skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Can we just talk about how...
My birthday is tomorrow?
It's my final Cornhuskin' on Friday?
I am feeling so discombobulated right now that I forgot it was my birthday tomorrow?
I have paint in my hair right now?
My socks don't match? (Well...that's not really new...)
I got contacts last Friday?
I loved Halloween?
My room is STILL messy?
I am running on coffee, three hours of sleep, cherry tomatoes, and purple toenails?
I have been on the verge of crying for the past two weeks because I hate the idea of change right now?
Friendships are changing because it's senior year?
I adore my class?
I am so STOKED to have Kasey, Amy, Kellie, SCR, Whitney, and Maggie all in one place?
I think I need to be Rip Van Winkle come November 6th?
Yeah, Doc. Can we talk about all that?
I have a pretty addictive personality. I remember when I was eight I went through a phase of eating strawberry Gushers until my insides were probably screaming from all of that processed sugar. There was age nine, when I was obsessed with all things Sailor Moon and developed a rather scary collection of the dolls. Soon there was age ten when Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls, and Oreos took over my world. Nowadays, these are my current "can't-let-go-of-them's..."
1) Coffee: I'm serious, I think I have a problem. I used to yell at my mom and dad all the time, saying that when they were on their second cup that their kidneys were going to secrete unnecessary fluid and that they were going to get liver failure from all of the caffeine, etc. Now look at me. I wake up in the morning and seriously have the dopiest smile on my face while I make my morning cuppa with the splash of hazelnut. I get shivers when I hear the whirl of the Starbucks machine happily churning out my skinny vanilla latte. I tried to go without for one day and ended up with a serious caffeine headache, a dose of crankiness, and the need to burst out crying when a girl came into class with Royal Bean. Kasey, I apologize for making fun of your obsessiveness with Diet Coke. I understand now.
2) Target: Last week I went to this mecca four days in a row. Don't judge me. Please.
3) Health magazines and calorie-counting: I mean, it's not like I eat healthier now. There really isn't a fruit or vegetable that I hate, so I never have a problem eating them. But lately I'm just curious to see what the contents of my meal holds. Did you know that pickle chips have fifty calories per chip? Bet you didn't. Bet you were living happily before you knew that. Bet you don't care. Bet you think I'm crazy. You're right.
4) The gym: This is actually one that I'm relatively okay with. I say "relatively" because two weeks ago when I was running late to hip-hop, I took out my rage on an unsuspecting slow driver ahead of me because I was agitated at the thought of not getting my spot on the floor...only to find out that this person was quite old. Needless to say I was a little ashamed. But really? I'm finding that I have a liking for this new chum called Endorphins. I feel better. I feel like I look better. And I like the fact that one week I feel out of breath at a toning session but in the next week I can keep up.
5) Being a senior: My good buddy Kristin and I justify every moment of procrastination with, "I'm a senior," followed by singing the Lil' Wayne song, "I'm Goin' In." It used to feel weird but now I love it. And I love the bonding we're going to have during Corn. Speaking of...
6) Corn: I. AM. SO. EXCITED. 'Nough said.
7) The fact that after this year I'm starting a new chapter: The fact that I'm addicted to this idea makes me realize that I've grown a lot. I'm not so nervous anymore, rather just really, really, hella excited.
8) Itunes: Bye, bye, bank account...
I woke up this morning with a huge lump in my throat that I couldn't soften. I tried and tried but it wouldn't budge.
It may have been because it was 4:30 IN THE MORNING and I had only gotten two hours of sleep. But there I was, awake, unable to shake the sadness and semi-fear of what was to come: orientation crew. Some of you reading this may be thinking that I am not only on drugs but that I have reached the prime state of paranoia and social anxiety. But it wasn't because I was afraid of the people. It was this whole battle with time thing that had me anxious.
We welcomed the class of 2014 this morning. Twenty-fourteen. 20fourteen. Twenty14. Twentyfourteentwentyfourteentwentyfourteen. And my heart was breaking a little bit. See, I remember moving into Meredith. I remember not being able to sleep, having stalked everyone I had "friended" on Facebook the night before, running into the garage at 2:30 in the morning, making sure that I had packed my light blue bin with the clear lid with all of my books and that I had not forgotten shampoo, soap, or my favorite faded flip-flops with a huge picture of Snoopy on the right shoe. I remember the actual move-in day itself, stuffing my car to the gills to the point where I couldn't see anything when I was moving in, to the point where if I was about to switch lanes on the highway, I would put on my blinker for a full two minutes, say the Lord's prayer, and jerk my wheel to the right, straight on to exit three Hillsborough, turning left at the light, going straight for a couple feet, and then making my final left turn into the front drive...where I was greeted by a slew of fabulous ladies all screaming, "Welcome to Meredith!" and telling me to honk my horn. I remember how my dad and I tag-teamed and took a box of clothes up to my room, only to have the bin crack and explode a plethora of colorful bras all over the second Heilman stairs. I remember meeting Megan and Carolyn and Brittany and Caroline and Tricia and having Danielle teach me how to "walk it out" that night. I remember it all.
I cried all the way to my beloved Meredith today, because it really and truly hit me: I am a senior. I will be leaving after this year. This is my last orientation crew. I will know the class of 2014 for exactly one year...and then I leave.
It scares the curls out of me, sometimes, knowing that next year I'll be driving good old Leo the Geo up to New York, where I will probably still over-pack my car and still put my blinker on and give other drivers a fair warning before Leo makes his move. It scares me knowing that I will not see my friends, my sisters, really, for a long time.
And yet.
Though I had a mini-breakdown that included a lot of ugly crying and blowing my nose on a random sock that I found in my car (sometimes ya do what ya gotta do, okay?), I had a blast today. Even though it was five o'clock, being with all of my friends and getting ready to greet the new freshies was just so exciting and made my insides brim with adrenaline. When it was time, we donned our sandwich board signs, held up our cookie sheet and silver tongs, cranked up the music, and started screaming. The reactions we got varied...some girls looked petrified, others excited. The boyfriends were the best, though. Michelle Cox would play good cop, bad cop, gently waving them through the circle with her tongs, and then when they got close, she would pound on her cookie sheet and bellow into their windows, "WELCOME TO ME-RE-DITH!" coupled with the classic guy bark. I really thought I would wet my pants.
Every senior that I ran into would give me a hug and then we'd exchange a look that only we understood. The feeling that it would soon end, but that surely in the end, it would all be okay. Regardless, I have never seen my campus lovelier today.
Class of 2014, welcome to Meredith. I hope you love this campus just as much as I have, and that it is just as phenomenal to you as it has been to me. I hope you fumble through your first Corn but get incredibly excited for the next. I hope you go on late night Cookout Runs. I hope you figure out that the showers have a habit of going from lukewarm to burning hot to ice-drop cold in a matter of seconds. I hope you have run-ins with the geese. I hope Jean Jackson asks you randomly to quote memory lines...in public. I hope you grow into yourself and begin to see that you are actually pretty great. I hope you love your friends to the point that it hurts. And I hope you have a lot of pride in this school. Class of 2014...welcome home.
I've spent a lot of my time hunting for a big black stick. This isn't a figurative "that's what she said" a la The Office...it's actually true. I've been hunting with my other 2011-ers for a black crook that can be hidden on any part of the campus with only one inch showing...that's very little crooky and a school that's turning out to be a lot bigger than I thought.
Crook Hunt is a tradition that you can deem silly or important. It's a mixture of both (I mean, really. Shuffling your feet through mulch to find a black walking staff?), but it's made me realize some things:
1) I love my class. I really, really do. Through traditions like this one, I have been blessed to meet some of the most knock-you-down-hysterical people that just make looking under air vents (you think I'm joking...but I'm not) and creating strategies worth it.
2) We're getting close to finishing the last tradition of the junior class...and moving into senior year. Wow. It's just a few blocks away, y'all.
3) That people still surprise me. Some people who I would never have imagined to come hunt for this crook have come out, and it just thrills me to pieces. I'm loving seeing this whole, "Hey, let me step out of my shell and get involved" sort of thing.
4) I need to invest in some bug repellent, a rake, a bee-keeper suit (I refuse to get stung by bees looking for this thing), and a flashlight.
Tonight I had a really long life talk with Kellie Deaton. And she said something to me that I'm going to write down, blog about, say, do everything possible so that it will never be forgotten:
"When you find something that you love to do, vomit it on other people. Seriously. Radiate and vomit sunshine on them. That'll make you happy." Yeah.
And on that note: heeeeeeere crooky, crooky, crooky...
It's really hard for me to start things. Like my thesis for example. I feel like every time I type in a topic sentence it sounds so cliche: "Holden Caulfield was us and we were Holden Caulfield," "Catcher in the Rye still catches today," and my personal not-so-favorite: "It was the sentence that changed adolescence forever-" Cue Star Wars music and my adviser vomiting and giving me a failing grade. So far the things I'm trying to start are all things that could potentially change my life, be it GPA-wise or experience-wise:
1) My thesis: Adviser reads this, adviser grades this, adviser talks to the head of the department and tells her whether I suck or rock at a major that is potentially going to serve me usefully as I cobble my future together.
2) Living in the city after graduation: I should be looking at possible jobs. I should be looking at possible apartments. But when I do, I begin to get that sinking feeling in my stomach that signifies an immense panic attack (that can only be cured by watching Grey's Anatomy and having some coffee handy).
3) The GRE: Another torturous form of the SAT via computers. Same old song and dance: ace the English, do so-so on the math. I think what's worse is that when you get an answer wrong it tells you on the spot. "WRONG-go back one level, minion!"
4) Cleaning my room: The carpet has become like another shelf, housing a big blue bin that is spilling with (clean) clothes that need to be folded. I wade through a mass of papers, books, spotless tupperware, and c.d's. In the middle of the night when I had to get up to pee, I stumbled over my sock box and scattered argyle everywhere. And yet. It has been almost a month and I refuse. Maybe this is a sign that unless my room becomes uncluttered my life won't.
5) Accepting that not all relationships can last: This one just sucks a big one. Self-explanatory.
6) Sitting at a table to do work: Every time I try to start doing this, I get called by my mattress-topped bed with the down comforter that could stop a war and make everyone hug: "Oh, Kiran. You don't want to work in that uncomfortable space. Come lean against your boyfriend (pillow) and do your research here." And I wonder why I have the neck and back of an eighty-year-old man.
7) Realizing that our microwave is now dead: Ants invaded. Roommate sprayed with deadly insecticide. Other roommate tried to wash it out with soap and water (I want you pause and think about this one). Microwave went into an irreversible coma. RIP all things defrosted. Hello stovetop oatmeal.
Starting to realize these things is just hard-there is no "especially number five." All of these things are equally yucky in their own ways. And yet. I have a feeling that if I keep nagging myself to not go into hysterics and get these things done, I'll be able to figure it all out (one can only tolerate boiling water on the stove for so long).
Here's to when that day comes.
