren's best friend Eva...my brother stayed home with my grandpa from Arizona) is watching a movie (or driving the rental car hahaha it doesn't drive itself!), and I'm blogging via my phone. I mean, I have options but this is just...better. It satisfies my weird urge to write about nothing and everything :)

Here are some highlights of the trip thus far:
1. I make animal noises. For those of you who know me, you didn't even blink when you read that. And you'd think that being in a car with my family members - who, in theory, know I make weird noises - would be fine. Apparently my spontaneous mooooooooooooooooos and awkward neighs that sound like bahhhhhs surprise them. Come on guys, you know I make weird noises! This is normallllllll. So that's what's up with my animal noises...
2. My sister has repeatedly ditched me. You could say she's a butthead. She's left me in the gas station bathroom twice. Side note: the gas station in Wisconsin had showers. Like...what?! I mean I get it but what?! Anyway...when I don't return it's because my sister ditched me in a gas station bathroom and some secret door opened up and a gang emerged, kidnapped me, and I was never seen again. All because she can't stand there for two minutes.
3. Instagram. I changed my username (don't ask. Just know that when your friends try to add you to the world of social networking - the one that extends beyond Facebook - it's always good to check what username they gave you), followed some more people, googled how to use the actual app, and now I'm pumped to be a part of it. Weeeeeeee!

Here are my goals for spring break:
1. Don't get sun poisoning. I've gotten it six times in the past two years. Can you say VAMPIRE MINNESOTAN GIRL WITH SENSITIVE SKIN? Ugh. I even put sunscreen on - 50 SPF every hour - and still end up with a cute little rash that covers my body and forces me into the condo or under the umbrella for all of break. Ugh. Hahaha first world problems suck :) But I am determined - DETERMINED I TELL YOU - to not get sun poisoning this time around.
2. Not getting sun poisoning is my only goal. Bahahaha...
Oy. The landscape is still the same, it kinda smells like cow poop, and I think I have a crick in my neck from peering at my phone too long, but we're still cruising. Each freaky semi we pass brings us closer to Florida and all the sunshine, warmth, and happiness it holds. It's taking a while but we're getting there!

Time to amuse myself in other ways...maybe I'll go fix my Twitter username haha. I'll probably blog again, even though blogging on my phone is a pain in the ass. HAPPY SPRING BREAK! :)

Quality Writing...bahahaha

I'm currently writing my Part IV for MoPro, and I'm successfully hating every second of it.

I really don't think I can pull much more out of my butt, and that's the truth.

Here's the thing: usually I can ramble on and on in that class until it makes sense. So I figured I could do it again. And what did life decide to say? BAH not this time! Well...thanks for that. This time my paper is freakishly short...so I'm either really concise or I have nothing to say (and no idea what is going on). 

Both are potentially correct answers. But this is a rough draft (rough draft my ass...I think you like to torture us. And yes, I know I'll appreciate this after spring break, but up until then I'm lamenting the fact that MoPro exists) and boy is it rough. Shitty first drafts, yo! And it definitely fits the shitty-first-drafts criteria. None of the sections fit the length requirements - and probably not the content requirements for that matter (insert bitter laugh here) - and I really don't care. Because at least I'm doing it. And I can figure out what I did wrong or just chose to not do...hahahaaaa.

So here I am, staring at my computer, drinking peach tea (yay Snapple!), being confused about boys, dragging my brain along up until spring break, and totally not focusing on MoPro. This point in my life is called keep-going-until-you-get-to-spring-break and God only knows that's all I know how to do at this point.

Time to get back to hell MoPro Part IV hell. 

Good luck with the last three days :)

Hullo, Sunday Night.

Hullo, Sunday Night.

Just thought I'd clear something up, ya know, in case you thought we were friends...

I still don't like you.

I always wake up on Sundays ready to take on the world. Do some laundry, cruise through the weekend homework, work ahead, do some girly things like shop and paint my nails. Does this ever happen? Urmmmm...sure! When some creepily hyperactive demon possesses my body (no, not like the caffeine buzz I was infamous for on Fridays in Comp) and decides to be super productive, my homework gets done and my room is shockingly clean. (After writing that last sentence, I looked up from my overheating laptop perched on my sweatpants perched on me perched on my not-utilized-enough bed and laughed. Okay, it was a full on guffaw or teehee...more of a HAH. That's how clean my room is: HAH. Anyway...)

Obviously today was not a hyperproductive day. Those don't really happen in the real world; hyperproductive days are as common as my sister NOT using up the hot water (she's showering as I write... *twitch twitch* GOODBYE HOT WATER. I HOPE WE WILL MEET SOMEDAY), my other sister remembering to turn off the front hall light, and my favorite photographer sending me high-quality pictures that don't require me to slave over them for hoursandhoursandhours every day. Yikes.

Well, here I am. Why? Eh. Because I have nothing better to do? Well, that's not entirely true. I could be showering - oh wait, there's no hot water - or putting away my laundry - ahahaha how hopeful - or even cleaning my room. That room cleaning suggestion doesn't even warrant a response. So why am I really here? Because it's Sunday night, I'm cynical and rather annoyed/confused/pissed/sad/what? with the world, and I like to write. The lonely jazz shoe and fuzzy Hello Kitty socks (don't ask...my sister decided I needed knee high Hello Kitty socks - FUZZY ones - when she went to Target with my mom. YOLO?) and random Snapple - yum - and math textbook - hehe - and monkey mask (once again, don't ask) on my floor can wait. Because it's Sunday night, I'm cynical and rather tired/confused as (fill in the blank with your favorite colorful world!) over the male species/done with the world, and I like to write. 

Oh, and blogging is keeping me from shutting off the hot water on my sister. (Muahahaha.)

Hold that thought while I go encourage her to exit the showering facilities.

AHAHAH here's proof that I'm losing my mind:

1. She has been out of the shower for quite some time now.
2. I just thought my dog was a small predator that was going to eat me.
3. That's all I have for now.

On that note, I believe it is pretend-school-is-fun-and-find-all-your-homework-and-shat time. Like said, cynical...sorry :) Game plan: Battle the (not-exactly-super-clean) floor over guardianship of my future (by that I mean my homework...cynicism means drama in my world), shower, read, sleep. Hopefully in that order, and hopefully that last item on the agenda actually happens. Buenas noches....