I got a letter today. A miraculous letter that stuck its white corner out of my postbox. Even that corner looked like a miracle.
Last night I had to turn someone down, which is always a horrible experience. I usually tread softly around these things, but last night I decided that the only way to bring a sense of finality was to be honest. I wasn't cruel; I simply said that I wasn't looking for a relationship, but thank you for the offer. My friends, who I had consulted about the whole thing (I'm a consulter; I know this about myself), applauded my efforts, saying that honesty is always best, saying that the cruelest thing, really, is to give someone false hope.
I went to bed decently contented, and woke up horrified. This someone, you see, is the sensitive sort. The sort that maybe shouldn't have to contend with honesty all the time. The sort who maybe just wanted my friendship more than anything else. And I, tall and terrible, made brave by Facebook, tromped all over any semblance of hope or promise. I woke up thinking that I should have just gone to dinner with this someone. I should have talked with him, really talked and really listened. I should have seen this as an opportunity to get to know him better, instead of running scared at the prospect of him liking me in a different way than I like him.
So that letter, as I'm sure you can now imagine, meant a lot today. It meant so much, in fact, that I couldn't even bring myself to open it. I had things to do today; studying, running, classes, etc., and I didn't want any trivial thing getting in the way of my letter. I waited 12 hours to open it, until just now, when I was properly in bed and comfortable, with no German grammar tugging at my conscience.
It was beautiful, that letter. Blissful. I cried twice. Not because of anything sad, but because it means everything to get something from home. I know I've mentioned this before, but it's still true. The very hardest part about being here is that there isn't anyone who knows me, really really knows me, within 5,000 miles. And this letter made me cry because it reminded me that 5,001 miles away, there is someone who knows me. And they wrote me a letter.
Showing posts with label Home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Home. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
A Package
I got a package from home today. It contained:
1. One winter coat
2. Two winter scarves
3. Three pairs of mittens (seems excessive, I know, but one pair is really warm (for winter hiking, of course), one pair is nostalgic (my UMM mittens), and one pair is slightly dressy)
4. One pair of Ugg boots (this is where I submit to mockery in order to be warm and cozy)
5. One rain jacket (apparently it rains here even in winter. Something to look forward to)
6. One book (Mockingjay, the final Hunger Games book. At last at last I get to finish the series.)
There's nothing quite so wonderful as getting something from home when you're away. I smelled every single item as I lifted it out of the box, because the last person to touch it was my Mom.
Sentimental? Yes. Uncalled for? No way.
1. One winter coat
2. Two winter scarves
3. Three pairs of mittens (seems excessive, I know, but one pair is really warm (for winter hiking, of course), one pair is nostalgic (my UMM mittens), and one pair is slightly dressy)
4. One pair of Ugg boots (this is where I submit to mockery in order to be warm and cozy)
5. One rain jacket (apparently it rains here even in winter. Something to look forward to)
6. One book (Mockingjay, the final Hunger Games book. At last at last I get to finish the series.)
There's nothing quite so wonderful as getting something from home when you're away. I smelled every single item as I lifted it out of the box, because the last person to touch it was my Mom.
Sentimental? Yes. Uncalled for? No way.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Salzburged
Some funny things about living in Austria:
1. Every time I have to make an interaction with a native German speaker, whether it be to buy a bus ticket, order lunch, or simply to apologize for a random act of clumsiness, I think of said interaction like a game: let's see how long I can keep them believing that I am also a native speaker. Usually not long. But I'm getting better.
2. I am now utterly and completely unimpressed with the Alps. What? I can see a mountain from my dorm room window? Ho hum.
3. This is not a good place for people with a sweet tooth to live. It's downright dangerous. Must take brisk walks/slow jogs daily in retaliation.
4. Since I'm (sort of) a native now, I'm quickly becoming annoyed by tourists. Dear large group of 60 plus-ers: please take your umpteenth picture of Mozart's birthplace and quit blocking the sidewalk. Danke schön. (Sorry if this sounds mean, but those darn tour groups almost made me late for class this morning; their bulky cameras and fanny packs forced me to practically crawl along the street in order to keep moving.)
5. Almost every single person in my group (that is, other members of my study abroad program) goes out drinking every night. Every single night. Drunk. Stumbling home at 7 a.m. as I'm walking the opposite way, heading to class. Ergo, I have not made many friends as of yet. Because although I'm now legal, and although I'm certainly not opposed to having a drink now and then (not that I really have yet), I also firmly believe that the majority of one's fun, whether alone or with a group, should be had sober. I mean, if you're drunk, you're not really having fun. The chemicals poisoning your liver are. And I don't know if they should be having that much fun, especially when in close proximity to a vital organ.
Come on guys, can't we just play Sardines instead?
I miss Morris.
6. It's so incredibly beautiful here, but I think about home and the people back home ALL THE TIME. I'll be looking at something, and all of the sudden I'll think, "Jeez, my Dad would enjoy this retired WWII tanker. He would probably make me spend hours touring it with him, because he always has to read EVERY SINGLE THING in EVERY SINGLE DISPLAY." And then I'll shake my head and remember that I'm supposed to be independent and grownup and I'm supposed to be making new friends and sharing things with them. And then I'll remember that my dorm room currently smells like a brewery and I'll feel a little bit of despair because I don't know if I want that kind of friend.
And then I'll get really snobby and decide that I already have enough friends back home. Why do I need more?
And then I'll sit in my room by myself, stare at the wall, and think, "Oh. That's why."
Don't get me wrong; I love it in Salzburg. I just wish I had some good people to love it with.
Stay gold, guys. And maybe send some my way. I'm the one reading Northanger Abbey in Room 330.
1. Every time I have to make an interaction with a native German speaker, whether it be to buy a bus ticket, order lunch, or simply to apologize for a random act of clumsiness, I think of said interaction like a game: let's see how long I can keep them believing that I am also a native speaker. Usually not long. But I'm getting better.
2. I am now utterly and completely unimpressed with the Alps. What? I can see a mountain from my dorm room window? Ho hum.
3. This is not a good place for people with a sweet tooth to live. It's downright dangerous. Must take brisk walks/slow jogs daily in retaliation.
4. Since I'm (sort of) a native now, I'm quickly becoming annoyed by tourists. Dear large group of 60 plus-ers: please take your umpteenth picture of Mozart's birthplace and quit blocking the sidewalk. Danke schön. (Sorry if this sounds mean, but those darn tour groups almost made me late for class this morning; their bulky cameras and fanny packs forced me to practically crawl along the street in order to keep moving.)
5. Almost every single person in my group (that is, other members of my study abroad program) goes out drinking every night. Every single night. Drunk. Stumbling home at 7 a.m. as I'm walking the opposite way, heading to class. Ergo, I have not made many friends as of yet. Because although I'm now legal, and although I'm certainly not opposed to having a drink now and then (not that I really have yet), I also firmly believe that the majority of one's fun, whether alone or with a group, should be had sober. I mean, if you're drunk, you're not really having fun. The chemicals poisoning your liver are. And I don't know if they should be having that much fun, especially when in close proximity to a vital organ.
Come on guys, can't we just play Sardines instead?
I miss Morris.
6. It's so incredibly beautiful here, but I think about home and the people back home ALL THE TIME. I'll be looking at something, and all of the sudden I'll think, "Jeez, my Dad would enjoy this retired WWII tanker. He would probably make me spend hours touring it with him, because he always has to read EVERY SINGLE THING in EVERY SINGLE DISPLAY." And then I'll shake my head and remember that I'm supposed to be independent and grownup and I'm supposed to be making new friends and sharing things with them. And then I'll remember that my dorm room currently smells like a brewery and I'll feel a little bit of despair because I don't know if I want that kind of friend.
And then I'll get really snobby and decide that I already have enough friends back home. Why do I need more?
And then I'll sit in my room by myself, stare at the wall, and think, "Oh. That's why."
Don't get me wrong; I love it in Salzburg. I just wish I had some good people to love it with.
Stay gold, guys. And maybe send some my way. I'm the one reading Northanger Abbey in Room 330.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
A Surprise
About a half hour ago, I was sitting cross-legged on my bed. Aloe covered about 75% of my body. On my computer screen flashed, in bright and garish couture, an episode of Gossip Girl. (You're judging. I can see it from here. Please stop. I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't do drugs. Don't I deserve to enjoy the teenage soap opera that is Gossip Girl?).
Suddenly, my baby (and when I say baby, I mean 18 and a half years old and going off to college tomorrow) sister knocked on my door, calling for me to come out to see something. My initial thought was that the Two Fat Ladies were on TV (oh how I love those women), or that Annie had gotten into the bathroom garbage again (oh how that dog loves to shred Kleenex). When I turned the corner into the kitchen, however, I was greeted by a happy birthday serenade, sung the way only my family can sing it (shockingly out of tune).
My family had surprised me with an early birthday cake so that we could celebrate while my sister was still home.
I had a twenty-first birthday party tonight, you guys. With ice cream cake and presents and two of those trick candles that had me winded trying to blow them out.
And even though I could see my baby sister's many packed boxes out of the corner of my eye, and even though I was covered in gorgeous, itchy hives, and even though I'm not sure I'm ready to be twenty-one yet, it was still a pretty great party.
Stay gold, my friends.
Suddenly, my baby (and when I say baby, I mean 18 and a half years old and going off to college tomorrow) sister knocked on my door, calling for me to come out to see something. My initial thought was that the Two Fat Ladies were on TV (oh how I love those women), or that Annie had gotten into the bathroom garbage again (oh how that dog loves to shred Kleenex). When I turned the corner into the kitchen, however, I was greeted by a happy birthday serenade, sung the way only my family can sing it (shockingly out of tune).
My family had surprised me with an early birthday cake so that we could celebrate while my sister was still home.
I had a twenty-first birthday party tonight, you guys. With ice cream cake and presents and two of those trick candles that had me winded trying to blow them out.
And even though I could see my baby sister's many packed boxes out of the corner of my eye, and even though I was covered in gorgeous, itchy hives, and even though I'm not sure I'm ready to be twenty-one yet, it was still a pretty great party.
Stay gold, my friends.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
In Which I Finish Sophomore Year and Do Some Kickboxing
I'm a bit displaced from the last time I blogged.
I am now sitting about 3 final exams, 1 final paper, 220 miles, and 10 days away from my last post.
Hi.
So, as said displacement has left me a tad scrambled, and as 10 blog-free days tends to make one even more discombobulated (to borrow a word from my 5th grade teacher), you may have to put up with some sporadicity. Bear with me here.
Finals were good. As I mentioned 10 days ago, I had two finals on Monday, a final paper due Tuesday, and another final Thursday. Honestly, I felt that I performed pretty solidly on all of the above. It was absolutely wonderful to have all day Tuesday and Wednesday to study for Art History on Thursday.
As for the paper, well, let's just say that if you ever need to talk to someone about A Streetcar Named Desire as a Gothic Novel, I'm your girl. 6 pages of epic analysis, with an outside source included just because I could. Not to brag or anything.
And now, as I said, I am at home. On the couch. With my trusty laptop on my lap, A Secret Life of Bees at my elbow, and the Sunday crossword within reach. I feel deserving of this luxurious lifestyle because: a) I had to write a paper and take 3 final exams last week, b) I had to work at Target at 8 this morning, which means I had to wake up at 6:15, and c) after work I did a half hour of kickboxing with Denise Austin. I found the VHS tape in the basement and thought I'd try it out. Denise seemed nice at first, but after about 15 minutes she started looking fairly masochistic. That was around the time when I figured out that whenever she said, "Don't worry if you can't do this yet; you'll get there soon," she really meant: "This is going to hurt, you out of shape loser, because I'm not going to stop until you're on the floor, panting like a winded rhino, and drenched in sweat."
Mom just brought home a pizza for dinner. Kiss it, Denise.
I'll talk to you guys soon.
P.S. I feel like I need to add this sentimental tidbit right here at the end: it was really strange to leave Morris last Thursday knowing that I wouldn't be back until January. When I hugged all my friends goodbye I had to keep saying, "I'll see you next Spring." Weird. I still haven't wrapped my head around Austria, despite the fact that I'm officially going now. That's right, I put down my ridiculously large initial deposit (I don't want to talk about it), and on Saturday Mom insisted on buying me a German/English dictionary and a Rick Steve guidebook. Nothing seals the deal quite like Rick Steve.
I am now sitting about 3 final exams, 1 final paper, 220 miles, and 10 days away from my last post.
Hi.
So, as said displacement has left me a tad scrambled, and as 10 blog-free days tends to make one even more discombobulated (to borrow a word from my 5th grade teacher), you may have to put up with some sporadicity. Bear with me here.
Finals were good. As I mentioned 10 days ago, I had two finals on Monday, a final paper due Tuesday, and another final Thursday. Honestly, I felt that I performed pretty solidly on all of the above. It was absolutely wonderful to have all day Tuesday and Wednesday to study for Art History on Thursday.
As for the paper, well, let's just say that if you ever need to talk to someone about A Streetcar Named Desire as a Gothic Novel, I'm your girl. 6 pages of epic analysis, with an outside source included just because I could. Not to brag or anything.
And now, as I said, I am at home. On the couch. With my trusty laptop on my lap, A Secret Life of Bees at my elbow, and the Sunday crossword within reach. I feel deserving of this luxurious lifestyle because: a) I had to write a paper and take 3 final exams last week, b) I had to work at Target at 8 this morning, which means I had to wake up at 6:15, and c) after work I did a half hour of kickboxing with Denise Austin. I found the VHS tape in the basement and thought I'd try it out. Denise seemed nice at first, but after about 15 minutes she started looking fairly masochistic. That was around the time when I figured out that whenever she said, "Don't worry if you can't do this yet; you'll get there soon," she really meant: "This is going to hurt, you out of shape loser, because I'm not going to stop until you're on the floor, panting like a winded rhino, and drenched in sweat."
Mom just brought home a pizza for dinner. Kiss it, Denise.
I'll talk to you guys soon.
P.S. I feel like I need to add this sentimental tidbit right here at the end: it was really strange to leave Morris last Thursday knowing that I wouldn't be back until January. When I hugged all my friends goodbye I had to keep saying, "I'll see you next Spring." Weird. I still haven't wrapped my head around Austria, despite the fact that I'm officially going now. That's right, I put down my ridiculously large initial deposit (I don't want to talk about it), and on Saturday Mom insisted on buying me a German/English dictionary and a Rick Steve guidebook. Nothing seals the deal quite like Rick Steve.
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