Just Like Elizabeth

It's raining here in Salzburg.
It has been raining all evening.
And you know what I just realized?
That my laundry is hanging outside, and has been since this afternoon.

I was upset about this, about having to throw on a coat over my jammies (yes, I call pajamas jammies. Don't judge), having to hunt down my ipod (because you can't do anything epic without a soundtrack), and having to run out in the cold to fetch cold, wet clothes.

I was upset, that is, until a friend pointed out that this situation sounds a lot like a scene in Pride and Prejudice (new version), where Elizabeth is snatching clothes off the line in the rain.

Needless to say, I'm now feeling pretty good about going outside.

Also, in case you're wondering why I've been so lazy as of late with my posting, check my other blog. Vienna last weekend. It's all there.

In Which I Bring Back A Souvenir

The funny thing about work is that you have to show up every day for it. And the funny thing about having to show up every day for something is that you can't possibly look (or feel, for that matter) your best every single day.

Last year, it was the Amidala Eyebrow Incident. This year, it's hives.

And they're all over. Legs, arms, feet, hands, stomach, back, shoulders, neck, face. Everywhere.

Last weekend was the big family boating weekend up on Lake Superior, and apparently I found something in the pure nature of the Northwoods that didn't agree with me.

I'm sorry for the pouty attitude, but I'm too itchy and too tired from 4-hourly doses of Benadryl to laugh at myself much right now.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the final episodes of Gossip Girl, Season 4, and I just have to know if Chuck and Blair get together at the end. (How I wish I were joking)

What Humidity Does to People

It's so humid outside that I almost left my car in the Target parking lot and swam home.
Luckily, my room is nice and cool (and CLEAN I might add (this is new)).

I've decided that I'm either going to finish For Whom The Bell Tolls tonight or die trying.

It's embarrassing that one book has taken me almost a month to complete.

I blame the heat.

One Down On The Old Bucket List

Just went through the Culver's drive-thru with my darling sister.
On foot.
I've always wanted to do that.

Also, I was barefoot.
Also, it was 10 p.m.
Also, when we walked up to the window, the Culver's girl invited us inside to order. She said it was okay that I was barefoot.
Also, upon leaving Culver's, Am and I sprinted to the van with our custard and squealed out like we were making a getaway.

Also, a large minivan with a bike rack on top is not an ideal getaway car. For future reference.

I Need Some Sleep, Part 3

Possible reasons for my current insomnia:

1. My blanket is too short. It's the perfect weight for 80 degree, albeit air-conditioned, fanned circumstances, but it's too short. My grandma had it made for me when I was a baby, and while I'm sure it was quite adequate back then, it's not entirely suitable for a 5'10" 20-year-old who can only sleep sprawled out like a drunken sailor.

2. Aforementioned fan is bothering me. Whenever I close my eyes I find myself waiting for the fan to oscillate until it's blowing in my face. The fan haunts my thoughts. It's blowing on my desk chair...now my dresser...now my feet...now my face...now my nightstand...now back to my face. And yet, I can't sleep without the darn fan. It's a cruel, cruel situation.

3. I keep thinking of my plans for today. And boy, do I have plans. Strawberry picking with Mom, strawberry jam making with Mom, cleaning my bathroom, cleaning my room, doing laundry, mowing around the trees (that's right; my mother is officially taking advantage of my newly-discovered mowing finesse), working out, reading more Hemingway, attempting to add some color to my translucent skin, feeling guilty about raising my chances of getting skin cancer in 25 years, watching Whale Wars (and wondering, for the zillionth time, how much of the show is legal, and how it even gets broadcasted considering all of the clearly illegal content. Possibly because it's only broadcasted AFTER the fact? Does that make a difference? I think so. I think so. Will look into this.).

It's a full life I lead.

4. I have a mosquito bite. On my cheek.

5. It's July 1st. Is the entire state shut down?

6. Austria. I'm worried about money, my friends. Especially considering the exchange rate. Especially considering that payroll is down at Target, due to nearby road construction. Especially considering that payroll will likely continue to be down for quite a while, as the state shutdown will postpone said road construction indefinitely.

7. I should brush up on my German. I will be so very disappointed in myself if I get to Austria and end up doing poorly on the German placement test and thus end up back in Beginning German. But it's difficult to study by myself, out of a textbook. To quiz myself by myself, out of a textbook. I don't know how Laura Ingalls Wilder did it.

That's it, I'm giving up. I'm getting up.

In Which I Do the Unprecedented

I made the Dean's List. I finally, finally made that darn Dean's List. It took 4 semesters.
But I don't talk about that.
The point is that I have a big, pompous, maroon and gold certificate, and that I'm going to hang it up somewhere like I used to do with spelling awards when I was little.

In other news, last night I got to attend a production of "Little Shop of Horrors." As a member of the Press. I went by myself, even though they had reserved two tickets for me; I wanted it to just be me the first time. To drink it all in and all (and all). Well, I ended up wishing I had brought someone, because I was probably the only person under 65 at the show. This was okay most of the time, except when the old man behind me would stage whisper things. Like "watch out!" and "would you look at how low her top is?" (at least he didn't yell Macbeth, although I bet he was thinking about it. He really didn't like that Seymour was murdering people: "Unethical young folks! Who do they think they are?"
I brought a notebook along to jot things down in, and most of my notes ended up being about the audience. Here are some direct quotes: (please note: I don't understand/remember what some of these mean. I wrote them last night. Should I be worried?)

-"Back in the meat locker!"
-Evidently the Errol Flynn mustache is coming back
-They brought blankets (Okay. This one's about the 65+ers.)

I'm going to be hard pressed to keep this review focused on the play.

Non-Morose Activities

I guess my last few posts have been kind of morose. But I'm not morose anymore, I swear!

To prove it, here are some non-morose activities I've engaged in this weekend:

1. Shopping at MOA with my mother and sister. Now, don't get the wrong impression. I hate shopping for clothes. I do. But I like clothes, and I really needed them. So off we went. And it turned out pretty well. My sister is a master bargain shopper, so we had fun digging through racks of 50% off in Gap and Banana Republic and other stores that I would probably never pay full price in because Good Lord I don't want to end up destitute in the middle of Europe this Fall.

2. Graduation parties. I attended 3 total this weekend, and they were all really great. It's always a little awkward to do the mingling-small-talk thing, but I think that's unavoidable at any party.

3. Lock-in with 50+ sugared-up, sleep-deprived 1st-8th graders. My darling mother (a teacher at the school where the lock-in was held) volunteered to take charge of the gym activities. Amy and I went along to help and ended up playing Medic*** for 3+ hours. It was a lot of fun, but it was also a bit of a shock for me because
a) holy cow I've been sore for the past three days
and
b) when did kids get so mean? I love kids, but I don't love them so much when they're screaming at each other (and me) about who should be the medic, and who is too terrible at life and at all things athletic to be medic. Amy, who is the most even-tempered person I know, spent half the night whipping balls at this one 5th grader who was being an absolute jerk. He was throwing balls back at her, but man, Amy has an arm, and what's more, she was MAD. Forgive me, but it was fun to watch.

4. Work. Always, always work. I still love working at Target, but sometimes I feel like I come off as kind of a bonehead because I always have to ask questions and I always have these embarrassing space cadet moments (mostly stemming, I would like to point out, from lack of sleep). Sometimes I want to scream for the whole store to hear that I'm an Honors student, that I go to Morris, that I can do a mean crossword puzzle. But I guess I'd rather come off as stupid than crazy.


***Here's Medic for those of you who had slightly joyless childhoods: the gym is divided in half, 1 team on either side. A million of those soft, foam-filled balls are released. Each team throws balls at the other team, trying to hit them. Once you're hit, you have to sit down, and you cannot get up until your team's designated medic touches your shoulder and 'heals' you. If one of the medics is hit by a ball, they also have to sit down, and can't get up again until they manage to hit someone on the other team (from their sitting position). A team wins when all of the opposing team's players are down, including their medic.

Things Get Better For Me

Sorry sorry sorry. I know I'm a slacker. But pray believe me when I tell you (with one trustworthy hand on your shoulder) that this week has been a tough week for me.

I've laughed.

I've cried.

I've done both synonymously.

I wish I were joking about the synonymously.

I had three tests this week: American Literature, Art History, and German.

The first two went well, the third I didn't take because

I gave blood on Thursday evening

And then had a slight mental breakdown

And wasn't able to study for said German exam.

I don't know if mental breakdown is what I should call what I had, and I certainly don't like writing 'mental breakdown' because it makes me sound like some sort of basket case. But what else do you call it when you're in the middle of a doubles badminton game, and suddenly you start getting really stressed out and you begin to swing back and forth between laughing and crying?

(I'm usually not a very competitive person. Sure, I like to win, but I think it's incredibly rude and tacky to act rude and tacky when it comes to competitions. So I try to behave in a more dignified manner.)

But let me tell you, I was slightly freaking out during this game of badminton. Within the space of about 3 minutes I moodswung back and forth between laughing and almost sobbing about 5 times. I also seriously considered running over and yelling at people that I hardly knew for doing things that were hardly offensive to me. Then my trusty partner and I walked back to our room and I sat on my bed and cried for a good half hour.

And I don't think it had anything to do with the badminton. I'm going to blame this one on the blood loss and lack of sleep and test stress.

Things have gotten better, though. Last night our friend Ben came up from the cities, and we all went to the on-campus Rooney concert together. I decided after the concert that the kind of music Rooney makes just isn't to my taste, but that it was fun nonetheless. Live concerts usually are.

After the concert, Ben, Maddie, and I settled down in our room with some snacks and Ben's old (and terrible) horror movies and watched and ate until we fell asleep.

This morning was the Prairie Cup, which is a Ground Quidditch tournament. UMM played the U of MN Twin Cities team. It was so cold on the bleachers, but so worth it to watch a cross country runner in gold spandex act as the snitch and run all over campus evading the two seekers. It was so worth it to watch the chasers and beaters and keepers get mud-splattered as they knocked each other around in Indy Lake (which isn't really a lake-more like a large hollow that they flood in the winter for broomball). It was so worth it to hear the announcers announce "prospies!" and then to turn around and cheer at the tour groups as they walked by. I'm certain that if I had been touring a college campus and had seen a game of Quidditch going on, I would have chosen that college on the spot.

P.S. We got 2 inches of snow last night (Friday, April 15th). On Monday, April 11th, it was 70 degrees out. Huh.

Laundry Blues

I hate doing laundry.
I hate walking down 8 flights of stairs to do it, I hate bumping into people on the way, and I hate walking back up again only to walk back down again 38 minutes later to throw my clothes into the dryer.
I hate that people will dump your clothes if you are even 5 minutes late to get them.
I hate that I always spill a bit of detergent, and that when I try to clean it up (because there's a sign saying you have to and because it's Lent and my religion teacher at St. John's taught us that Lent is the season for random acts of kindness. Or was it Advent?) it's slimy and gets on my hands and then I smell like mountain spring for the rest of the week.
I hate that when I want to hang up some clothes in our room, the only place for the drying rack is in the middle of everything, and that I can hardly move without tripping over said drying rack.
I hate that the only thing I have to say on a Saturday night is how much I hate doing laundry.

When I'm out in the real world, and looking for an apartment, please (I'm begging you) don't let me get one without an in-suite washer/dryer. I don't care if they're in a closet, I don't care if they're in my bedroom. Just no stairs.

P.S. Night 3 (final) of Jazz Fest is tonight. I decided not to volunteer after all, but while I was sitting on my bed just now making art history flashcards, I thought it would be nice to listen to UMM's campus radio station's live broadcast of Jazz Fest. I turned to the channel, and was horrified to discover that apparently "live broadcast" means that the DJ talks incessantly in the foreground while muted jazz plays in the background. I began yelling at said DJ. Loudly. I was cruel. I insulted him (and maybe his mother once or twice). So I'm sorry, DJ. This is my public (enough) apology. But next time, just play the jazz, please.

Drag Show

I ask you:
How many of you spend four and a half hours in tech fee hearings
(and while it is great that students get so much power,
allocating 150,000 dollars and all)
and by the end feel tired enough to drop?
Then comes a shoulder tap
From behind left,
where Elizabeth sits.
Keep your chin up, Holly, she says,
and I smile and say I'll try
and I do,
perhaps mostly because someone noticed my chin was drooping
and that makes all the difference.
I ask you:
Have you ever exited such a stuffy, four and a half hour room
and gone to E-Quality's Annual Drag Show?
Probably not.
I didn't know what to think
when I first entered Edson Auditorium, past a boy in my German class
who was suddenly transformed into
a convincing woman
with red bra, red lipstick, and taffy blonde hair.
The whole campus (practically) was there in that auditorium,
and the majority was in drag
and crazy because when you're dressed up you can do anything
walk walk fashion baby work it move that thing crazy
act after act after act
boys and girls dressed up like girls and boys
lip syncing to songs that made the audience gasp and shriek and laugh
and run up with dollar bills to shove down the performers' shirts
or in their pockets
(because that's what you were supposed to do)
(it was part of the fun)
the judging was two staff members two professors
(one of whom is my dignified advisor)
and our very own Chancellor.
And throughout the crowd was pulsing with excitement
young and alive and wonderful
because sometimes people die,
but not tonight.
There was a joke an MC told:
today was admitted student day, and he said that it was fun
to watch the faces of the admitted students
(and their parents)
as they walked past the table advertising the Drag Show.
We all roared with laughter at that
Because they'll find out soon enough
That UMM is a pulsing campus
That attends Drag Shows
and pulls your chin back up from your chest
when it falls.
Where else can you get that, I ask you.

Weekend Hints

Here are a couple of hints as to what I did with the rest of my weekend. Also, please forgive any poor photography. I apparently need to delve a little deeper into a certain new camera manual:






Any guesses?

Okay.

1. Mad and I rearranged our room, which not only helped in the I-have-a-six-page-paper-to-write-but-i-don't-wanna department, but also turned up a few surprises:


Like my Vaseline, which I've been searching for ever since the hand-drying, knuckle-splitting wind arrived in Morris this winter. Grossed out by the dust/hair/crumb combo surrounding the jar? So was I. We swept the floor when we were finished moving, I promise.

2. It snowed. And snowed. And kept snowing (actually it's still going). If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that we've gotten a good 14 inches since yesterday morning. With so much snow in such a short period of time, you would expect school to be closed. All the other U of MN campuses were. But not Morris. Apparently we're made of stronger stuff out here (or at least the higher-ups are, because I certainly wasn't keen on getting up for my 9:15).

3. I scraped a good hunk of skin off my second finger this morning. Still half asleep, I flung my arm out and it hit our popcorn-studded wall. Too tired to even look at the injury, I simply let my hand dangle out of the covers where it wouldn't bloody any sheets, and continued to doze. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time the wall and my hand have come to blows.

A Prairie Home Companion

I bought my ticket to A Prairie Home Companion (recording live from University of Minnesota, Morris) months ago, practically the instant tickets were available. Despite this, when an email was sent out to all UMM students calling for volunteers to usher at the show, I jumped on that as well. Ushers got a free ticket, which made my previous purchase unnecessary, but I couldn't help but hope that as an usher who would be in the gym hours early, I would get a chance to meet Garrison Keillor himself.

So on Saturday I sold my ticket to my friend Aaron at half price, pulled on my dorky UMM polo, grabbed my camera, and marched over to the PE center.

Upon arriving, I was first of all surprised at how many ushers there were. There were roughly 30 people (faculty, staff, and students alike) congregated in the main lobby of the RFC. Right off the bat we were given flashlights to shake up (go green), lanyards with ID badges, and emergency briefings to read.

Then a man who was part of the PHC crew, came over to talk to us about expectations. Overall, I was impressed by how laid back the show was going to be. Obviously it's live, so babies couldn't be screaming and bleachers couldn't be squeaking during the quieter parts of the show, but other than that, it seemed like almost anything was okay. People could come and go as they pleased (except during aforementioned quiet parts), food and drink were perfectly fine, as were photography and recording (minus flash). As the man put it (although I admit I found this part to be kind of presumptuous): "The people who come to see the show think that Garrison is their friend, and that they've been invited tonight by him specifically. As such, his audience members need to be treated with respect and sensitivity."

After someone else gave us the lowdown on what to do in case of an emergency, Wendy (one of the organizers) began listing off different usher positions and asking for a certain number of people to cover each position. I held off for a long time before volunteering, wanting to be down on the floor (as close to the stage as possible). When Wendy came to the reserved handicapped section, and asked for two volunteers to accommodate people there, my hand shot up. That section just had to be up front, right?

Turns out it wasn't. It was on the floor instead of up on the bleachers, sure, but it was in the very back left corner of the floor seating. Fortunately, I forgot to be disappointed, because as soon as I walked out into the gym, I realized that Garrison and the rest of the actors and musicians were already there warming up.

Imagine walking into a gym and hearing Garrison Keillor's voice and realizing that you're not listening to a radio someone had left on, that instead, the man himself is on the stage in jeans and bright red tennis shoes, and that the rest of the voices you've grown up hearing on long car rides back from the cabin are standing there beside him.

Once I got over being starstruck (it took me a few minutes, admittedly), I began marveling at the stage itself. It was set up in front of the other set of bleachers, and evidently the PHC people travelled with a semi truck, because they had brought with them 4 huge bars laden with stage lights, the stage itself, frames hung with black velvet curtains that served as "the wings," a huge piece of scenery made to look like a house (with awning and porch light and windows and everything), plus of course all the equipment, instruments, etc.

Since the volunteers had been asked to show up a good 2 hours before the general public was let in, we got to stand around and listen to the actors and musicians (and our UMM Concert Choir, which was featured on the show) warm up. I tried not to listen too hard, because I wanted to be interested enough to watch the real show later.

When 3:30 rolled around and the doors opened, people began to flood in. My job was to: a) point them to general admission seating b) point them to VIP seating c) point them to handicapped seating d) gently tell them that having a child in the choir does not guarantee front row seating e) point them to the restrooms f) point them to concessions g) reassure them that they would be able to get back in after using the restrooms or buying concessions h) give them extra programs.

Then at 5 the live show actually began and I got to sit down and enjoy it. I won't describe the entire synopsis, I'll only say that it was fantastic, and that I was pleasantly surprised by how much the PHC people emphasized Morris in the show. They had the choir perform (as I've said), they set many of the skits in Morris, they interviewed Matt (a Morris student on MCSA with me) about the campus, and they even sang a few songs about the town.

Here are some pictures from the show. I know they're slightly horrible, but as I've said, I've been struggling to figure out my new camera. Besides, it was dark and flashes weren't allowed.





Did I get to meet Garrison and the Gang after all that? Nope. They had to hurry out of town after the show in order to beat the snow (rhyme not intended).

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Kleenex used and then tossed on floor in contaminated white piles: 50
Tablespoons of Nyquil taken: 2
Pages of research paper written: 0
Pages of Harry Potter 7 read: 50
Realizing that I can turn Fridays on my blog into Poetry Fridays (like Melissa Wiley: http://melissawiley.com/blog/): Priceless

Here you are, with a half hour to spare:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, by Dylan Thomas

Zombie Prom

For some reason I feel like Morris is the only place on Earth where you can watch Zombieland in your dorm with some friends, and then emerge to a real zombie-infested campus.

The graveyard, which was gazed at with apprehension by every incoming UMMer, has suddenly become deliciously appropriate.

Briggs Library has been turned into a large makeup room, where theater kids charge money for the plastering on of white goop and black smears of kohl.

Fake blood simmers in pots in the dorms, and tubes of it litter tables in the lounges.

That's right. It's Zombie Prom here at UMM, and a peek into the Student Center after 9 p.m. reveals the horde at its finest.

Some female zombies, taking the name of the event literally, are dressed up, wearing old prom dresses and hideous bridesmaid dresses and wedding dresses found at Salvo. All are torn to show a considerable amount of skin, because even the undead want to sex it up.

Some zombies are wearing scrubs, the bright bunny patterns distorted with holes and smears of dirt and blood.

Some zombies, probably the most realistic (or least ambitious) ones, are wearing jeans and t-shirts, shredded to reveal ghastly wounds.

Some zombies, who apparently haven't come into their own yet, wear halloween masks and cloaks. To make up for their off costumes, a few of them walk with a stunted shuffle, holding their arms out awkwardly and moaning. They leave early.

A group of begowned girls who have drifted out into the hallway now sprint by, lured back into the throng by the opening notes of "Bad Romance." Following them is a wave of hairspray that floats up toward the ceiling, not bothering the fire alarm system at all; it has already been disengaged in order to accomodate the fog machines.

Freshman zombies, clearly recognizable, stumble a little bit, laughing too loudly and clustering in chattering gaggles. They have carried with them, perhaps from middle school, the infamous circle dance. Heads down arms up they shriek and giggle and nudge each other for no apparent reason, grinning in delight at the joy of being young and in college and zombified. They arrived at the dance only fifteen minutes after it began, and will not leave until the last song has been played and the techies start coiling up the cords beneath their tired feet.

When the hypnotic lights, loud bass and thick makeup become too much, zombies trickle out to the mall where they can talk without shouting. It's a cold night, but no one seems to feel it for several minutes. In that time, they grip their friends' hands and in shocked voices tell about who was grinding on who. They gallop down the sidewalk against the fresh air.

They look up at the Morris stars and in their zombie hearts they are happy. They are covered in blood, their ears are ringing, and the threat of tomorrow's studying looms on the horizon. Still, the cute boy from Intro. to Psych smiled at them over the bobbing crowd. They have no curfew. They're young and in college and zombified. Undead life is good.

Washington Irving Week

"However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to imbibe the witching influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative-to dream dreams, and see apparitions."

That's from Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. It's Washington Irving week in old American Literature, and the weather seems to be cooperating; it's cool and windy outside, with just enough sunshine to flit against the leaves and make them explode into yellow and orange.

No students lie out on the mall and read anymore.
Instead, they sit on benches in sweaters
and look out over the browning grass
with inexplicable wistfulness.
The air doesn't hang suspended as it did in the summer.
Now it rushes around lamp posts,
tugs at hair
and scarves,
whips five page essays across the sidewalks and into
the dusty road where cars slow but don't pause.
A feeling of frenzied excitement has settled on campus,
and we all dress for a homecoming game that we won't win,
continuing to grin at those we dimly recognize from a long-ago meeting.
We read Washington Irving,
wishing all the time that we could somehow have
the lazy knoll of Rip Van Winkle back,
while still clinging to the blowing trees
as the Headless Horseman gallops by
on the dusky road.

Macbroke

The last time I posted, my Macbook worked perfectly fine.
Now it needs a new hard drive.

I guess I'll talk to you again when things are working (it's kind of weird to be blogging from a library computer, with several people breathing down my neck from nearby library computers).

Oh, and I also finished This Side of Paradise. Remind me to post about that!

Reasons Why I'm Happy (A List)

I'm happy today. Happier than I've been in a long time. Not that I'm not a happy person in general, but this kind of bouncy, fizzy, spontaneous, wonderful happiness only comes around every so often, only lasts for a limited time, and only occurs for the following reasons:

1. It's Friday, the beginning of Labor Day weekend. Hence, I have no classes until Tuesday AND therefore have a short week next week.

2. Along with some dorm mates, tonight I have chosen to rebel against the hit-but-most-often-miss Food Service and make the trek to China Buffet instead.

3. The weather outside is my very favorite kind of weather; windy, mid-60's, sunny, and Fallish.

4. I'm wearing a comfy purple plaid shirt. Sometimes your clothes just make your day, I think.

5. Tonight is free movie night on campus, and District 9 is showing. Not that that particular movie exactly fits my happy mood, but how can you go wrong with a free movie? (Actually, I lied. The free movie last year was G-Force. That was very, very wrong).

6. Tomorrow I'm driving down to St. Paul with some friends to shop at bookstores, to eat Cossetta's pizza, and to generally revel in the glory that is a big city.

7. I got my first birthday card today! I'm turning 20 in 5 days, you guys! It's really happening, and I'm actually okay with it. Not that there's anything I can do to prevent my aging anyway.

8. I had a good time in class today. Didn't embarrass myself in German I, spoke up a few times in American Lit., and learned a great deal despite it being Friday and beautiful.

In Which Summer Is At An End

I think that the hardest part of packing for college is that it's very difficult to know where to begin. Even if you have a massive packing list you've been adding to for about a week, and even if you have a pile of necessities (results of a Target shopping spree) littering the floor of the office, and even if you are armed with a good attitude and an itunes account full of good hype-up music, in the end it is still easy to be overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task before you.

You are packing your whole life, after all. Everything you need to survive until at least fall break, that is. Plus, everything you need to make a good impression on future dorm mates, and to generally keep you from going insane; awesome retro posters, non-dorky pictures of your family, a solid array of DVDs, novels you'll never have time to read, etc.

Besides packing, I've been focusing on getting through my last two days of work at Target. Stupidly, I chose to go out with a bang of exhaustion, i.e. two 4 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. shifts. These beautiful shifts will be going down today (Sunday) and tomorrow (Monday), and then I leave on Tuesday for Morris.

The reason I'm going back to school so early (I don't remember if I've mentioned this or not), is because I'm an Orientation Group Leader (OGL), and all OGL's are required to go through freshman-helping training before the actual freshman move in. I appreciate this training immensely; I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm still not sure where some of the offices are on campus, and what some of the offices are even for. A refresher will be quite welcome.

I'm sorry that I have to end here, without mentioning anything particularly interesting, but I'm just coming out of my slump, you see. I did write about a page of my firstlinefiction story earlier this evening, but it has yet to really take off. We'll see.

Good Times With Old Friends

A Random Current Event:
I am just coming up from downstairs, where I had thrown my sheets in the washing machine, when I see that Dad is in the kitchen salting the potatoes. They're in a pot on the stove, ready to boil and be chopped and mashed for our dinner.
As I pass through the kitchen, Dad suddenly lifts the container of salt to his mouth and pours about a tablespoon in. Holding the salt between puffed out cheeks, his lips pursed comically, he turns and spots me gaping at him.
"Canker sore," he says.
I laugh. "You know Dad, we have stuff for that somewhere."
"I know," Dad replies as he spits out the salt and reaches for a glass of water. "I'm using it."

A Random Memory:
I was emptying my trash a few minutes ago, and a stray packing peanut left over from my earlier online book-buying adventures made me remember something.
It was last winter, and I was sitting in the TV lounge of Pine Hall with a bunch of my dorm mates. Someone (Bridgett, I think it was) had a package from their aunt. I don't remember what was actually in the package, but I do remember the packing peanuts.
"They dissolve in water," Bridgett's aunt had written. "Try putting them in your mouth!"
It was strange, but we passed the peanuts around and held them on our tongues, giggling as we felt them shrink into molten lumps of Styrofoam.
We didn't get any of them to completely dissolve, however, as a chemical-ly, plastic-y taste was released after awhile, forcing us to spit the soggy peanuts onto the carpet.

Interesting, but I only just realized that both of my above stories contain putting unusual things into one's mouth and promptly spitting them out...

Anyway, here's the title story for you:
Last night was the St. John's class of 2005 reunion party. To clarify, it wasn't a party, exactly; it was more of a scheduled gathering. Pioneer park. 8 p.m. Bring chips or something to share. Bonfire afterwards.
It was such a great time!
I think I had expected things to be a little awkward at first; most of us hadn't seen each other since we all graduated 8th grade. In actuality, there were only about 2 seconds in the beginning where people didn't know what to say, and then we were off like we had never been apart. Five years gone just like that.
We talked about what we were up to, we talked about who wasn't in attendance and why, but mostly we reminisced about the good old days at St. John's. And let me tell you: when you go to a Catholic school with the same kids for 9 years, you have some epic times.
After it got dark we relocated to Drew's house where they had a nice bonfire going. We sat around the fire (occasionally getting up and moving back a few yards; the boys were having fun building the flames up as high as possible) and chatted until about 2 a.m., when everyone went home.
The consensus?
1. We need to get together more often.
2. These are some of the best friends I'll probably ever have.
3. Mr. Sachariason (our English teacher 6th and 7th grade-best teacher ever) should have showed up. I wonder why he didn't?
4. Are we really going to be 20 years old? Holy cow.
5. I'm still eager to get back to school, but I'm going to miss the lazy good times of summer. I'm going to miss hanging out with the people I don't get to see at any other time.

Something Russian

Okay so I'm just going to blog I think. It's about 1:39 a.m. here, and I've been trying to fall asleep for the past 4 hours. No joke. I've done just about everything to try to help myself fall asleep:
I started reading Crime and Punishment.
I put aloe on my sunburn.
I crept out of bed and turned on the air conditioning.
I imagined things.

But if there's one thing I've learned in my almost 20 years of life, it's that there's absolutely no point to tossing and turning in bed when you know you won't be able to sleep.

My Fourth of July (if you'll excuse the abrupt change of topic,) has actually been fairly uneventful (in fact, if you're having trouble sleeping as well, this post may help you). We spent part of the weekend anchored in Big Bay, Madeline Island, Lake Superior, Wisconsin (sorry but I felt clarification was necessary). While Mom and Dad chatted and waded on shore with a bunch of other, older boaters, Amy and I pretty much sat on the back deck with the dogs and read all day Saturday. Hence the sunburn.

We headed back to the harbor Saturday night, and I happily slept through the first few hours of the Fourth. This morning (or yesterday morning technically, but you know what I mean) I awoke to the boat rocking fairly violently. Apparently, there was some sort of storm coming, so we decided to just pack up and start the drive home early so as to avoid it. While everyone else carried stuff to the car, I sat by the dogs to make sure Ruby didn't do another nose dive into the water (she did one Saturday morning and one of our neighbors had to rescue her; she can swim and all, but since she was tied up the leash was sort of strangling her as she paddled).

Once we were home and unpacked, I promptly got into bed and slept for three hours (certainly a factor of my current insomnia). After dinner we played Mexican train, and then drifted off to do separate things. I showered and headed back to bed. And here I am, 4 hours later. Still here, still awake.

You know, I wouldn't mind this at all if I weren't so sure that work will be an absolute nightmare tomorrow if I'm exhausted from lack of sleep. I really do like this time of night (or day (again, if we're being technical)).

Crime and Punishment, eh (gosh, I fail at segues)? I guess I can elaborate on that a bit. I got the book for a graduation present from a neighbor who lives down the street from me. It was actually really sweet of him to give it to me; I don't know him especially well or anything like that. It's a beautiful edition, too. Heavy and green and embossed with gold on the side. Beautifully intimidating.

I've been meaning to read it for this past year, but just haven't got around to it. It is a rather large undertaking. It is Russian. But I'm hoping that if I make a goal of getting through a few chapters a day, and if I have another book going on the side, it won't be too bad. Oh no, I'm sorry if I'm making this out to be a punishment (no pun intended with the title) of sorts. I'm sure that I'll enjoy it once I get started (it's not a classic for nothing), it's simply that with books like this, getting started is usually the tough part.

What is really making me adamant about reading Crime and Punishment (you might as well know before you erect a statue in my honor), is that I had a dream about it the other night. I don't remember much of the dream, just that in it I read Crime and Punishment, and I was telling someone that I had read it, and they were quite impressed with me. That's it.

Above all else, though, I think I'm slightly being guilted by the fact that a 19-almost-20-year-old English major who has never read anything Russian is slightly disappointing, and slightly at a disadvantage to all the other 19-almost-20 English majors who have read heavy Russian novels.

Alright, I think I'll leave off on the rambling and try once again to get to sleep.
A final shout out to the neighbors: the Fourth of July has been over for two hours and twelve minutes now. Please cease the fireworks and the wild hollering so that your lovely neighbor's upcoming attempt to drift off will not be in vain. Thanks much.