Hair stylists are always right.

So a week before I left for school I went to my sister's hair stylist, Carolyn, and we started talking about leaving home and college and she surprised me with a tidbit fact.

"Two weeks. If you can get through two weeks, you're good."

I laughed at the time and thought two weeks would be cake. Well, I cheated a little by going home this weekend, but I think it still counts as a two week rule and I'm free. But as the two weeks are coming to a close, I can feel it. The pressure in my chest, the strange dreams, and all the other signs that are telling me that I am missing someone or something. I'm somewhat of a connoisseur of missing things so I can read the signs quite easily. I feel this tug deep inside and I know that these next few days will be rough. But as much I see these signs, I know I have to ignore them that much more, and figure out how to just live with it.

I'm finding it easier to forgot these baby bouts of depression here. Maybe it's that I'm getting older or maybe because I have no other choice, but it's easier to push these sad thoughts away and just focus on the positives, like how much I love my Anthropology class. I know that everything will come together and the missing part will fade slightly (not completely, of course) . It's just, for now, I am appreciating the irony of how very right Carolyn was.

P.S. The hope of seeing you soon really helps, too.

Home again, home again, jiggity jigg

So first time I went home since I've been here. Well, it's really not that big a deal since I have only been in college for a week, but it was definitely an experience. It was a short trip, less than 48 hours, which was really enough time to make me realize that the house where my parents live isn't truly my home anymore. I mean, although it is in the summer and on holidays, my life there is basically finished. It's hard to admit, and as much as I would like to just sleep in my own bed every night, I can't. And I think I'm okay with that.

I missed my crappy little dorm so much more than I would have thought. I missed being in my own place of comfort, which is what the room I call my home has become for me. Of course, it was absolutely amazing seeing a few of the people I have been missing, but there was a new pull to get home to UTSA (wow, that feels weird to see actually written down) and continue this thing called college. But despite all of the surreal situations, I really liked going home. It was like visiting my childhood, if that makes sense.

P.S. It wasn't the same without you, though.

Free Energy!

So I figured out why I have this wacky love for English.

I was reading my syllabus for my Freshmen Comp. class during my hour and half break in between classes (maybe the scheduling isn't so great...) and I was studying up my grammar stuff and the teacher had explained the rules and saying how complicated and frustrating they were when it hit me:

English and I are basically the same person.

We both can be very fickle, the aforementioned frustrating and complicated; We both change constantly to a point where people just leave us alone completely; There are always so many variables to consider and we are equally confusing to most people. Bottom line: English and I are both a little crazy.

It was a nice kind of revelation, sitting in the on-campus Starbucks (sorry, sisters) and listening to my iPod. Made me that much more excited to go to my Freshmen Comp class tomorrow now that I fully understand this inexplicable passion for the English Language and everything that goes along with it.

P.S. I have Spoon perpetually stuck in my head.

Adam but more importantly Eve.

I feel like I should be bubbling with excitement on the night before my first day of school. I usually can't stand it, the anticipation and whatnot. But as I sit here, busy on the computer and everything, I find myself more...complacent. This feels right. I should be going to college, I should be in classes, doing things that interest me. I had dinner with a friend tonight and we were talking about the upcoming day, and I found myself saying the thought that has blocked me from excelling all of my "underclassmen days." Pointless rebellion towards the system was so strong that I refused to let myself do well. Yay for only hurting myself.

But this is different. I want to be here. I want to learn about biology and anthropology and all my other classes. I have started planning out how to study and little rewards for doing well (the rec center is a God-send). Note-taking seems to be one of the highlights. Soaking up information is like a light on the horizon to me now. I mean, it's dorky but I know that people reading this will appreciate this.

So here I am. Hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea, slightly impatient to get very started, but mostly an overwhelming peace at being at the right place in exactly the right time. It's nice, and pleasantly unfamiliar. I'm even excited to ride my new bike around campus and wobbly find my own way. Most of all, I want to jump without thinking about anything else except for the glorious plunge and the even better splash.

P.S. I hope you know why I'm doing this.

Post Script

So the tears came last night, for the first time. I had just turned out the light and my mind began to wander and I thought of my friends. Each of them doing their own thing, figuring out their futures in very different ways and I realized that as much as I want to hold onto them as tight as I can, I want to let them go just as much. I want everyone I know and love to be able to experience everything they want to as much as they want to.

I don't know, the tears came unthinkingly but they weren't necessarily sad. Part joy, part excitement, part fear and a million other parts. I just hope everyone else is as eager as I am to jump on this train and let it ride its course. And yes, it's sad to me that I won't be a huge part in everyone's different discoveries and whatnot but I think a much bigger part is so happy for everyone that it overrules the sadness. Plus I can't wait to hear all the many stories come Thanksgiving.

P.S. Part of the tears were because I want to see your face again. A big part.

Ode to College

So, here I am, late at night, blogging in my dorm room. I don't know, it's hard to realize that I'm actually on my own. I don't live with my parents or any family member of mine. I don't even live in the same city. True, it's only an hour away, but being car-less, it could be 10 hours away and feel the same. I suppose classes will start, I'll meet people, get into a routine and then slowly, everything will fall into place. I hope I'm there to watch it all happen.

P.S. I miss you.