The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Driving back to Spokane from Seattle is always difficult for me. Interstate Ninety goes across Washington (and all the way to Boston, for that matter), but to get to that freeway I have to drive on the Five South (which stretches from Canada to Mexico) for a few miles. This time was the hardest: a full tank of gas, a good eight hours before I would be missed, enough clothes to get by for a while.

In my head, I know that Seattle is not much closer to LA than Spokane is - only about a hundred and fifty mile difference, since from Spokane one cuts through the middle of Oregon. Pythagorean theorem at work, there. But being on that road, it seems so much closer, so much more possible. Yesterday I cried as, at the last second, I took the exit for I-Ninety. Twice I nearly turned around and went back, ran south.

But I know that I can not go back, not yet. I have school starting soon. I have a job. But two years is so long to wait to be back. So much can happen in that time, and I am so afraid that I will never be able to return. I constantly fear that I am losing my friendships, that I will end up alone.

I am still angry that I was forced to come here. I am still lonely and hurting. I do not know if I will heal from it, because it hurts, awfully. I do not know if I want the pain to lessen, if I want to be comfortable and happy here. I want to go back; I do not want to become complacent here, stuck here forever. I am so scared of that.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

"The Lazy Bloggers Post Generator"

Goodness Gracious I just had a cup of tea and realized I haven't updated this since Paris Hilton was in jail... You wouldn't believe that my hands were chopped off and I was waiting for bionic ones. I prostrate myself in sorrow and beg thy forgiveness..

I'm flat out with sleeping my way to the top, learning to speak Japanese, just generally being a terrible burden to my local police, my day starts with the dawn patrol from sun-up to dusk. I'm beyond drunk most of the time. I need some perspective.

I hope you're having a good life if one more person emails me to ask why I haven't posted today I'll start posting pictures of toe fungus, or fecal murals. You have my word! Unless of course the pool with the cocktail bar is heated!.

All right, hopefully the absurdity of that, combined with the atrocious grammar and rampant punctuation errors, as well as the flagrant use of contractions, made you realize that I did not actually write that. And...none of it is true, except for the "I just had a cup of tea" part. In fact, I also had two delicious chocolate-chocolate-chip cookies. The bit above was courtesy of The Lazy Bloggers Post Generator, which actually takes longer than some of my posts do to write. But it was amusing, and that is what is important to me. Take a look, be amused.

Working at the deli continues to be better than answering phones for Sprint. I hope that I can get out of there soon, though. I keep checking back at Barnes and Noble - they tell me they are going to have some openings soon. Working in a bookstore is pretty much my dream part-time-while-in-school job. In fact, I was thinking about this earlier, and I think that if I were not on a career path that I am very excited about and know I will love, I would not mind working in a bookstore long-term. I love bookstores. I love books. I love people who love books. So hopefully that will work out.

My parents are going over to Seattle this weekend, for my cousin's wedding on Saturday. It will be nice to have a good stretch of alone time. I was worried that my dad would decide to not go, but everything is moving forward as planned, and they are leaving at six or seven tomorrow morning. I am tired of living with my parents, but it really is the best option for me right now, financially. It is allowing me to save some money, and I hope that that will result in my being able to pay of my student loans more quickly after I am out of school. Of course, that all depends on my not going insane from living with them. My sanity is ever up in the air, so we shall see how that goes. Time alone will be very good.

There is more, but not for tonight.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Thoughts of this week: A rambling post.

Monday.
Done with Fluency. I think I will get an A. Fairly sure that I did a decent job on the final - the essay question may have been a bit lacking, but other than that I did all right. It is nice to be done with a class, but that was not one of the ones toward the end of which I have been looking forward.

I went dancing for the first time since August. It has been an especially hard semester, and I think that not going dancing added to the emotional difficulty. It was nice to be back, nice to see people again, and move again. An added bonus, I danced with Bill Nye. As in the science guy. For real. Twice. (which means that he enjoyed dancing with me enough to ask again!) He's a very good dancer. I was somewhat giddy afterwards, and that giddiness has been slow in wearing off. I mean...his show was an integral part of my childhood. And I just danced with him. And after the dance he held out his hand and said, "I'm Bill." *giggle* (no, I didn't giggle. I said, "I'm Emily. Nice to meet you." and didn't really let on that I knew who he was or was at all very excited about what had just happened.) *giggle*

I love Christmas time, but get tired of the over commercialization of it. Especially annoying to me are gaudy decorations. I like lights - they are pretty. I remember that when the "icicle" lights began showing up, I disliked them. What is wrong with a single string? Why must we take something that is beautiful in simplicity and destroy it by going too far? Same for those deer composed of wire and lights...especially the ones that are motorized. However, driving at night on Monday, I realized that these two categories of decorations seem simple and nice now, compared with the gaudy monstrosities decking many lawns. Those blow-up things. They come in many shapes and sizes, some worse than others, but all horrid. They make me want to sneak around at night with a pair of scissors - vigilante justice for the destroyers of beauty. Now I appreciate those who stick to simple icicle lights and automated deer - those at least are still beautiful, if a bit much.

Tuesday.
Done with bowling. Patrick and I scored our highest game yet this semester - 452 - and yet it counted for nothing. We finished in last place. It doesn't really matter; neither of us care for pride's sake, although I am a bit sad about how league/class standing affects one's grade. It was a fun class.

I am so overcomitted, and yet always seem to add even more. I had not wanted to be very involved in the ASL chapel songs, but ended up in a library study room for several hours making a video with Jay and Jordan and Ryan to put up for the rest of the class to practice to. Because 1) Jay and I were the best at signing the songs, and 2) I didn't want the whole performance to suck. We had fun, even though it took way too long.

I broke down and bought a MilkyWay ice-cream bar out of the library food court ice-cream machine. Bliss can be purchased for a dollar, although it does not last nearly long enough. One less dollar with which to go to Europe. *sigh*

Wednesday.
Everyone else is done with clinic now. I still have next week, since I had to cancel once this semester. The others were really sad. I am sure that I will be next Wednesday. I'm going to miss my client a lot. I will probably see him next semester, though, since he will be coming at the time that I will be seeing my new client. I'm somewhat jealous of whoever gets him - I hope it will be someone who needs an easy client; I hope my new client is not too difficult.

Dinner at Tonya's replaced didactic. It is so nice to go to a real house and have a real meal in a real dining room/kitchen. They have an aquarium in their wall, with a shrimp that cleans things, and a bright orange anemone that apparently killed most of their coral. Oh, and there were fish, too.

Chapel came and went. I think it was all right. I screwed up one line, but no one seemed to notice. It was toward the end and we were all getting fairly tired.

Auditions. Amazing, really. A few weeks ago, I was so glad the play was finally over, so glad for a break from theatre. And now I am so excited that it is starting up again. I got to sit in on the readings, which is always fun. So much talent. I am looking forward to next semester a lot. I love being involved, and do not think that I could have made it through my time here without it. I would not be able to give it up even if I wanted to.

Thursday.
Friendship is odd. Something like a bunch of people almost falling over, and leaning on one another to stay upright. We need other people. We need them to keep us from falling, but we also...need to be needed, I suppose. People become closer during crises, more than they do during times when all is going well. The needing does not even have to be during a major crisis. It can be as simple as a run to the store to get some soup and jello for a sick friend. It is something that she needs, something that I can do for her. And also, doing something for her is something that I need, as she has done so much for me. But not in an "I owe you" sort of way. Debts should never be counted in that manner. Rather in a way akin to 'I love you, so I want to do this for you. I am grateful for how you have helped me, and now I am taking the opportunity to show that gratitude by giving help to you.' And in this way, in a loving friendship where help, not debt, is the focus, it becomes a cycle of helping and leaning, fulfilling needs on both ends. We can not survive without others.

Most of the guys in my gymnastics class are taking the advanced class next semester. I'm not. Many of them keep telling me that I should. Would it be fun? Probably, for the most part. But not fun enough to warrant taking it. The class has left me exhausted and often in pain. Another semester of it might border on masochism. Done now. I am glad that I took it, and glad that it is over.

I am weary of the library. In a lot of ways, I do not want to work there anymore. But I would not be able to work as many hours any other job that I got (if I could even find another one), and I need the money. One more semester. I remember that for a while when I was little, I wanted to be a librarian. The children's librarians at my local public library (Wilma and Ruth) were so wonderful, and opened many doors in literature for me as I grew up. It is common, I think, for children to want to follow the professions of those adults who have a great influence in their lives. That may be why it is so common that an elementary school child will declare that they want to be a teacher. No more. I would not survive, at least not sanely, were I to follow that path. No, I know perfectly well where I am going, and am looking forward to getting there. It really is a good student job. I'm just tired of it, that's all. I'm tired of everything, really.

Meeting for the Europe trip. I have decided to go, for certain. I will find the money, somehow. I need this, to be at only fourteen units next semester. I need to take care of myself, I really do. It is hard. The meeting was good, though. Good to see people, good to get me on track of what I need to be doing. Get stuff figured out.

Second night of auditions. Fun, fun. I love hearing the directors' thoughts in between readings. I love running errands and making things easier for them. I love being guaranteed a place in theatre without having to audition.

Friday. Today.
I am so tired. I am tired physically, mentally, and emotionally. I have been so stretched and strained this semester. I am ready to curl up in front of the fire and sleep for three weeks.

I filled up my car with gas today (a plague upon my wallet!). It took a really long time, because apparently you should fill on the slowest setting so that you get more gas per gallon. Sounds odd, but if you fill on the faster setting you get a lot more fumes/it evaporates more quickly. So it took a long time. While I am standing there, my hand getting sore, a man walks up to me. He looks nice, I suppose, about fifty or so. Silver hair, clean cut, smiling. Comes up. I'm nervous; I don't like strange men approaching me, even if they do look nice. He says hi, I say hello. He says, "I'm pumping gas way over on the other side and I looked up and saw you. And I noticed how the cold has turned your cheeks all rosy pink, and I had to come over and tell you how lovely you look." I must say, I am a bit taken aback. Where is the catch? No, no catch. Just a smile and a compliment. I'm sure it turned me a bit more pink. I smiled back and said, "Thank you. Thanks." It might be the first time I actually felt bashful. He went back to his car and drove away. It made my day. This summer, I watched Firefly (the whole...one season) with some friends. I forget which episode it is from, but my favourite quote is an exchange between Kaylee and Wash:
"Wash, do you think I'm pretty?"
"Were I unwed, I would take you in a manly fashion."
"'Cause I'm pretty?"
"Yeah. Because you're pretty."
Sometimes a girl just needs to hear it, you know? People tell me that I am cute a lot. I generally think it is because I am little, not really taking it as a compliment - I'm used to it and the word is overused, it carries very little meaning. But for a total stranger to come up, tell me I am lovely, and then leave, wanting nothing in return. That was wonderful. I needed that.

The weather has been nice. Finally semi-autumnal (just in time for winter). Raining at night, sometimes during the day. Cloudy and blustery. A good change for the constant sun and heat. Looking forward to going home, even if there are things there to which I am not looking forward. Break is needed, and will be good overall, I think.

Saturday. Tomorrow.
My finals next week still seem so far away, but I need to study for them. Tomorrow and Sunday will be especially important for me to get things done. Five quizzes to take on blackboard, and three finals to study for (sign will be easy, voice and aural, not so much). A quick and easy paper to write for sign as well, but I need to find someone already done with it so that I can borrow their book. Sell back my aural books. I can't wait for that class to be over.

Now.
Off to the library, to collect recycling before they close. It is amazing how much money people throw away. Some people think I am silly, picking bottles out of garbage cans, for only a nickel a piece, but they do add up, and each one puts me five cents closer to Europe.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Arise, Shine...

For your light has come,
And the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.

My final convocation was this evening. I am officially a senior. I am not entirely sure how to handle that, honestly. The ceremony was more emotional that I had expected. I knew that I would probably cry; I had not anticipated the extent to which that ended up being true. For this to be coming to an end...it is really unfathomable. I do not know what my life will be like without this community: this, my family of four years.

So I cried.

I cried as we, the seniors, lit our candles. I cried as I watched the Juniors (especially the johnson housers) light theirs. And I cried as I looked on at the new freshmen, aware of how little I will ever get to know them as I have everyone else. I think I was the only one there (at least, the only student there) who cried. And right in front, at that, with all of the new freshmen and parents looking on.

Certainly, this week has been overly emotional for me, and were it not for that, I may not have broken down as much. But that is mere petty excuse.

Now my roommates, and most of my classmates, are out celebrating, as is tradition. Denny's for Olympia; Bonfire with s'mores for Augustine; Bread and cheese for Gregory. Then all together (by now, I am sure) at a house where some of our men live. I am glad that I chose to not go out this evening. My decision to stay in was influenced by several factors. The one that everyone who asked got to hear was that I am weary, and need to rest. This much is true, though, as always, there are certainly more. But as they were not related to people, neither shall they be related here. Suffice it to say that it is better for me to remain.

I sit on my couch, eating mashed potatoes (my comfort food) and listening to Simon and Garfunkel (though only the quiet songs), in the darkness except for my computer screen and the small, white Christmas lights strung in our living room. So peaceful, so restful.

I tell the Newmanites and Homerites that they are not allowed to be juniors. Not all lies and jest, I assure you, in that. If they are juniors, then they are no longer my freshmen. I am a senior now, and it is a terrifying thing. They claim they are ready, that I can let them go. Alas, it is not all for their sakes that I cling on so.

I look back (crying) on my freshman convocation. It seems so long ago, and yet, paradoxically, like it was yesterday. I was confused (as I imagine most freshmen generally are at that ceremony) and desperate to be liked - all alone here without knowing anyone, one wants to make a good initial impression. This preoccupied me, as things such as this are wont to do, and I really remember very little of the entire thing. But I remember the candles. The 'ring' went perhaps halfway up each side. This year, we could all barely fit in the full circle around the auditorium. I wonder how they will fit next year, when my class, the smallest class, is replaced in the ring by the new freshmen class, the largest class. I wonder if I will make it down for that. How I long for it, already. I am clinging to the past when I have not even yet left it behind - why is that?

A senior I am, whether or not I like the fact...and I suppose that I do, essentially.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

This Time is the Last Time

I am now nearly moved out of Hart. The next time that I move will be away from Biola forever. And for that, I am so glad. I am sick of moving. Almost all of my possessions are in my apartment, although walking into my dorm room one probably would not guess it to be so. All of my drawers are cleared out, my wardrobe is empty. However, it still looks like I live here (if one does not look inside said furniture), due to lots of things lying about still. Soon they will all be stowed away in a box labeled 'random junk' and also hauled off to the apartment. And then I will take my table, my hutch, and my refrigerator. And then I will be truly gone from Hart, from on-campus housing, from dorm-life forever.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Reflections Upon Moving, Yet Again

On Sunday I moved back to Hart. It was strange - it certainly felt as though it had been longer than a semester. Coming back onto the hall was like walking through a ghost town, except it being one where you had lived only six months prior, and then it had been full of life. Oh, dear. Shame on my confusing similes. Anyway, it was empty and faded. There was no one about. All of the decorations were still there, but rather dilapidated. It felt like a shadow of what I have known for three years (minus the last semester).

Soon, of course, more people came, and it came a bit back to life. But it was still not the same. If anything it may have been even more strange. You see, because it is the summer housing dorm, everyone on campus who is staying for the summer has to live there. Which means that people who belong in Sigma - who have lived in upper campus for three years, and perhaps have never even been to Lower Campus - are living there. Weird. Just plain weird. There is really no other term for it. Well, maybe another term is amusing. But only in the weirdly amusing sense.

I suppose that what I don't really understand is why the school makes us move so often. Okay, so it was my choice to move at the semester. And really, having to move again this week almost made me wish we hadn't - because then I could have just stayed in my room for the summer, and not had to worry about packing until the fall. (Although it really was worth it to get into the apartments.) Why, though, can't we all just stay put? Or at least the apartment dwellers? Why squeeze us back into the tiny dorm rooms, when we were just getting used to our spacious freedom? Oh, it is so small. So, so small.

On the plus side, it isn't Sigma : )

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Blessings on your travels,

Emily

City of Lights

No, I'm not in Paris. *lesigh*

I'm home, and I'm just now calling it the city of lights. You see, as I flew in last night, I watched the lights from the sky. And they were magnificent. It is always beautiful flying in - there is something about coming home after a long time that makes it seem to be the most beautiful place in the world. But last night, the valley looked like a bed of sparkling diamonds. It was after we landed that I realized the reason for this was the Christmas lights. You know the type - "icicle" lights that blink on and off. Well, from so high up, each houses' light show was discernable as one light, blinking quickly. It was incredible. So I thought I would share the beautiful image with my few readers, and let you know that I am home, happy, rested, and looking forward to my month-and-a-half long break.

Blessings on your travels,

Emily

Finality

As the end of the semester is drawing near, I am about to say goodbye to my home of two and one-half years. Next semester I will be leaving Hart Hall and moving into the Lido apartment complex, with my dear roommate and her two dear former-roommates. I was surprised, but greatly pleased, to be told that we were the only people who had entered our names into the lottery for the particular apartment into which we will be moving. It is a ridiculously complicated affair. We have to be out of our rooms and into the apartment by Friday. However, the girls in the apartment are graduating Friday evening, and are thus not required to be out until Saturday. At the same time, two other wonderful girls will be moving into Hope and Elizabeth's room. It's like a big dance, and I dearly hope that I will not trip over anyone else's feet in the process.

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Hart has been good to me, for the most part. Although I never fit in, it did feel as much like home as I can imagine anywhere on campus feeling. The community is a good one, being small enough to be able to get to know nearly everyone. There are always people about, and activities or conversations into which you can join. This semester has been different for me. I am a junior now, and need more sleep than I have the past two years (goodness, I feel old). I have to spend more time at my studies than socializing. Most people on my floor are sophomores and freshmen, and, as I was at that point in my life, are rather loud most of the time. Nothing horrid about that in itself--they get on just fine--but the time has come for me to move on. I do love Hart, and will remember the good times more than the times I lay awake at two in the morning wishing for some peace so that I could sleep : ) The poorer memories will fade away, but the memories of joy and pleasantness and rearranging furniture will, I hope, remain always.

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God bless Hart Hall, the best dorm on campus.

God bless Lower Campus, for if you can't make it into Hart, I suppose Stewart will do.

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And Blessings on your travels,

Emily