Depth

I've written four novels. I'm not saying this just to toot my own horn, but you need to know this for this post to make sense. There's been three contemporary romance, and one urban fantasy. But never have any of them made me feel the way the one I'm currently working on for NaNo does.

There is an emotional depth to this story that scares the hell out of me.

Whether it has to do with the underlying theme of being human, or a focus more on relationships and how they can change depending on circumstances, the story going on between Jack, Mari, and Drew is terrifying. I can't adequately explain it, and considering how much better I communicate with written word than spoken, that should say a lot.

It also makes me wonder how many other writers out there are scared shitless by their own stories. I can't be the first or only person to have this thought. And thankfully I won't be the last, either.

On the bright side, the writing seems to be going smoothly, and that is most definitely a good thing.

Fascinating

I like to learn new things, and am, at times, utterly fascinated by this world. I like to know how to put thing together, how to take them apart, and how they work. The thing that both fascinates and terrifies me is my own human body.

Today I went in for an echocardiogram, which is, pretty much, an ultrasound of your heart. I got to see my own heart beating, watch it do its thing. Watch the valves open, watch how it worked. The scientist in me - which is a very large part of me, along with that damn innate curiosity that would put a cat to shame - absolutely loved it. The other part of me was leery of it, and found it kinda freaky.

I'm pretty sure I smothered that part of me out of existence for a little while. The woman doing my echo was really awesome, too, explaining to me what I was looking at. It was really, really nice of her. Might have helped that she knew I was a science geek, but I'm thinking she was the type of person to answer questions any of her patients asked about it.

But seriously. I saw my own heart beating today. It was one of the coolest - and freakiest - experiences of my life having to deal with my own body.

The other side of this was that I was also given a 30-day event monitor. My father has already joked that I'm "wired for sound" now. It has significantly less leads than my halter monitor from about a year ago, but I've already tried to accidentally rip one of my leads off. It'll take some getting used to, that much I know. We'll call it my new fashion accessory and leave it at that.

The End of the Road

I took my last college final last night beginning at seven. It wasn't an utter train wreck, but it was damn close, but it was okay. My headphones were in, at one point I was swearing profusely in my own head, and all I could think about afterward, walking through the parking lot to find my car and looking up at the clear sky was how good it felt to be done. How good it felt to accomplish this monumental thing. To come back from the semester from hell, take two repeater courses, and come out on the other end with something....worth it.

Today I packed up my little apartment that I have become quite fond of and headed for home after having met the requirements for a BA in chemistry with a minor in theater.

It has been a long, long road. One that has led me through numerous trials here on this side of the Atlantic, and four fantastic months in a foreign country. It led me through the semester from hell a year ago. It led me through more than just academic hell, too, but seriously, what doesn't kill you in some sense really does make you stronger. Which is damn difficult to realize when you're in the middle of it. Horrendously difficult.

But here, at the end...it really has been worth it.

Up, Up, and Away!

I cycled through a lot of titles since yesterday afternoon. Mostly to do with moving. Along with the occasional up or on tacked onto the end for good measure. It all conveyed the same kind of meaning and the feeling that one stage of life was over.

It kind of is.

Tomorrow is the last day of classes for my undergraduate career. The past year has been a long, long road, and when I account for the three full years before that, it's almost mind-boggling. And while the happy little voice in the back of my head is comparing what's going to happen after next Friday - when I move out of my little apartment - to taking a long walk off a short step in the dark, the larger part of my brain has already strapped on its helmet with a maniacal grin and a cheeky, bring it. Which leads me to my next, and probably most important conclusion.

I'm ready to move on. It's time. I'm ready for something different and new, and bonus points if it's exciting. I'm ready to tie up this chapter of my life and move on to the next part.

Which is why I can sit here, in a Starbucks about half an hour from campus for some downtime and a change of scenery while I work on labs and whatnot, and think back on what my nine semesters has been like. Those moments of sheer terror, in parts, from pre-season as a first year to all the medical mysteries my body decided to throw my way along with trying to survive four classes and two labs that first semester. Giving up a part of me I never thought I'd be able to part with the following summer, and then realizing it was okay to move on and try different things. Not playing soccer opened up a wide range of possibilities, and ultimately shoved me in the direction of going abroad to Wales. Which, a year later, I did. And I absolutely loved it. To the point where I'm contemplating going back for grad school, which, technically, would be pastry school.

Spring semester 2011 seemed to rock from end of the spectrum to the other. Oral surgery is never fun, and neither is losing a teammate that you've classified somewhere between friend and family. Nor was the tumultuous summer that followed. But I'm a firmer of what's meant to be is meant to be, and everything, eventually, works out. And it did. It just involved a basement-level GPA for fall, contingency plans for the spring, and realizing that a ninths semester was necessary.

Of course, having only one cup of coffee a day kind of sucks sometimes, but it works to keep everything in line and functioning properly, so I really can't argue with that.

And now here I am, in the fall of 2012 and looking back. I think I'm subconsciously trying to squeeze all the stuff I haven't managed to do - like get cited and robbed by campo while I wasn't there for fire violations, and parking tickets from the G-town police - in the last few weeks of my time here. And never fear, I've already paid my parking tickets.

Regardless of all of that, come this time next week while I prepare for my biochemistry final and hope to pull a rabbit from an unnamed body orifice - holy mixed metaphors, Batman, chalk it up to too much coffee and not enough sleep - I will be ready to move on. I'm not entirely sure what comes next, but I know that I'm ready for it. Whatever it is.

My lovely friends woke me up at two in the morning with confetti, silly string, and cupcakes on my 19th birthday. They were, and still are, amazing.

The summer after our first year, my best friend Em invited me to come stay with her for a week on Martha's Vineyard. It was the first time I had been swimming in the Atlantic Ocean, and her dad snapped this photo of us. Four plus years later, we still haven't let go of each other. I don't think we ever will.

Sophomore year. Sushi night. Moose imitations.

Fall of 2012, the semester in Wales. Behind me is Cadir Idris and the glacier-made lake. I proceeded to climb to the summit of Cadir Idris. My legs hated me for that when I finally got off the mountain totally about five hours later.

 

The first time I went on an Alternative Spring Break to Virginia. Loved it so much I went back the following year, and am planning to go again in some capacity. Perhaps they'll let me lead...?

Spring 2012, first time performing in the Vagina Monologues. A powerful night, and a lot of fun. And yes, you totally get over the fact you say "vagina" in front of a crowd of people about the fifth time you say it.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm going, and I'm more than okay with it. Wherever it winds up being, it's bound to be a fantastic journey.

Jack of All Trades

College student. Writer. Potential professional baker. Science geek. Theater kid. Aunt. Daughter. Wandering Sagittarius. Dancer.

Dancer?

Back at the beginning of September, one of my FB statuses was that I was doing something so far out of my comfort zone it was practically on another planet, because a zip code didn't seem to cover an out step of this magnitude. My mother was appropriately skeptical when I told her, as was my sister, and I'm pretty sure some of my friends outright laughed when I said, rather brightly, I'm trying out for Koshare.

It was something I'd always wanted to since I saw my first show back in Fall 2008, but...didn't. Didn't in Fall 2009, was living in Wales in Fall 2010, and was absolutely batshit crazy a year ago in Fall 2011. Now it's Fall 2012, and guess who's name is in the program under the dance Miss Demeanors? Mine.

I've got no problems stepping out on stage and facing a packed audience and playing a different character with different words, mannerisms, and - the last time I was on stage - downright scary facial expressions. This is different. This is me, Molly Louise, only with a little bit of hip hop in my body, some heat in my cheeks, and the on-going thought process of don't let me screw this up. I got this.

I guess I hadn't really thought about the magnitude of what I was doing, and how far from the normal me it was until I read part of what my sister had put on FB when a mutual friend of ours had mentioned harassing me - in good fun, more or less - at the performance she's attending this weekend. My sister is always going to have my back, but there...I'll admit, I was rather speechless when I read this.

Just the fact that she is participating in Koshare, something so far outside her comfort zone, makes me incredibly proud of her. So, doing anything to embarrass her or take away from that accomplishment is the LAST thing I would do.

 Tonight is opening night. And this sometimes conflicting Jack of All Trades plans to bring the house down. Which, to be honest, reinforces that nice little phrase I attempt to live by.

Carpe diem.

Things to Know V: The First Week Back Edition

As we near the end of the first week back to class, I thought it appropriate to do a Things to Know. Because this week has been chock full of them. Some of them are funny and some are...they just are.

- From the outside of my apartment, the windows are street level. From the inside, they start six feet off the ground and require a chair for Louise to even reach the sill.

- The bedroom window doesn't open fully.

- That might be a good thing, in the long run.

- My kitchen table is dominated by a puzzle.

- The puzzle is not complete yet.

- I get roughly five to ten minutes of pretty church bell songs every three hours.

- Mostly because the Methodist church is right across the street.

- I required a slight tutorial on how to use my shower.

- It was frighteningly simple once I was shown how.

- Some things are easier the second time around.

- Always look before you put something in the toaster and push it down.

- Case and point: Having a new toaster. Cardboard left in it. Flaming cardboard and a screeching fire alarm at 8:15 in the morning on a Thursday.

- The apartment still kind of smells like smoke.

- Be wary of standing in chairs to flip the fan from intake to exhaust.

- Fall off the chair and nearly gouging your chest on the screws sticking out of the awful paneling in the living room is a great way to start the morning.

- While the fire alarm continues to blare and there are smoking cardboard remains in the kitchen sink.

- I met the Boy Next Door because I stress baked my little heart out on Tuesday and produced cupcakes.

- BND is rather attractive.

- Have I mentioned the apartment still kind of smells like smoke?

- Tonight feels like a macaroni and cheese and chicken nugget kind of night, but I really don't want to cook after the whole Flaming Toaster Incident.

- Capital letters are totally appropriate.

- I got all my work done for this week done by this afternoon. I feel rather accomplished.

- My writing workshop was not what I thought it would be. Rather than drive myself nutzo for the next however many months, I've dropped it.

- I do feel very, very relieved.

- NYS local Riesling is quite tasty.

- I kind of don't want to work tomorrow night.

- Mostly because I'd rather try and hope for dinner with the BND.

- I think the previous is and probably always will be just a pipe dream.

- Hope your week was as exciting as mine (but with no Flaming Toaster Incident).

And Sometimes We Lose

Back when I first started blogging, I made a promise to myself to be honest here, in this space. Not quite to the level of posting my journal entries - mostly because those have far more four-letter words than one would expect - but honest enough about life. Or the parts that are my story to tell, because a lot of what's happened in the past, oh, almost a year now, really, haven't always been mine to completely divulge.

This, however, is.

It's no secret last semester was difficult. In retrospect, it might have been too much. The experience, at times, was great. I'm not Superwoman, and I make no attempt to be on a regular basis, unless it's when I'm spending the day with my niece, and then, yes, Aunt Olly has both X-Ray vision and a little bit of magic up her sleeve. But in this setting, we don't always win.

Sometimes we lose.

This one of those moments when the best laid plans of mice and men and all that more or less falls out. Rather than graduating this upcoming May with my American Chemical Society Bachelor of Science in Chemistry degree, I'll be returning for another semester in the fall as I'm three courses shy for my degree. And three courses is one too many to be able to walk across the stage and then come back to finish. As it stands now, I'll graduate in May 2013 with both my bachelors and my teaching certificate.

There's nothing really easy about this acceptance. It's something you - or rather I - have to come to grips with and I have the support of both my family and my academic adviser. It was a difficult decision, especially when I could have dropped down to a Bachelor of Arts and graduated this year missing only one course. But the BS carries more weight. And, ultimately, for me to do what it is that I want to do - not to mention fulfill what I've been working towards for four years already - I decided to stick with my BS.

I've also come to the decision that, when I find an appropriate replacement, I'll give up being Editor in Chief of a school publication. It was something I enjoyed doing, but, it's not possible, given the circumstances. I will, however, for my sanity, continue to try and play Club Soccer, because that's one of my passions that I have only just gotten back. Not to mention it's not as large a commitment as an every-other-week publication.

Currently, that's where I stand. As for going back to Wales at the end of the semester? With all of this, as it is, and the probability that I'll take a summer course somewhere to help try and ease the load in the fall, it looks like my feet will be planted firmly on this side of the Atlantic for the time being. Which was also a difficult decision to make but one that's for the best.

This is the plan. There might be some developments to change this around a bit, but, in reality, this is what we're going forward with. And for as difficult as it was to sit down and write this, believe me, it's been tough to swallow.

But, as I am assured by multiple people, we will get through this. And, one thing I keep coming back to it, from my own sibling and my cousins, who have been through higher education, it doesn't matter what path you take, just as long as you arrive at your destination.

For All This Life

I've been on this earth twenty-two years. In those subsequent years, the toughest things I've had to do have been walking away from a great relationship with a wonderful person because I was going away to college, getting stuck in an airport for a single night due to a sudden monsoon in Philadelphia, having unexplained belly pain resulting in surgery my first semester of college, leaving my mother in an airport twice, only this time it was her that was leaving and me that was staying (not that it helped), calling my mother a few weeks later to tell her I wasn't coming home and didn't know when I could even think about getting on a plane and getting across the Atlantic, and the following five days of living in the Virgin Atlantic terminal at Heathrow Airport.

It's a toss up of whether all of the previous - collectively - trumps the past four months.

It's been difficult. That could be the understatement of 2011, truthfully, if sitting in my professor's office and, after going over the last exam and talking about where to go from there, fighting on three separate occasions not to cry is any indication. I've done really well since the first month of the semester to not let the center of my brain hijack the rest of it, which is the sort of scientific way of saying I haven't let myself panic as badly as I used to. It's probably not good for my heart, either, the amount of caffeine I ingest on a regular basis.

I don't want to use the word overwhelmed but that's really what it boils down to. Between what's going on up here - no need to insert the laundry list of stuff as that's already been done - and what's going on at home, it's difficult to get the distance required. 45 miles doesn't feel like 45 miles. Even if it were 3,000 I don't think it would work. Sometimes there's just not enough space on the planet to get the distance that feel necessary.

It's also difficult to not let the distance you need hurt the people who need you.

Yeah, that's one I'm still trying to wrap my head around and there are days when I'm successful and days when, well, I'm a giant fail at it. Lately, it seems that my failure days outnumber my non-failure days. It's a struggle, more often than not, to find my motivation and my Focus (slippery little bastard), and to do all I need to do when the only thing I really want to do is curl up in my amazingly comfortable dorm bed and block out the outside world and sleep for a solid eight hours. My beloved sister insists I can sleep when I'm dead, which I think has taken root in the back of my head because it's ten past midnight and I'm working on homework. I'm hoping - more or less planning, actually - to be in bed by three. Which means I have some things to get done right the hell now.

The bright side is that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. There's the fact that spring semester is going to be glorious. There's also the fact that I will be returning to Wales two weeks after graduation for three weeks. Yup, I was accepted into the summer program, and will be returning to a place that grew to be a second (third, maybe?) home.

But there's a lot to do between now and then. A lot to do. Still, there are days when you sit there, think, get a little lost in your head and wonder can I do this? Am I good enough to do this? Have I gotten in over my head? The next thought you think is the true kicker.

Is it really worth it?

There are days when I go cross-eyed looking at my own reflection in the mirror really wondering if the ends justify the means. I've been assured by numerous people they do indeed, but here, right here in this hot as hell corner room, you wonder. You really, really wonder.

Sitting here introspecting isn't getting my lesson plans done. And you know how much I love those damn things.

Focus Meets Train

I made a Facebook status sometime last week that detailed the fact that my Focus, my beloved Murfee, had more or less eaten too many cookies, rolled down the back hill, and was subsequently hit by a train as it passed by the house.

That should give you an accurate picture of how my semester has been going. Between two education seminars, four classes, a minimum of 20 hours community service (which, honestly, is actually 45, due to where I'm living), and three labs a week, I'm impressed that I'm still upright, mildly functioning, and haven't given myself a massive heart attack due to my caffeine consumption. I am, however, out of my meals provided by the Colleges courtesy of my meal plan, which isn't a big deal as I have a house with a kitchen, and thank sweet baby J that I have a coffee maker otherwise life would be more difficult than it already is on some days.

There is, however, a light at the end of the tunnel. That light is next semester's schedule - which I've already registered for - and it is glorious. No class on Mondays and I'm done on Fridays by 10:00 am. Essentially a four-day weekend my senior spring. Which brings me back to this happy fact:

I registered for my last semester of undergraduate classes.

Which prompted a whole string of thoughts, most of them involving four-letter words and something that sounded very similar to I don't give a shit what this semester turns out like as long as I pass everything with the minimum grade required to have it count for my major.

It's kind of sad, really, as I started off the semester really hoping that I'd be able to pull of a solid 3.0. At this point in my life, the more realistic goal, however hard it is to swallow, is that I'll be very lucky if the hard work that I'm putting in this semester results in the minimum grade required to have all this shit count for my degree. It's not like I'm slacking, but having three chemistry courses all over 300 level is, well, not only time-consuming but soul-sucking in a way that you haven't really got a concept of until you actually get there.

I'll be amazed if I have any sanity left at the end of the semester. That's when I'm assuring myself that I'll be able to sleep, while my sister assures me that I can sleep when I'm dead. That's true, too, but I'm hoping to hold out on that for another couple of years, at the very least.

In other news, I was at a Ben Folds concert this past weekend and it was absolutely epic. Truly one of the highlights of my senior year and I'm really glad that I went. He's an amazing musician - and a piano player that words can't adequately describe - and it was an awesome experience.

The fact that my 22nd birthday is coming up in 11 days hasn't really registered, either, because it's not like I'm going to spend it relaxing. I'm most likely going to spend all of Black Friday - my birthday - working on my curriculum project: lesson plans, assessment criteria, rubrics, the whole nine yards and whatnot. It's going to be painful on multiple levels, but it absolutely has to get done because there's only so many weeks of class left.

It's not supposed to go this fast.

So, now that I need to prepare myself for my analytical class (don't get me started), I'm going to spend the next few hours of my life trying not to freak out about the fact that I flat-out forgot I have a lab write-up (thankfully not a formal) due today and the mother of all formal labs due tomorrow. (But maybe we can convince her to change that to Wednesday.) Couple that with an exam tomorrow evening, auditions for the winter and spring shows on Wednesday (with a prepared monologue, too) and this week is going to be fairly busy, culminating in another exam next Sunday and a project for Econ on the Tuesday before break. With all of that is who-knows-what coming down the pipes in the education courses and, really, people are wondering why I drink the amount of caffeine that I do? How else do you expect me to get through a week where my hours of work have bypassed the hours in a week?

But that's more or less what I've been dealing with for three months.

So damn difficult to think through that it's almost over. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Here's hoping it's not an oncoming train.

Tomorrows

It's the first full week in April. This morning was registration and I don't think there has ever been, in my three years here, a registration that went as smoothly as that.

When you sit at the top of the stack it makes things a little easier.

As of this morning I was content with my schedule. I'm still content with it, as there's not much moving around that I can do with four classes and three labs. Not much moving around that I really wanted to do, truthfully. Fall semester is going to be a tad bit difficult as it is.

And this was before I found out about the workshop from our "writer in residence" type of person where it's an apply and get chosen type of thing. Apparently he's a very good fiction writer. As I've spent the past six years of my life working on a novel, and without becoming egotistical, I think I'm pretty decent fiction writer. This would be a very good thing for me to do. It would be a small class - only fifteen students or so - and the guy teaching would be picking a smaller number of students from that class to continue to work with him in the spring semester.

I don't know what to do. This would be a fifth official class, not to mention that I would have my last education seminar in the fall, and it would also be the first time with me at the helm of martini.

This is one of those occasions when my own sanity comes into conflict with the philosophy of maybe twenty years down the line regretting doing, instead of not doing.

What really scares me? I'm running out of tomorrows. Tomorrows and second chances and starting to put an end date, a number, on my days. And when you realize that, it becomes almost overwhelmingly terrifying.

I can either rearrange my labs (it's possible) and leave my Tuesday afternoons free for this writing class, or I can not apply to it, not take it, and leave everything as is. I don't know what to do and I'm scared of the doing the wrong thing.

Just...tell me I'm not the only one in this position. That would make me feel a tad bit better about the whole damn thing.

Planning

My train's a little late tonight, it's only now rumbling its way past the house. (Those of you who don't know, on the other side of the street I live on, down over the bank [and by bank, I mean sheer drop off] there's a set of train tracks that are active - namely, there's a train that goes by every night. Sometimes more than one a night, and it makes the house shake a little. Oh, and you can definitely hear it.)

You guys know me (or if you don't, just act like you do, and that'll be fine, too) and you know how much I avoid the word plan. And the word goal, too. I don't like them. They give me this feeling of structure, and while I'll freely admit that I like (and probably need) a healthy dose of structure in my life, I also really enjoy my flexibility in just going where my wandering feet happen to take me. I like that bit of spontaneity in my life. Not to mention I have a really difficult time planning next week in advance, never mind next month and possibly the next five years of my life.

With that being said, it's time for me to admit that, despite my ill will toward the words plan and goal, not only do I now have one, I actually have both.

This, right here, is where the universe implodes.

What's really interesting is during the first two years of my college career, I kept putting after-graduation plans to the back of my head with the idea that it wasn't time for me to think about that stuff yet. Two years later, I'm at the beginning of my junior spring, and now it's time for me to more or less think about what I've been trying to put off thinking about for two years. I won't get into the turn-around that I've gone through (though I will mention I get between seven and eight hours of sleep per night, no matter the day of the week [so if that doesn't tell you how much I've currently got my shit together, I don't know what will]) but I will say that Louise is now capable of looking at the forest and not getting lost in the trees.

That's a macro versus micro type of analogy, but basically says that there is not only a bigger picture, but Louise is actually seeing it. In technicolor, too.

One of the first things to come out of this is that I've realized I'm just as good as everyone else. And if I'm not, at the moment, then there's no reason why I shouldn't be. There's no reason that says I'm not capable of being as good as everybody else. There's nothing that says I need to stick with the system that half-assed worked for two years and let that continue to be me.

No, thank you, we'll give this a whirl, and considering that I actually sleep at night now, I'm thinkin' it's workin' pretty damn well.

The second thing to happen is that, and irony of irony for me, things don't always go according to their first plan. When you factor in the only luck I have is bad luck (Murphy loves me, and I don't care which Murphy you pick, in this case) it's no surprise that the tentative idea of going to grad school somewhere (tentatively John Jay in NYC) the fall following graduation has kind of shifted.

Grad school is still the idea, it's just been put off to the spring following graduation, or the fall a year from graduation.

Namely because I don't have an entire free semester in which to do my student teaching before I graduate. Not if I want to graduate with a degree. So what the Colleges allow you to do is take a ninth semester and use that as your student teaching semester. You graduate, then find someplace to live (though my education adviser and I are going to see what we can swing, and we'll probably get a pretty good deal in the process) and do your student teaching.

At this moment, that's the plan. How I went from having no plan to having one that's cementing itself more and more each day is beyond me. I still can't believe it, and I'm the one actually living it.

Damn terrifying, truthfully.

The bottom line is that, when you start to figure out what you want to do, you start to plan things. You start to absently set goals that become a little more concrete the closer you get to them, and while I enjoy flying by the seat of my pants just as much as the next wandering Sagittarius, the idea that there's a bigger picture? It's a really nice motivator.

When I say, right now, that life is good? I mean it. I really, honestly, mean life is good.

And if you wanna bring up the fact that it took me roughly three years to figure out, well, to that I say better late than never.

P.S. - For those of you currently living in the path of the snowstorm - whether you're beginning to get the mass amount we're supposed to get - be careful. We're not invincible. Maybe tomorrow is the day to stay in, make some hot chocolate (or coffee) and curl up with a good book. If you need one to borrow, I have everything from quantum mechanics to Terry Pratchett. But please, honestly do remember to travel safely if you absolutely need to, and if you're curled up somewhere with a good book, all nice and toasty, remember me slogging through the snow on the way to class because HWS hasn't quite heard of the concept of a "snow day" yet. Oh well. There's always next winter.

Round Two

One of the good things about writing and doing layout for the campus's alternative publication is that, well, other than controlling what goes on the front page and maybe doing the horoscopes on the back, is that you have the opportunity to inform the campus. How else can you get semi-important to important (and stuff that's by no stretch of the imagination important at all) to nearly everyone on campus, staff and faculty included? We have a lot of readership on the campus (more than The Herald) and, well, a lot of the time we come jam-packed with a sense of humor, even if it's slightly cynical.

Which is why I'm very happy I took the time and figured out how to write a semi-neutral article detailing the issues and lack of communication between the students and some of the departments on campus. My own battle at the moment? Still with Residential Education. The fire marshal makes round two to my room tomorrow, along with a person from campus security, and someone else on behalf of Student Activities.

If this wasn't important, I'd be a little worried about fitting all those people in this small but lovable room. As it is, we'll be crammed in here and, honestly, if there's a violation, I can't fix it if I don't know about it.

Namely, don't just tell me I can't live here, give me the concrete reasons why. Give me a legitimate reason that you're going to uproot my social and academic center of stability and attempt to move me - possibly into someplace smaller - because this whole we don't have to give you a reason for why we say you have to do something stopped being a valid form of communication with me past the age of eight. As a legal adult who can not only buy cigarettes (not that I smoke) and lottery tickets, as well as legally drink? You owe me a little bit more than it's unlivable.

As a full-time, living-on-campus student paying a near-ridiculous amount of money for this education, you damn well better have a legitimate reason for upsetting my apple cart.

It's a good thing I have a handle on everything else, otherwise I'd be more of a spaz than I already am on a regular basis. As it is, to get out of this place for a bit, I'm going to go sit in the living room with my knitting and just practice my Shakespeare lines. Then I'm going to go to bed and tomorrow, I'm going to do what I normally do and get up and go to class. Then come back here, be invaded by a bunch of people who don't know me, don't know my situation and background, and don't know that I've already gone through this frustration once in the past month. Heathrow, anyone? That was fighting to get home, and now I'm fighting to keep the home that I've made on campus.

There is something seriously wrong with this picture.

On the bright side, at least they respected my request to be present when the man comes back. It only took about four emails.

So. For right now, I still live where I live and do what I do. Right now, that's enough.

Things Louise is Tired Of

Self-explanatory title. I'm a little....peeved, at the moment.

- Dealing with people. Specifically the ones I live with.

- Feeling like a foreigner.

- Being told it's just British humor and to get over it. [It's not - in some cases, it's incredibly offensive, you asshat]

- Hearing the phrase This isn't America, or This is my country, or Things are different here. [No shit, Sherlock, but cut me some slack, I've done damn well to adapt]

- Dishes. And people who don't do them, and expect other people to do exactly as they are told in relation to said dishes.

- The double standard that seems to have cropped up from the previous.

- Having it insinuated every time I'm shaving my legs with my electric razor I'm doing something else [Get. Over. Yourself. It wasn't funny the first time, it's still not funny three months later.]

- Painfully thin walls.

- Being the bigger, better person because that's how my parents raised me [they did it amazingly, too, because 9.8 times out of 10 I'll be the bigger person.]

- Feeling hurt that my ex got married. Really, I'm sick of feeling this way.

- This damn country. Love it, but I'm ready to go home. Now.

- Being proverbially stuck.

- Not having a car.

- Things not staying open past seven. [Seriously. WTF?]

- Trying to make nice when no one else seems to want to.

- Trying to blend in.

- Crying and itching because I'm so frustrated I could scream.

- Having nowhere to go when things get too much.

- Being left out when other people take people to the store or town.

- Feeling bad when I ask but, well, nobody asks me.

- Listening to someone have a conversation in Welsh when I only speak English.

- Being left out in general.

- Feeling this shitty because I can't win with these people.

- Having every conversation I have with a certain someone end up incredibly sarcastic two exchanges in.

- Not wanting to go into the kitchen or another communal space because I don't want to have to make nice with people because I'm still hurting or they're still pissed off.

- Missing things; home, family, etc.

- Fighting with my toilet to flush and dealing with a shower that doesn't drain, filling nearly to the door in a little under three minutes.

- Being disrespected.

NaNo No-No

If you couldn't tell from the title - and the thread that probably got buried in the boards over on that site that I happen to frequent concerning writers - I'm not partaking of National Novel Writing Month this year.

For more than one reason.

First and foremost, I really need to finish something that I've started writing. Whether it be a simple ficlet of some kind, or I get the gumption (and get over whatever the hell has been holding me back for the past ten months) and finish my novel or work out a clear direction of where Murphy and Me is going (which would be fabulous, too), I really need to finish something. So the idea that's kicking around in my head about the magics, mages, shape-shifters, fae, and all that good stuff? Well, I have some business I need to take care of before I can even think about opening that can of worms.

Note I said nothing about planning. I don't plan. I write. One of them little quirks of mine.

Am I going to change my mind about NaNo in a couple of days? Not likely. I really do need to finish something, if for no other reason than to say that I finished something. Most likely not going to be Murphy and Me at the present time, but maybe that damn novel I've been writing for six years. Maybe it's time to really close that sucker. Close it, look it over, contemplate, and think about actually sitting down and writing the sequel or maybe trying to get that published. Who knows. I really don't, and I"m the one writing the damn thing.

So, that's my plan of action for the next month. Good luck to all of you actually doing NaNo this year, and to those who aren't brave enough or have other reasons - like me - that you're skipping: Power to you for following your own mind.

[The giant London post is coming relatively soon. Promise.]

Madcap Misadventures

First and foremost, I happen to be bored out of my mind. I've been in this state of being for roughly nine days. There was a whole week before classes started, and I was supposed to have class yesterday, and when I showed up - along with about seven other International students also in this class - there was a note on the door saying that it was going to start October 4. So another whole week of waiting and sitting and chilling and generally doing nothing.

There's class on Wednesday but other than that, everything else is up in the air.

And before I get to what I've got up my sleeve for the rest of this week, I'll take a few moments and backtrack to Friday.

Which was Math's birthday. Cue slightly massive, incredibly loud flat party to celebrate. I hung around in the kitchen for a little while because, yeah, that's what you do - and Math is my flat mate [lives across the hall] and it was his birthday - but when you don't really know anybody currently sitting in your kitchen and on your counters, you kind of shrink into yourself a little. Well, you do if you're me and you're not so much accustomed to large quantities of people that you don't know as well as you'd like. So after Amy and Huw brought out the birthday cake and we sang, I made my disappearance shortly thereafter.

The very good reason for this was that Saturday was the trip to Cardiff and St. Fagans. And the bus left at 9:30 in the morning, and I didn't want to sleep all the way there and back again. The trip out was pretty tame - I played games with Craig on his iPhone [and would have beaten him more soundly at chess if the timer hadn't run out on him] - and the outside of the Museum of Welsh Life doesn't look like much, honestly. Then again the whole don't judge a book by its cover thing? Completely applicable here. It's an open-air museum that has replica buildings of the early days of Welsh history, complete with its own little Celtic village nestled among the trees. And how the Celts weren't asthmatic after wheezing in the amount of smoke while smoking hanging meat is unbelievable.

Unfortunately I didn't get to make it all the way to the castle [ran out of time and it was too long of a walk to attempt in the twenty minutes I had left before the bus left] but it was a really awesome place and a very interesting look into what life would have been for people back then.

They were also really short back then. There were occasions when I was walking through doors that I actually had to duck.

And if you haven't been following my Twitter stream, I more or less suggest that you do because gems like, MollyLouise10: FACT: sheep dung is used to make card (stiff paper) and random quotations will probably make it worth it.

We got off the bus in Cardiff proper by the castle and then were basically told, be back here by a certain time and head off on your own. I was quite perturbed for a bit because the group that I was with made a detour into H&M and the last thing that I want to do while abroad is shop. In all honesty, though I really like the people I've met, I should have left them when we first got off the bus because I wanted to see the harbor, since someone had told me there might still be the replica ship there. Replica as in a replica of a frigate, and when you've read as much Age of Sail novels as I have, well, this was practically saliva inducing. The next part was figuring out how to get down the bay, and while everybody else was in line for Subway, I more or less headed back to the little bakery on the corner and asked for directions to the bay. And me, looking to save money and figuring that I have to walk everywhere in Carmarthen, too, asked how long it would take to walk. The answer was about forty minutes. Okay. We'll take the bus, instead.

I wound up down at Cardiff Bay, near a place called Mermaid Quay, and then just sort of started walking around. Keep in mind that at this point I was all the way down by the Millennium Center which is absolutely breathtaking because it is massive. I sampled some Welsh cakes - absolutely fabulous, by the way - and then looked at my watch. Fifty minutes to get back to the castle. And the quickest way back? A train that runs from the center of the city to the bay and back again, every fifteen minutes. Okay. We'll do that.

Now where in hell is the train station?

So began Louise's somewhat semi-frantic search for a train station [the only one that I found was no longer working, and to take the bus back to anywhere somewhat recognizable was going to take an hour, so that was not an option] and then I figured I would just hoof it.

Hoofing meaning speed walking meaning running on occasion. Good thing the mp3 player practically lives in my backpack.

And while there weren't signs for this mysterious train station, there were plenty of signs pointing in the direction of the city center.

I was so worried that I wasn't going to make it back on time that I didn't really tweet much about it. I just more or less speed-walked all the way back from the Bay to the shopping center that we had started at - in view of the castle - and after calming myself down, proceeded to find myself a cup of coffee since I had the time to spare.

I slept all the way back. Most of that time with my head on Craig's bony shoulder after first reassuring what I already knew in that he wouldn't mind.

That was my Saturday in Cardiff.

With all the time that I still seem to have on my hands, I'm going to take advantage of it. I booked my train tickets today, booked where I'm going to snooze [a bed and breakfast] and I'm heading to Snowdonia [the Northern, mountainous part of Wales] for two days. I've got the time, I've got the means, and while we'll trek all over Southern Wales with these prearranged weekend trips, we're not venturing much into North Wales.

Singing, Hot Chocolate, and Chill Night

These week - the week we're currently halfway through - is called Freshers Fortnight. Or, for those of us who don't really know what a fortnight is, consider it Freshers Week. It's the week where the Freshman have all sorts of cool stuff to do - mostly partying - but which also included a hypnotist (x-rated, no joke - one of my flat-mates did it last year and he was hypnotized to make it look like he was giving head) and this guy from Britain's Got Talent that can swallow billiard balls and then regurgitate them. There's also various themed parties (tonight is beach night, Saturday is pajamas) but there are also nights that are considered Chill Nights where, as it says, you more or less chill out.

Last night was one of those nights.

Six of us decided to go out together to the Student Union (more commonly known as the Union) to have a few and just sort of get to know each other better. What was supposed to be just a couple of pints and not very long turned into about an hour and a half there, on the balcony, sitting and talking. I didn't do any drinking last night- just didn't want to - and after looking at the time, we decided to head back and watch a movie.

Which turned out to be High School Musical 3, which at least three of my flat-mates knew by heart and were more prepared to sing along to. We even had the subtitles on (Huw is used to watching movies with subtitles because his girlfriend is partially deaf in one ear) and it was a great time watching and singing, and generally laughing at each other and at the movie. From what I've been told, it's the first and third movies that are great, but the second one is absolute crap.

I can't really explain it, but halfway through the third song, I think it just really hit me that I'm three thousand miles from home, and that the people that I normally lean on as we go waltzing through life aren't here at the moment. I had expected this maybe the third day here, the third day in an empty flat in a foreign country that I've just been tossed into, but over a week later (eight or nine days, at least) it really hit me.

I was homesick.

We're all sitting there in the dark, watching and singing to this movie, and I just started to tear up. So I just sort of got up and went across the hall into the kitchen to sit and try to get a handle on it. And it just really wasn't happening. Jenn and Jess came in, saw me crying, and wanted to know what was wrong. And they really understood as I was trying to tell them that it was really just hitting me that I was so far from home, and they put the kettle on, offered me tea or hot chocolate. I took the hot chocolate and the boiler was on, and I'm still properly teary-eyed when Huw opens the door, leans against it, and goes, "So, eh, our singing is really that bad, eh?" Which made us all laugh, and the next thing you know the boys come traipsing through the door and into the kitchen, more water is added to the boiler and we all sit down. I mentioned something about being three thousand miles away from home, and Huw goes, "That's a bit of a walk, isn't it, eh?" To which I replied, "More like a bit of a swim, really."

So with the movie on pause we sat in the kitchen drinking tea and hot chocolate and generally pissing ourselves with laughter at various stories. It wasn't how we had originally intended to finish our evening, but it wasn't a waste. And I realized then that I have the most awesome flat-mates that anyone could ask for while in a foreign country for three months.

And we will eventually finish HSM 3.

Across The Pond II

Hello from Carmarthenshire!

I know that it's been almost a week since you've seen or heard from me - well, heard, since you're not actually looking at me, or maybe it's seeing, because you're reading - anyway, there's been quite a bit happening within the last five or so days.

At least, I think it's been five. A little difficult to keep track of time when you hop timezones.

So, to start off this bright new chapter for your favorite - I hope - Wandering Sagittarius let's just kind of go through what that first day - the travel day - was like.

I didn't want to say goodbye to my parents at our little airport and have that be that and not see them again for three months. We got up in the morning on Sunday and left the house at about 7:55, arriving in the city - JFK to be exact - roughly six hours later. We found the terminal with the airline that I was flying and parked in the lot and I felt more like a baggage mule than an actual human since I was toting a giant backpack, two messenger bags, and the rolling suitcase. Quite impressive. We ate lunch in the terminal at McDonald's, and for the record, raspberry tea is absolutely nawful. Just plain gross. Which is why I and everyone else I'm related to drink unsweetened tea. And then we just sat around and people watched and tried not to think about the fact that I was going to be leaving both of my parents outside security and then sitting on a plane and ultimately ending up in a foreign country.

Yeah. Even though you know it's going to be one of the best experiences of your life, you still end up crying because you don't want to not have mom and dad forty-five minutes down the road. You don't want to have to figure out a way to call them so that they can hear your voice maybe once a week. So they know you're okay. You hesitate because you're heading into something that you've never seen before, a culture and a people you haven't really read anything about and to a university that you have no idea how the academic side of things really works.

You're stepping off that edge I talked about earlier and it's damned scary. Exciting. But scary.

I did cry. I'm the baby of the family and I know that mom had Empty Nest-like issues when I first went away to college, and this was probably hard for her. And it's not like it's a picnic on my end, either.

I made it through security with flying colors. Either they didn't want to question me about stuff in my bag or there was nothing to question. The laptop was with me, and of course I had to take that out and have it go through on its own, and you feel really awkward in your socks walking through a metal detector, but it's all good. I got some coffee at this place called Peet's on the way to the gate and then just sort of sat there. Tried to read a little. I brought a couple of books with me - Stardust by Neil Gaiman (yes, they made a movie out of it and yes, I own the movie and absolutely love it) and A Battle Won by S. Thomas Russell, which is another age of sail novel. I really like those, if you couldn't tell. I did some writing in my journal and tried not to think about what I was leaving behind. It was difficult, it really was. There's this certain Mayhem Maker, she's about three foot tall and is loved to pieces by her aunt, and I thought about her. And my sister, whom I love very, very much. So it kind of went back and forth between thinking about the possibilities and then thinking about everything else.

Story of my life when it comes to flying, the plane was delayed. It had been fairly craptastic weather all day - drizzly and rainy and foggy - and the plane was late getting to the gate from wherever it had come from. So, naturally, they need time to flip it and load everything on board for us, and it took time. We were supposed to be leaving at 7:30 and we didn't start boarding until about 8:20. Then once we were on the plane we sat at the gate for at least forty-five minutes. There was a moment when we thought, Alright, here we go, when the plane backed up away from the gate and that was short-lived because we wound up sitting on the tarmac. I traded one of the guys from my college for his window seat and watched many other planes go before we could - which was appropriately frustrating - and then we sat on the actual tarmac out where all the planes are for a little while longer. The girl next to me - also from my college - had taken Ambien and was looking suitably drugged at this point and none of the three of us wanted to sleep until we were in the air in case we had to change planes.

We took off, finally, and for the record I really don't like double-decker planes. I never feel like they have enough oomph to actually get up and go, which, when you're not a big a fan of flying as you probably should be, makes you a little nervous. Either way, once we got in the air, the flight went really fast.

As in, I woke up three times on the way to London: Once to eat dinner (which wasn't very good, though the wheat roll was excellent); once to go Where the hell am I?; and then again when the captain was telling us that we would be landing shortly and the stewardess was simultaneously trying to get my sleep-lagged brain to Please put up your window shade, and then holy sunlight. The view, however, was beautiful.

That, I believe, is the only reason I like flying.

Wonder of wonders we had to circle a little before we landed at Heathrow, but not for long. Then we were off the plane and into the terminal. It was actually a very long walk from the gate to Customs. Very long and windy. And when you got to Customs you were separated into lines and then you really felt like you were a farm animal being herded toward something. Didn't have any issues clearing Customs and then we practically ran to the baggage claim. And there on the rolling thingy was my beloved, beat-up suitcase that didn't look like it was bursting at the seams (a damn good indicator that nobody had been it and thereby upping the risk of a space-bag malfunction).

After you get your bag you walk down this hallway and ramp out into the arrivals hall. Heathrow has these foldable metal gates that you're more likely to see at concert backstages than in airports, and everybody has signs. There were all sorts of business-men looking for other business-men and near the end - which I didn't see, but Olivia did - was a sign for Trinity. And we went over and this guy with a clipboard looks at us and goes, "Ah, our three wayward Hobart students, yeah?" We hadn't realized we were wayward, but okay. The man was actually Gruff (which, even though it looks like gruff is pronounced griff - his full name is actually Gruffydd, where the dd on the end sounds like th instead) and he pointed us in the direction of the other HWS students and our fellow internationals.

And it was at that moment that I realized I was not only a foreigner, but I was also an international student. We form a group that is, appropriately named and short-hand, The Internationals.

We had to wait for everyone to arrive from their various planes and when that was done we went out into the parking lot and got on a bus.

One of the first things that you need to really pay attention to is that they drive on the left hand side of the road in the United Kingdom. Meaning when you cross a street, you sure as shit better look right before you look left or you might get seriously hurt. And it's really strange to be getting on a bus on the opposite side that you normally would. Like, really strange.

That's when you found out that it was another four hours to Carmarthen.

I'd slept on the plane. I'd slept across the whole damn Atlantic Ocean and I wanted to sleep somewhat normally tonight. So I wanted to stay awake. And that was a fail of epic proportions. I made it a little bit and then fell asleep about an hour, hour and a half from London. We stopped at a rest stop - which would put the ones on the NYS Thruway to shame - for a bit of something to eat and then it was back on the bus. I did much better this time, staying awake. I was awake for when we crossed the bridge from England to Wales. And one of the ways that you know you're in Wales? All the signs are in both Welsh and English. This is because Wales is a bilingual country. Children most often - a good ninety percent or higher - grow up speaking Welsh before they learn English.

At this point I'm pretty sure I fell asleep and the next time I woke up we were approaching Carmarthen. I tell you, I first saw it, and I fell instantly in love with it. The winding streets and the row houses, that old world feel to it and this sense of...magic, I guess, is the only way that I can really describe it. It has an air of magic to it.

We pulled into the college and right across the road is a field. A field which then rolls into a giant rolling hill - much like the ones we have back home - and the white dots are sheep. Actually, I've seen more sheep in five days than I have in the last five years, but that's besides the point.

They start calling us off the bus in groups because an International Buddy has the keys to where we'll be staying.

This is probably the time to point out that I am not living with any other international student. My seven floor mates - I've heard mixed messages about the term flat mates, and I'm just going to go with what's familiar - are people that I've never met before, that I didn't meet on that bus ride from Heathrow, and that are native Welsh. That is both absolutely awesome and terrifyingly nervewracking at the same time. So, for the time being, it was just going to be me living all by myself in this flat in a foreign country.

We had time to drop our baggage and then head over to the International Office where we could place a phone call home to let our parents know that we had arrived alright. This time we weren't even mindful of the time difference - which is five hours - so I wasn't even really aware that I was more than likely waking my mother out of sleep at about three in the morning. But she said that she and dad had gotten back from the airport - it had taken a really long time - and that everything was okay. And I told her that I was on campus and that I was okay. Then I went back to my empty flat to more or less sit on my bed and stare at the new walls.

And I'm going to try and do some pictures - maybe a picture series - or a video or something to really let you guys see what exactly it looks like where I'm staying, but you come through the main door to the building, and you go up a little half-flight of stairs. You go through another door and then you're in a little bit of an open space. To the left is Flat 6 and on the right is Flat 4. Through the Flat 4 door there is a skinny hallway that has eight rooms off of it - four on either side before you get to another fire door. They're listed by letter, A through H. On the other side of the far fire door is a little bit of a space and you can either go right or left, through another fire door. Right takes you into the kitchen, and left takes you into the common space. The common space has some chairs and three or four little tables, and that's about it. The kitchen has a little stove, a microwave, a toaster (that doesn't work) and a single-basin sink. There's two tables pushed together so that eight people can sit around, but there's only seven chairs. In my room I have a three-shelf bookshelf, a desk that has eight drawers, a bedside table that has four drawers, a wardrobe, and a bed.

I also have my own bathroom. Stand up shower, sink, and toilet. As someone who's had to walk out into the hallway in the morning to shower and let everyone see her in a towel carrying a bathroom bucket, having my own bathroom is quite nice. It's small, of course, but that's just fine. And the only curtains in the flat are the ones in the bedroom. My window - which doesn't have a screen, though I was assured that's how they normally are - overlooks the front walkway into the building. So it's kind of like living where I was the first year in college when I looked out over the parking lot, but not quite as easy to lay in bed and watch people on their walk of shame. Namely because the bed is on the other side of the room from the window. And that's really the only wall that it fits on. Then again, it's not like I could move the wardrobe as it's bolted to the wall.

The mattress isn't bad and I'm insanely glad that I brought my own sheets. I'm not going to go into details, but I'm just really glad that I brought my own sheets and pillowcase. The comforter-like blanket (about half as thick as a comforter) does just fine, but the sheets....eh.

That first night I unpacked a little bit and then found out that some of them were going out into the town, maybe to grab a pint. We found this place called the Rose and Crown Hotel, had a pint, and got to know some of the internationals that we didn't really know - though it was a smaller group and kind of more intimate, and that was nice, in its own way - and had a fairly early evening.

Tuesday was more or less the start of a few days worth of info-dump and orientation. It started with a bit of a who's who and carried on through paperwork, the cultural program, student services, careers, police service, IT Orientation (which was not what you would think it was and is a very complicated, pain in the ass process to get wireless), a brief introduction to the Student Union, tour of campus, meeting the Chaplain, taking a photograph, touring the town (doing the first round of shopping) and then finishing with an evening out on the town with the International Buddies. And a few of their friends.

That was an awesome night.

Wednesday started bright and early since we needed to meet with Jo (the International Officer) to talk about our internships. Then there was a bit on banking from one of the local banks, followed by information on extra curricular activities. Then we registered.

After registration was when things got a little hairy. Abroad tuition kind of comes intermingled or substituted on the tuition bill to mom and dad - I can't exactly remember which - but when you get over here, you have to pay for your housing. Okay. Not a big deal. Mom and I worked that out before I left the states. The only issue arose when the lady behind the glass couldn't take the details I was handing her because she couldn't verify that I wasn't using someone else's card to pay for it. Well, long frustrating story short, she wound up calling my mother at work and having mom do the exact same thing I was trying to do. I understand why the lady was doing it, but...really? That was frustration that I really didn't need.

One library tour later and I was done for the day.

Thursday was a free morning followed by a trip to Llansteffan. Llansteffan is this cool little village that also has a castle. And it's only eight miles down the road. Llansteffan is Welsh for "Church of Stephen" and the castle was built by Norman conquerors in the early 12th century. The view from the top was absolutely amazing. I fell up the stairs, as usual, instead of down them trying to go up the winding staircase.

That night we went out on the town. That was much fun - there was much dancing, loud music, and I'm impressed that I'm not permanently deaf. Absolutely impressed.

Friday was a bit of a chill day. There was some stuff that we had to take of, registration wise, and then we were free to go. Friday is when some of my flat-mates moved in. Matthew (commonly known as Math) moved in, and he's really, really nice. Lurch also moved in. Yes, Lurch. His real name is Chris but he goes by Lurch. Don't ask me why, because I really don't know. Later on that night Kyrian moved in. He plays rugby and he's a big dude.

All of them though are incredibly nice people.

Saturday was a day trip to Whitesands and St. Davids. Have you seen the movie Robin Hood? Yes? Remember that last battle scene? The one filmed on the beach? Yeah, I was there. It was filmed on Whitesands beach. When we left the beach and went back to the village of St. Davids, it was a bit of a walk to the cathedral. Worth it, though. It was even worth it to pay the one pound fee to take in the gatehouse exhibition that told about he history of Saint David, his cathedral, and his town. The cathedral itself was absolutely awesome. But what was really worth it was paying the three pounds to wander through Bishop's Palace. It's the awesome palace that's in ruins that you can wander through and up into the towers and see some of the rooms that they've kind of recreated. Part of it, over the kitchen, is partially underground and partially just under the floor above it. And you can literally feel the history oozing out of it. You also definitely get the feel that the people who had originally lived there are still wandering around, especially in the darker parts and after the sun sets. Absolutely gorgeous.

The only non-gorgeous part was when I went to turn around after going up a staircase and I bent the ever-loving shit out of my right ankle. Thankfully it was the right and not the left (otherwise I might have done some serious damage) but the lady on the other side of the window as I was coming down definitely didn't expect me to be swearing a blue streak.

Sunday was the day that I'd really been waiting for. Everybody moved in on Sunday. There were doors banging and everything, people moving around and stamping, parents moving kids in. I'm not going to lie, it kind of made me sad because I expected my own mother to kind of appear in the door, berate me on the state of my room, and then be like, Come help me unload the car, if you please. My mother, however, is three thousand miles away on the other side of the Atlantic. So having to unload the car of groceries isn't going to happen until I move back across that large body of water.

Anyway. With everybody moving it, there was this sense of happy that happened because I was no longer alone in a strange country, in an empty flat, and now I could get over this idea that, Holy shit, I've got to make friends with people.

It was way easier than I expected. The people that I'm living with are absolutely awesome. Our favorite hang out is currently the kitchen (where I'm actually finishing typing this). So, where I'll leave this, I'm still in the process of getting to know my flat-mates, figuring out how to live with seven other people, and generally just having a go of it.

And so far, so good.

Edges

I feel like I'm standing on the edge of something, looking out and looking down.

There's no safety nets. There's no parachute strapped to my back. It's just me, this edge, and feeling like I'm leaving something behind to gain something that I can't see. I know some of the things that I'm going to gain over the course of tomorrow and the next three months - perspective, new horizons to explore, and new people to meet and be shaped by. I might even finish my novel while I'm over there. Or I might start a new story.

What I know I'm going to start is a new chapter of me. There's going to be the start of a new section - like going to college was the start of something, not a continuation of what was.

This is one of those times when you really have to look at what you're gaining and not overly at what you're losing. And it's really hard. It's stepping completely out of your comfort zone into something new and exciting and different. Something that could be dangerous as well as adventurous.

And sometimes the line between the two isn't as defined as we'd like to think it is.

I'm going to leave what I know, and head for something I've never seen in my life. And as much as I wander, as much as I adventure - this makes me appropriately leery. I'm excited. Really, I am. I'm just...I'm standing at an edge I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to tip over yet.

It'll be like standing at an airplane gate, not quite sure you're really ready to walk through.

But whether or not you think you're ready, you're going to do it anyway. Step a little closer to the edge. Take a deep breath.

And free fall.

Wear It

I'm thinking that many of you noticed the new header photo - courtesy of my friend Emily from when she came to visit me - and that you noticed something sitting on my right shoulder. Not on it, per say, but in it.

Yes, that is a tattoo. And yes, it is real.

It's been on my skin since November. I kept it pretty tightly under wraps because at that point I hadn't informed my family (read: my parents) and there were some things that I wasn't completely comfortable with. I'm not going to lie, I sat in Orgo the Monday after I got it done and had a mini panic attack because I realized that I couldn't wear summer sun dresses to work as a teacher because of it. Completely failed to comprehend that I might never actually go into teaching once I have the degree (it is a back up plan), and completely almost freaked out to the point of hyperventilating (the guy sitting next to me was probably expecting me to fall out of my seat). This was further compounded when the moment came to actually tell my mother (while trying on my dress [strapless] for my cousin's wedding that I had completely forgotten about) and my sister just looked at me and said in her mommy and big sister voice, "You were the one that chose to put it there, you need to own your skin."

And I owned it. Everything turned out alright (my mother even said later that night, "I thought you would have put color in it") and that was that.

As far as the family was concerned. We kind of figured that grandma might fall out of the pew from the shock of it (we left it uncovered and for the world to see at the wedding) and I learned what it really meant to own your skin. Like I said, as far as family was concerned.

There was some different mentality as far as campus went. There really aren't that many tattoos on my campus. Or, at least, ones that you can readily see without being stark naked. During the spring, even when it got hot, I wore mostly t-shirts because I was still a little afraid of what people were going to think.

Here I was, twenty-years-old and still worried about what people were going to think of something that I had knowingly and willingly put on my body. In short, I was failing to do the thing that I had thought I had already accomplished. I was failing to own my skin.

Now, a couple months later and after the heat of the middle of the summer, I'm going to wear my skin. It's the only one that I have. And the centaur? I am a Wandering Sagittarius. The zodiac symbol for Sagittarius is the centaur. I don't think it's offensive; it's a different representation of a fairly important aspect of myself.

However, this doesn't meant that I'm going to offend everybody I come across if tattoos are taboo or something of that nature in Wales. Because that's just being a moron. If it's not an issue, it's not an issue, and there's no need to make it one.

The point is that the skin that you have - the skin that you were born in - is the one that you have to wear until the day you die. The body you wear is the one that you have, and you can change it a little - losing or gaining weight, piercings, tattoos, whatnot - but it's the one that you have. You have to wear it. More importantly, you have to own it.

Just like everything else in life.

The Abroadest Revisited

I came home from work tonight and just sort of sat down and wrote. What came out was my first article as The Abroadest for the martini. This was after bread pudding from the restaurant. While watching Remember the Titans and listening to The Band Perry and Sara Bareilles.

And, like most of what comes out of my head, it's honest and it's real. Also probably a really good way to start off the column that I've inherited for three months.

Here it be:

When I moved onto campus my first year, I brought enough stuff to fit in the back of my dad’s little black pickup truck and my mother’s car. I lived in a converted study in Jackson and if I forgot something at home, it wasn’t that big of a deal to wait a couple of weeks and have the parents come up the 35 miles it is between Watkins Glen and Geneva. Sophomore year went much the same way – including only moving up two floors to Jackson 4 – and having a car on campus was a major plus. Except parking tickets for being caught in Medbury without the right permit. That more or less always sucks.

This semester when I move into where I’m living – a room I’ve never seen in a flat I’ve also never seen – I’m not going to have a carful. I’m not going to have the truck. Everything that I need to survive a semester as a college student will have to fit into one single suitcase. This is because I am the one who has to heft the damn thing from point A to point B and also because I’m kind of cheap and don’t want to pay for multiple checked bags at JFK.

Really, it’s because of the bag fee.

I’ll have one suitcase, a carry-on, and a personal item to take with me on the airplane. There will also probably be a blanket and a pillow. There will be no crate filled with DVD’s, no indoor/outdoor rug for my cold tile floor, no mini-fridge to put under the bed, and no corkboards and posters to decorate the bare walls. I’ll have what I can carry, what I can fit in a certain amount of cubic space.

Odd concept, isn’t it?

With the exception of the international students and those coming from the west coast, most of us probably don’t think about how much stuff we actually move in with. We just cram it into the backseat of mom and dad’s car, and take off for Geneva.

Not being able to do this is one of those nonnegotiable facts of studying abroad. It usually gets lost in the shuffle and excitement of the idea that you’re studying in a foreign country for about three months. And I’m just as excited as everybody else studying abroad this semester, and those who’s anticipation is building for next semester.

But as much as I’m an optimist, I’m also down to earth, and occasionally, a realist. I live 41.38 miles away from home. I go home maybe once a month during the year for a bit of a break and to have dinner with the family. More or less to regroup and refocus. I know that this is something most students don’t have. Most students come from at least a couple hours away.

When I move in this year I’ll do it by myself, toting my suitcase into a strange flat 3,286.93 miles away from my own front door.

I’m not an idiot – I’m really excited about this opportunity. Studying in a foreign country for three months, exploring, learning, meeting new people and visiting new places, appropriately expanding horizons – a lot of people have told me that it’s going to be great, that I’m going to have a blast and that it’s one of those things that will stay with me forever. I’ve got no doubt that they’re right. I’ve always wanted to visit Great Britain and now I have my chance. This is one of those things that you’ll make the most of and if you don’t, you’ll regret it quite vividly about five years from now. And with a personal mantra to regret nothing, it’s not something I’m signing up to do. Like I said, though, I am, on occasion, a realist.

Which means that for as excited as I am, I am also, in a certain capacity, somewhat terrified.

Studying abroad means going completely out of your comfort zone and being thrown into something new and different. They speak English over there, but they also speak Welsh. I have no idea how to speak or read Welsh. It’s not like Spanish, where if you took some in high school and went to Spain or somewhere else that spoke the language fluently, you could at least help yourself a little. I know that ‘dd’ is pronounced ‘th’. That’s about the extent of it. In some ways there’s a language barrier. Not a big one, exactly, but it’s still there.

And the same worries that you had when you first came to college? Am I going to make friends, are they going to like me, am I going to fit in? Yeah, those still apply. Instead of having one roommate that I’ve never met before – and my roommate was pretty cool first year – I’m going to have four or five. It’s like moving into an Odell’s unit that you’ve never seen the inside of with people you’ve never seen on campus before, even in passing. You haven’t spoken to them, you don’t know what they like, what they’re eating and sleeping habits are, or what they’re studying. You don’t know what type of personality they have, what little quirks they possess, and whether or not you leaving the almost-empty jug of milk in the fridge is going to piss them off for a week. Throw in a place that’s not America in any sense of the word, add in a language barrier, jet-lag confusion, and complete disorientation and you’ve got study abroad in a nutshell.

It’s exciting and it’s slightly terrifying.

If it’s not slightly terrifying it should at least make you uneasy in some regard.

If it doesn’t make you uneasy – at least a little – we should probably check on your sanity.

You can be fearless. You can be the type that never looks before you leap and then tries to figure out what to do when you crash into something sharp. Or you can be the type that looks for every single crack in the sidewalk to step over because you don’t want to trip. Or, you can be somewhere in the middle looking at both ends – seeing a semester in Wales as an opportunity that you can’t help but squee loudly when you think about how many days you don’t have left before you go and then freaking out because it’s three months in a foreign country across an ocean and you think you might not be quite ready for it.

What do you do?

Ask me later, when I might know what I’m doing. And that’s not being dramatic – that’s simply being human.