Back in School Again -- Why?

Monday, August 17, 2015

UWG - Carrollton, GA

12:53am

 

Dear Diary,

 

Today totally wasn't move-in, but it's when I finally got my butt over here. I actually drove the hour and a half all by myself. Like, with no one else in the car. I was all on my lonesome in the gold car--"The Golden Bullet", as Kyle calls it--and I made it without much of a problem. Any issues were navigation related, and the fact that my GPS waits so long before it tells you to turn.

 

I did learn a few things about the path, though.

 

I bad-mouth the gold car, but he's actually not so bad. I don't mind it so much. It just rides so low.

 

Anyway, I'm tired, so moving on.

 

Rush. Today was just Rho Gam Meet-&-Greet and Orientation, which of course I pretty much have memorized by now. (I've been through the process enough times.) But I wanted to go through it one more time since it's the last year I can. It's just another audition. If I get in, fantastic. If I don't, it's one less thing to deal with this term.

 

           SIDEBAR: I do need to remember to go introduce myself to the new TD.

 

I love Mary's and my housemates. I guess there's only two: a Phi Mu, Laura-Ashley (who's also Exec. Panhellenic), and a Kappa Delta, Gabby. Gabby and I actually recognized each other from Chorus last year, though it did take us a while to get around to that conclusion. They should be fun.

 

I don't know why I agreed to watch American Horror Story, though.

 

I think it was because I want Mary to watch Supernatural.

 

I gotta fix that.

 

Went to a super late dinner with Olivia, too. Though, things seem to be difficult on the housing frontier for her and Katie. Fingers-crossed that that gets better.

 

Anyway, I'm going to bed now. Zzz-quil kicking in.

 

                    -- KG

Uber

Sunday, August 9, 2015

3:52pm, Wilmington International Airport

 

What if there was a taxi service that wasn't really a "taxi service"? What if there was one that was clean? Punctual? Sleazy-free? Well, there is! Welcome to Uber.

 

I know I sound like some ridiculous TV advertisement, but I'm actually super impressed with this "taxi service". I almost want to call it a "cabbie service"--which is what it's called in London--just because it lived up, and even exceeded those standards.

 

Uber is an app that calls personal drivers to take you wherever you need to go. And yes, I know how that sounds. And I have no sympathy. I had never heard of Uber until this weekend, when I needed a way to get to the airport while everyone else was busy. I don't like taxis; I don't trust taxis, but Beca told me about Uber.

 

Now, when she introduced it to me, she said it was an app that called "strangers to come and drive you around". Like strangers right off the street. I could not understand why anyone would be stupid enough to try that. And over the course of the weekend, other people talked about Uber, too, like it was a god-send. I honestly thought, on multiple occasions, "Am I surrounded by idiots?"

 

But, earlier this morning, Nikki told me what it really was about. And it is like a high-end, personal driving service.

 

(Here's how it works:

• About twenty minutes before you have to leave, you set your destination into the app and a driver is called to pick you up.
• There is a map on the app that tracks your location, and you can physically watch the car on the map drive to meet you. (I think that's my favorite part.)
• The app gives you the license plate and type of car that is coming for you. (That is very handy. Especially when you're leaving from a convention center in the middle of One Tree Hill Con.)
• And then, of course, just to make sure you know, the driver calls you when he arrives.

 

I had some sort of black Kia, but it was super clean and spacious. The driver was very talkative, which I have to assume is unique to the person, but while I usually don't like talking in taxis, I rather enjoyed that ten-minute conversation.

 

Though I had a short trip, I have been completely turned-on to Uber. I am totally keeping that app (which is free, by the way). I swear to god, I am never using a taxi ever again.

 

                               -- KG

Nerd Camp 2015 - Day Ten

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Dear Diary,

 

Why am I always the one apologizing in my relationships?

 

The one with the girls, I get. That's been going on since January. I'll just have to wait and see how that one goes during this stupid OTH con next week.

 

But I've noticed it here too. With Zoe. Yesterday, Marianna asked me to do her hair for the day, and Zoe basically jumped down both our throats for me "encouraging her". I get that she wants to leave at a certain time, but Marianna still had time. I checked for that specific reason. But here comes Zoe, stomping in at 8:27am, claws out, ready to rip a new one--And somehow, I'm the one apologizing at breakfast.

 

I don't understand why she's so protective of her kids. I know that Marianna spends a lot of time with Priya and Indie (or with a couple other of mine). I know that she hangs out with me, but that's just because she knows Shannon. They have inside jokes that I relay to either side. And it's not like I hide them from Zoe. I let her in on the whole crocodile thing. It's not like I'm trying to steal her kids. I even mentioned it to Alex, and she's on my side.

 

I don't get it. I don't get the need to be so damn possessive. And I've noticed it before. When Zoe gets mad, she gets mad. Even little ticks and she's fuming. It's nuts. No wonder her kids come running to me. She scares the shit out of everybody. But it's not just with her. And it's not just with the girls. It's with everybody.

 

Skip Wells died.

 

He was shot in Chattanooga last week. Or two weeks ago. It was the day before I left. Everyone's taking it hard. I'm taking it hard. I can't help but remember the conversation we had when I was in Valdosta and I'm pretty sure he was completely drunk. I wish I still had it. It was on my old phone. The one I lost in Rome. But I can still feel him around. I miss him. Because I've been here these last weeks, I haven't really had time to mourn. I have moments like this where I remember and shut off. It's not what he would've wanted. But I'm not sure he would've wanted the big memorial service everyone did for him either.

 

I think that's why I like this book. One I picked up at Barnes&Noble the other day. It's about a girl who's father has PTSD and she's trying to navigate her grounded life for the first time. I've had no motivation to read for months. A lot of that had to do with the high school girls. My brain was too busy trying to protect me from them to translate the words on the pages. I couldn't write either. Not really. Though, I can't write now either. I blame the kids, but I don't think it's them at all.

 

I think it's Skip's death. And I hear the similarities between how I deal with it all and how the girl in the story deals. It's too alike. Then I remember Skip in my "The Girl With Wings" stories. And I wish I could've been talking to him recently. I wish I could've heard his take on what was happening with the high school girls. Somehow, I think he'd understand better than everyone else. But I also know that's the last of how he'd want me to be feeling right now.

 

I miss him. I can hear him in the back of my mind. I think that's why I'm fighting the apologies now. I noticed them before. And probably shouldn't have in front of Mom, but I can feel him still. Being at home is going to hurt. I know I'll only be back for a couple days before I have to leave for this con, but being at home is going to hurt. And being at this con is going to hurt.

 

I want to dye my hair.

 

Part of that, I'm sure, is the camp. These kids are so open about who they are and what they like. It makes me jealous. I was never that kid. I was always so self-conscious. I wouldn't even wear specific jewelry in fear of judgment. London made that better, but I reverted as soon as I was back. I texted Mary Hand earlier asking about what dyed hair would do for Rush. She said don't do it. Something in me doesn't care. I want to do it. I'm tired of being a chicken about it. Somewhere inside, I don't care what the sororities think.

 

I think that's Skip, too. Between my kids and Skip's death, I'm finding myself. But I can still hear my chicken-self inside. What if I damage my hair? What if they hate me? What if I regret sabotaging my chances? What if? I do that dance all the time. I do it for everything. Every outfit, every audition, every choice and decision and question. I like to cover my bases. I like to have all the information. That's why I texted Mary. And even though I stretched the truth about how the dye would get into place, I asked Mary what it would do to my chances of getting in a sorority. (It's not high.)

 

But I want to surprise her too. I want to walk into school with dip-dyed ends or streaks of purple or red and be new. I'm a theatre kid. I'm twenty. I'm losing my chance and I'm letting it be taken and I hate it. I want to do this right. I want to dye my hair. I want to be free. I want my life.

 

                                      -- KGratiaM

Nerd Camp 2015 - Day Seven

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Dear Diary,

 

One week down, one to go. That's mind-boggling. It feels like I've been here forever, but like that can't possibly add up to a week. This is going to be short, however, because I get to sleep in again tomorrow. (Which is fantastic.)

 

So, anyway, Madeline left earlier today. She has been saying that all week, but I'm still proud of her for sticking it out for the first half. Especially since it sounds like she might have Asperger's.

 

(OMG, sidebar: I found out a couple weeks ago that Raven has been diagnosed with the same thing. Which explains a lot, but still.) 

 

Also, Noa, now has some sort of hive-y rash / bites all over her skin. They started on her legs about two hours ago, and they've only spread. Bennett basically said to try to get her to sleep, but if she asks to go to the Emergency Room, we'll take her. Last time I heard, she's sleeping on the floor of her bathroom to keep the sheets from irritating her legs.

 

On a brighter note, we're going to Barnes&Noble tomorrow, and then the kids have Creative Group Time (CGT) tomorrow night. So, yay! Time away from the kids. I'm literally about to start snapping necks if we have another night like tonight with everyone talking over each other--and us--during the Trivia Crack game (which Alex corrupted me to this morning). We actually plan on doing a fandom version later in the week, but I'm seriously not kidding. If my kids get wild again, *whistles*. I actually had an RA Meeting with my kids tonight over it all. I'm not having my girls act out. I'm not. I'm a patient person, but when you push me over my line...

 

[Chel's "It's not gonna be good" gif, The Road to El Dorado.]  

 

But both Alex's kid, Parker, and my Kaitlyn Dubey have had panic attacks in the past week due to this kind of thing, so that's so not happening again.

 

But, on that joyful note, it's 1:00am. I'm going to bed.

 

                           -- KG

Nerd Camp - Day Two

Monday, July 20, 2015

Dear Diary,

 

Classes have begun! And the only reason I really know that is because there is this giant span of time (ironically nine to five) where all the RAs are off-duty. Seven hours without your kids and nothing to do—not cool.

 

Before I get to that, though, I love my kids! I love them. Especially Noa. She's absolutely adorable, and my most loyal duckling. I really need to get her a crown. But anyway, Madeline says she wants to leave Saturday, but I'm super proud of her for sticking it out until then in case it changes her mind (her words, not mine!). Especially after Lizzy went home on the first day without giving it a chance. If Madeline still wants to go home at the end of the week, then that's okay with me. And, last night, she—who is so, so shy—physically inserted herself into a big group with Zoe and I, and actually got into conversation with everyone. She actually had this zodiac / astrological characteristics book, and, although highly inappropriate for a thirteen-year-old, read out loud the "Taurus and Sex" section of her book. (Not the greatest of topics for doing it, but I'm proud of her anyway.)

 

There's two girls here, Priya and Indie—Geez, they get loud. Sometimes they're a little much, but most of the time, my relationship with them is rather smooth. Though, I do expect that energy had a lot to do with how my group got first in the team-soccer race we did yesterday. All the RAs swapped, so it was a shock to me. I was a super proud RA.

 

During our break yesterday, we watched "The Avengers: Age of Ultron", so Alex has officially corrupted me to both Avengers movies.

 

And OMG, Quicksilver. *gif*

 

Okay, so, I'd seen Quicksilver (Pietro) and Scarlet Witch (Wanda) on Tumblr enough times to know I would love them, especially him. But what I didn't know was that (SPOILER) Pietro dies! *gif*

 

Not okay! Literally, the only thing keeping me from jumping down Alex's throat for showing me that is (SPOILER) apparently, the actor has signed on for three more movies. I'm like, "There is no way he would sign on for three more movies—easily five more years—if they were just going to do flashbacks. He has to be alive." #PietroDenialSquad

 

So, as true to my obsession runs, I have dove into my reader-insert fics with Pietro Maximoff. And, as also true, I have created a whole new self-insert / OC for Pietro and that universe: Annie Romanoff. (Yes, she is Natasha's sister. #don't judge me)

 

I know eventually I'll get into where I'm actually shipping him, but until then, I'm just going to be enjoying my Annietro / Pannie. (Ugh, I hate when the girl's name is first, but "Pannie" is as bad as "Peeniss".) Romanoff, Maximoff — Yeah, that doesn't really work either... "Maxmanoff"? (I'll figure it out.)

 

(Can you tell this is a writing camp? #only us)

 

 Anyway, I'm going to bed. 6:30am is too frickin' earlier.

 

                -- KG



Death

Death has a funny way of making the Living predictable. It's never anything we notice except as we sit in a funeral home or at a church with a casket lying in front of us. But people have a default setting when someone dies. We all hook into each other. Even my no-bullshit Atheist brother took part in the religious ceremony. He may not believe in any God or Savior, like many in that room did, but he never once said anything bad or dismissive of the words coming from the minister's mouth. It was touching to see.

As people file in, we make a beeline for those closest to the deceased. We console and pay our sympathies and follow the protocol ingrained in us from childhood. Tears are shed, even if we didn't know the one laying at the front of the room. Scientists call this empathy, the ability to physically express what others are feeling. Though there are other examples, this is the strongest I've ever seen.

And then we sit down and hear a man or a woman give a speech about the life of the person or God's plan or that this time together with family is a celebration. And no one quite believes them. And then maybe red-eyed attendants share stories about the one who is gone. And everyone laughs through our own tears, but the smile always ends up falling again. And then the service ends and we file back out of the room, extending touches and soft smiles and the occasional inside joke to break a depressed smile from one another.

The processional crawls through traffic and everyone starts to feel a little better. The familiarity of our own cars makes the whole endevour a little brighter. Parents have teaching moments and kids loosen their ties and hair ribbons. Slack falls into the father's shoulders and moms kick off their heels. Sometimes we crack jokes or talk about how we would like to go. We speak free and light on a topic that will be very sad should it ever come to pass.

Then the graveyard comes into view and the weight comes back. The tensions and shoes and ties and hair ribbons all come back on and when we step out of our cars, smiles once again feel awkward and out of place. Words are spoken and prayers are whispered and the casket is lying atop its hole. Sometimes we know who lay next door; sometimes it's just a name on a stone. A foreign concept even with the lid to the plot sitting off to the side, wearing the name of the one in the box.

Then the ceremony is over and a stranger stands to say we may leave, even though it always feels like that "Go in peace" is much more a "Shoo". People scatter, no one ready to go back to our cars, but we like to put some space between us. After a while, we group off with others closer to our age, seeking a comfort from someone who might just understand. The topic of why we are all here is avoided, conversation instead small talk and catching up and making plans to get together later.

Eventually we all find our way to our cars. We have things to do now, things that had escaped our notice until the sensation of togetherness faded away. We turn our backs to the one going in the ground and walk back toward the light. Back to happiness and jobs and life. I can't imagine the one lying there is sad to see us go. I don't expect loneliness to set in as they watch us walk away. I think they would see the irony of it all. We all walk away from the dead, but we face forward to Death.

At least, I think that Grand-Aunt Donagene would have seen that, and I think Grandma and Grandpa would have too. I don't know if they can see us anymore, but I like to think they do. It makes all the pain fade away. When I think of them laughing, I want to laugh, too, through the pang of loneliness in my chest.

<><><><><>

Out of everything today, the party included, my favorite set of stories was when we were sitting in the processional, with that first wave of ease washing over us. We really did talk about what we wanted to happen to us after we died and, for the most part, we ended up laughing.

My mother, for example, said: "I want you to take any part of my body that worth something and donate it, specifically my brain and spinal cord to the MS Society. And then I want to be cremated. And I don't really care where you scatter me. Whatever's precious to us at the time. If we're still at that house, put me in a garden. If we're by the sea, throw me in the water. And then, I want you to throw a big party. I want people singing and laughing and food and stories."

It was my father's response that made us all laugh. "Geez, I can't even get away from parties when you're dead?"

My brother, on the other hand, said: "I don't want people crying when I die. I don't want a thousand-dollar casket. Just find a hole and throw me in....I want a roast. I want people to talk shit. I want people to cry, not because they're sad I'm gone, but because they got offended. And then I want someone to kick out the wusses that cried."

My dad and I didn't say anything. I don't know what his plans are, and I certainly don't know mine. But my favorite quote from that time in the car was what my mother had said about her dad: "My dad always said he wanted to die one day after my mom died. Because he didn't want Mom to have to go through all the pain and grief and suffering, but he didn't want to live without her."

The true heartbreak of that quote is that Nana is alive and well, but Papa died years before I was even born.

                              — KGratiaM

Twenty

Twenty. 2-0. No one thinks of it as a big number. It's not an important number—at least not by American teenage standards. Twenty-one is the big one. You get to drink legally. No more smuggling kegs into frat parties or across state borders. No more worrying about cops patrolling the next door neighbor's house. No more asking people to lie to keep your ass out of jail. It's all legal.

So I get why twenty-one is a big deal. (I'm not much of a drinker, and even if I was, I've been to London, so it all seems counter-intuitive to me anyway) but I get it.

Twenty, though.

I never thought twenty would be a big age. I never thought of it being different than any of the other birthdays, let alone being superior in any way. But it's both.

I keep thinking about the F.R.I.E.N.D.S episode, "The One Where They All Turn Thirty" with the universal moping and curses at God for making them age into the devil year. Rachel doesn't want to do anything, Monica gets drunk, and poor Joey can't get over that thirty is an actual age he would eventually hit.

Thirties I get. That's over a quarter of the expected average lifespan. It's the year where all hope of the clock reversing or freezing to keep you a kid has disappeared and you're prepared for a mid-life crisis.

Twenty wasn't supposed to be this big of a deal.

But here I sit at 11:59pm, and I can't believe I'm about to be two decades old. I am decades old. How much older does that make me sound?

And there it is: Midnight on May 14th. I'm twenty.

I knew it was going to happen. From the moment my baby brother turned eighteen back in March, I knew it was inevitable. You can still cling to reasonable doubt until your baby siblings turn older. Then all hope is lost.

And the real sad part about all of it is the realization that I have done nothing with my life.

I'll be a junior in college in the Fall and I'm still pussy-footing my way around what I want and should do with my life. I'm not a teenager anymore. I have no ground to stand on when my parents gripe at me not being an adult, because I can't avoid it now. I am two decades old and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

I'm so old even Peter Pan has given up on me. My prayers to get dragged off to Neverland will never be fulfilled. My name has dropped from his list and I am screwed.

What do I want? To act. To teach. To live in London.

And guess what? I'm not doing any of that.

Do I get notified of auditions? Yes. Have I gone to a single one of those? Nope, I'm too chicken.

Am I an Education Major in school? Yes, I am. For the British school system? Nope.

Do I have means to get to London? Yep. Am I living in London? Of fucking course not.

I can make excuses for these as much as I want, but at the end of the day, it's because I just haven't done it yet. And I hate myself for that. I hate that I'm not motivated to get in there and take what I want from the world, but I'm not. I've never been that girl. And I can sit here and promise myself I'll change that today, but I've made that promise and broken it so many times that I have absolutely no faith in myself.

Since school is out, I've been marathoning Gilmore Girls and F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Pretty Little Liars and all those shows that has a strong female in different situations who will go out and get what she wants, hoping that maybe, one day, some of that power will rub off on me.

But, of course, all watching those make me feel is depressed and pathetic beyond all belief.

And, I don't know, maybe that's why I want to go back to London so bad. Even when things were bad there, they seemed lighter. Maybe the fact that I was in a huge city helped to keep things in perspective instead of letting them run rampant over my life. I could handle things over there.

I found my way to and from a hospital in a completely different town in the middle of the night sick as a dog. Things like that make you realize how strong you are. I don't get that kind of thing here. I get a million questions and policies and college politics to deal with while trying to figure out how to transfer schools across an entire ocean. I get to hear everyone's opinion over what I'm doing with my life, whether I asked them for it or not. I get my brother looking at all of my favorite actors of all time—people I look up to—and have him tear them and the shows apart, saying they are terrible actors and they have no talent and they shouldn't be on TV, and all I can see is, "Well, if they can't make it, then why the hell should I even try?"

I know I shouldn't let it bother me. It's one opinion about shows with huge fandoms and that have been running forever, but the fat that it's from my own brother and he doesn't even realize what his words could mean to me—and the truth is, knowing Kyle, he probably wouldn't care—and I can't help but think like that.

To be able to pull off a terrifying immortal without any of the special effects added later
is insanely difficult. Then on top of that, this is Dylan's second personality for "Teen Wolf".
(And I've never seen a moment of the show.)

Just look at the wheels turning.

You don't even have to know anything about that mark on his arm. You can tell he's in pain.

Don't even try to tell me you can't see it all.

It takes a special kind of actor to be able to pull off a villain, in particularly a crazy villain,
but to do it so well the audience can see everything in a single gif of him clapping,
that's the signature of an incredible actor. (R.I.P. Heath Ledger.)

This gif really doesn't give Nina Dobrev her justice, but if you want to watch the scene,
you'll see exactly what I mean. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOqg_1U7ZAI)

And these two: We can see all we need to in their expressions.

No words necessary.



I can't imagine being able to portray
that kind of pain.

I don't know who this kid is or what's going on, but that's my point.
You can see everything you need to know in his eyes.

And now I'm twenty, and I have to know what I want to do. I have to figure out how to get there and when I get there, I have to be able to stay there. (And I have convinced myself that I will never be on the same page as these star.)
I don't like being twenty.

                              — KGratiaM

An Ongoing Collection of Things That Entertain Me

                             1. Lion vs. Tire

 



                             2. "Let Me Love You!"


                             3. http://katygracious.tumblr.com/post/114561201503/tastefullyoffensive-thats-enough-tiny-kitty



                             4. When I trip in public and act like it didn't happen.

 

                               5. The Four Hogwarts Houses (as told by a Hufflepuff)

 

 



                               6. Keep Calm and Do the Hippogriff

 

 



                               7. Keep Calm and Oy with the Poodles Already

 

 

 

                               8. "I'll drink it, shoot it, eat it, snort it--Whatever form it's in, gimme."

 

 

                               9. Parenting Advice from Lorelai Gilmore - Part I

 





 

                               100.



29 April 2015 Journal Entry

Dear Diary,

I'm typing it here just because I don't have my journal, but I refuse to let this stuff go. I've been extremely bad about it through finals, but now that I'm in Valdosta again, I want this stuff written down.

The blog post "Grassy Seats" on here was posted by me earlier when I was sitting on the front lawn. It shouldn't bother me as much as it does, but the fact that I can't sit in the grass anywhere at West GA without getting cozy with the anthills makes me nuts. It drives me absolutely insane. If a university is going to have a designated area for students to hang out and study, then they need to keep it up and treated. I'm sorry. I'm for pro-insect-life as much as the next girl, but this is ridiculous. Either do it or do not, but that weird middle ground just doesn't work.

So I went and sat against a palm tree while Dez was in class. And it was heaven. It was one of those things that just makes everything else better—and it was already a good day.

I've actually been extremely excited about getting down here. I don't know if I wanted to see Dez or if I'm just so bored at West GA, I have been bouncing off the walls for the past two weeks dying to get down here. (Granted, I do think part of that was the hope to see Will. Which I'm totally jinxing by saying.)

The other thing that shouldn't bother me but does is the mascots. At West GA, I'm a wolf. I'm a part of a pack. Valdosta used to be a fire salamander. No, now I'd be the fireball that comes out of the fire salamander. I mean, c'mon. How are you supposed to show school spirit when you're something a fire salamander spit up?

(Same thing with the Greek houses. It drives me up the wall that the Valdosta sororities aren't allowed to live in houses together. That just seems like part of the community of Greek. But it also bugs me that West GA has voted against a Greek Village to make room for desperately needed parking. We need the parking and the Greeks could really do with some bigger houses. But moving on.)

I met Desiree's Littles today: Mollee and Courtney. Mollee, I like. A lot. She's hilarious. She's very Desiree. I can see how they mesh. Courtney I had some trouble with. She's quieter and so opposite from Mollee. Part of me thinks the only reason Desiree gets along with her is for the cupcakes—which is a terrible thing to think, especially of Dez, but I did not like that other Little. That said, I do know Courtney's been sick and not feeling well when we went to lunch, so that might have been part of it.

I did run into Austin Kile at lunch. OMG, he looked like Abraham Lincoln. He was all dressed up for some speech and he had grown out his beard so that he really looked like the man's doppelganger. It was pretty hilarious. I have to try to grab a photo of that before I leave to send to Mary. She'll just die.

And I'm going to drag Clifton out of bed to say hi to me at least once on this trip, so that's handled.

And, OMG, Kat met up with us for dinner and I met her boyfriend! Dez doesn't seem to like him. Apparently, he's a big pot smoker and she's gotten phone calls in the middle of the night from Kat saying he's hit her and hurt their dog (this adorable pointer/Dane mix, Nala). I didn't get a bad vibe from him, but he also didn't interact with us much. Apparently though, Kat has dropped out of school and now lives with her nine-month boyfriend (who she's only been dating for nine months).

I did actually go over to their place for a little while to visit the puppy. Tyler stepped out for a couple minutes, and Kat and I got to talking. Apparently, she and Tyler had sex before they were even together—which wouldn't surprise me with anyone else, but Kat? That threw me for a spin. And she was all shocked that I haven't slept with anyone yet.

I actually texted Austin Ford today, too, and our conversation seemed to revolve around his sex life. The poor kid has had the worst luck with girls. He was in a committed relationship with a girl for six months, but then she broke it off for some stupid reason. And now he's slept with five other girls this term, one of which only used him for his body. I wanted to strangle her when I heard, but I knew saying so wouldn't help him.

He's actually taking it all really well. It makes me feel better about the whole thing. I just hope he finds a girl who will actually care about him and his feelings.

Anyway, I am glad to hear from him, even if the subject sucked.

                         — KG

Grassy Seats

Of all of the things to annoy me about West GA, it would be the fact that I can't sit on any of the "lawns". Not unless I want to get friendly with the ants. Now, I don't mind ants. I'm an outdoorsy person; I don't mind the dirt; I don't mind the creepy-crawlers in the grass. But I also don't want to sit amongst the anthills. I have never seen so many anthills in on square foot of grass ever. I don't understand what calls them all together.

I'm all for leaving the bugs alone and not killing them off with some inhumane spray. But here's my thing: If you're going to have a designated area for students to sit and work, then you need to keep it up and critter-free.

That's one thing Valdosta does right.

And sure, I'm cynical on Valdosta because I don't really like the segregated culture, but I love the front lawn. It's beautiful, even on a crappy day like today.

Quite frankly, just being able to sit here on this huge lawn with my back against some palm tree makes up a good part of why I came to visit.


This trip basically serves four purposes:

1. Visiting Desiree.
2. Sitting on an ant-free lawn.
3. Bugging my old friends.
4. Deciding whether or not I could tolerate it for another term.

For those of you who don't know, I've since had the realization of what I want to do with my life: Teach in London. I'd like to teach theatre, but ultimately, since I'm aiming for the fifth grade range, I'll probably just be teaching the basic elementary / primary school stuff and then do theatre either in the community or through the sister programs with the middle / secondary and high schools. Which is perfectly fine with me. It only means I'll need to do my education degree over there.

Doing that, though, is proving to be much more difficult than it should be. Originally, I was told any public college in the state of GA was on the same partner school program--meaning one could attend any of those international school on said list and get the same benefits anywhere across the state. West GA, however, is apparently not a part of that list--which of course I didn't know until I asked the study abroad people at West GA last month.

So now, I will have to transfer again for a term before I can go back to Roehampton in London.

Why not just go to the partner school that West GA is attached to? Because that school, the University of Hertfordshire is forty minutes by train outside London. I am not going to ride the train forty minutes into London each way every day when I could live inside Greater London (with a train ride of ten minutes to Waterloo at Central London) by going to Roehampton. No.

University of Roehampton                                                  University of Hertfordshire

The circle here is the border of Greater London. Roehampton
can be seen to the Southwest of Central London (yellow)
while Hertfordshire is off the map (Northeast).

 

(I'm sassing it right now, but it just doesn't make sense for me to have to ride nearly an hour to get to Waterloo every day when I don't have to. Besides, I want Roehampton. I've been to Roehampton, I'm familiar with the town, and it's right around that area that I want to live as an adult anyway. The whole point of me going over there is to live in London. I don't want to have to commute.)

But seriously, all sass aside, I don't know how I feel about using Valdosta as a stepping-stone. I know how Dez feels about it, especially after abandoning her the first time. (Not that my transferring to West GA didn't have a lot to do with that.) But also, according to Dez, a lot of the friend groups have already broken apart. Like the Emerging Leaders kids. Apparently, she doesn't see much of them anymore. Which to some degree, I understand. We are college kids all trying to find our own paths in the world. But Emerging Leaders was also A) designed to give us a ring of friends and B) an "elite" group. I would've expected them to have at least some sort of class or get-together each semester. I would have preferred it that way.

Originally, it sounded like I would be finishing my Theatre degree at West GA and then transfer here come like sixth year--in which case all my friends would have graduated anyway. But now, when it sounds like I'll be dropping the theatre major all together and coming straight away, I guess I was kind of hoping I could sink back in with the EL kids and get my footing again. It's a little depressing.

EL kids (from top, then left to right):
Austin, me, Ian, Jordan, and Desiree.

Desiree and me, August 2013.

(Besides, I was kind of hoping to get a chance to talk to Ms. Beasley and Mr. Peacock again. They did so much for me that first term. I owe them at the very least a thank you.)

(Plus, I was really hoping to see Will. Which saying like this is totally going to jinx.)

One good thing, though, I did seem to get along okay with at least one of Desiree's Littles. I don't know if it was just because Courtney wasn't feeling well that we didn't mesh, or what, but I really enjoyed Mollee. So I guess I don't have to worry too much about making new friends.

But that's the other really hard thing. It was easy bouncing schools when I was a freshman. Now, especially after being at one school for a year, it's going to be really hard to leave the friends I made there. Even if I'm not super close to them all, I'm still used to them being around.

The other side to that is if I wait, I'll probably miss out on one of the best friendships I could ever find--in Beanie. I've posted about her before. She's one of the girls who studied abroad at Roehampton with me, and we became pretty close. I absolutely love her, but I also know by putting her in the equation, I'm setting myself up to make a decision based on someone else--a habit I'm trying to break myself of.

So this trip actually holds much more weight than just reminiscing with my old roommate. Which is another reason why I'm kind of okay with it being rainy and gross. If I can miss Valdosta with the weather like this, I just might be able to stomach a term long enough to get my butt back to England.

                              — KGratiaM

Confession #1

I guess
I'm not as much of a
monster
as I always thought
I was. I'm not
as far gone as
I've always believed.

Little facts of my life:

I don't cry.
I'm strong,
but never in the way
people expect
when they hear that word.
Strength
is a word used to
express how someone deals
with the world around them.
I don't deal.
I smother.

I'm an excellent liar.
It's crossed my mind
on more than one occasion
that I'm a
pathological liar.
Whether that's true or not,
I don't know. Sometimes
I feel like I'm
diagnosing myself through
WebMD. All the symptoms
line up, but
the conclusion is always
something
bizarre and ridiculous.

My eyes show everything.
I've always been a
strong believer that this is
an undeniable truth. Even when
I was little
and being bullied because
I don't believe in God.
It's why I'm so good
at picking up
underlying messages. I can see
them in the other person's
eye. But this world doesn't
teach us to look
at each other. It just allows us to
recognize that the space
around us
is in use.
We don't care
how others feel.

I am lost.
But there's not a
map for me to find or a
path for me to follow.
Even if there was,
I'm too far
inside my own head
to see it laid out
before me.
I am lost
and I am blind.

I don't trust anyone.
I immediately expect
people to betray me.
I have no reason to.
I've never been betrayed
by anyone.
But I see it all coming.
And I spend my
whole life waiting
for that shoe to drop.
And if it doesn't
drop on its own,
I make it drop. I don't
like waiting
for the inevitable. I'd rather
it just be put out
on the table so I
can move on.

I am a walking
contradiction.
One of my new favorite
movie lines. It's true beyond a
doubt. I want others
to just put it all on the table, when
all that I put out
are lies and fancy stories. I say
I want to believe in
the best in people, but
I can't even accomplish that.
I don't trust anyone.

I never wipe away tears.
In the few
solace moments where I
do find tears, I
never wipe them away.
Not if I can help it.
They are a rare occurrence
in my life.
Like my own personal unicorn.
Or a sunset.
Unique
and beautiful
and nearly nonexistent.

I hide in the dark.
Even though I don't really like it.
I get scared of the
dark more than I care
to admit. Even as I sit here
typing to the light of my laptop,
I expect something to jump out
at me.

I scare easily.
Maybe it's because I have
so much to hide. I don't
like feeling out of control.
Not unless I'm crying.
I can't cry on my own.
In the few moments
that tears come, I'm
not in control. And I'll
hold onto those tears until
they dry on my skin.

I love quotes.
I suppose everyone does.
But I like the gritty stuff.
The darkness that makes
the world darker than me.

I can't tell him the truth.
Whoever that "him" is.
I've never been able to.
And I never will.

I won't see a shrink.
I don't want to be told
I'm crazy. I don't want to be
stuffed full of pills. I don't
want to be
shut away from the world.
That's enough to make
anyone crazy. I don't need
any more encouragement.

I'm invisible.
And I like it that way.
No one sees me for
what I am. No one
tries to fix me. I
don't want to be fixed.
I just don't want to be
broken.

My heart is broken.
I've long since accepted
this. I can feel the
pieces rattling inside me.
Broken apart like the
slate heart from Almost,
Maine. I should
carry the pieces around
in a bag. Maybe then
someone will take them
away and I won't
have to hear them rattle
anymore.

My soul is not broken.
I'm strong,
just not in the way
people expect. My heart
may be in pieces, but
my soul is not. Sometimes
I wish someone would
break my soul.
That would be easier.
I'd be a true empty shell.
Walking through this world
without any hope. But that
soul longs for
a complete heart.
For happiness. The one thing I'll
never be able to give it.

I'm a monster...

I just finished watching
"Ask Me Anything". Katie
has every piece of
a true monster, but I can't
call her one. She's not at fault
for the way she is. She was
molested as a child. Every man
in her life wants
sex from her. Or he sexualizes
her existence.
All except Joel.
But he's too broken to help her.
Maybe that was the point of him.
He's as broken as she is. They
found a friendship in each other.
It was a shitty friendship.
Only lasted a month or two.
But it was a friendship
nonetheless.

Both Katie
and Joel
had a reason for being
the way they are.
I don't.

Sometimes I fantasize
about what self-altering I
must have gone through
as a child to come out
like this.
Was I molested as a kid?
Was I attacked?
Was I beaten?

Sometimes I wish I was.
I don't know if I
was or if I just
don't remember,
but I have wished for each
of those things to happen.
Sometimes I do stupid
things to encourage them.
But then I
realize what I'm
doing and move along.

There was this kid in high school.
A boy. A boy who
I once considered a good
friend. Sometimes I think he
started to notice the
inconsistencies
that is my life.
I would help him
along as best I could. Baiting
his sass, letting him
read my twisted stories.
(One of which I
guarantee he could still
recite in my ear.)

He was the class clown.
We'd met in middle school,
but didn't become friends until
eighth grade Spanish.
He sat next to me for
a good portion of the year.
We sat in the front row.
Him just to the left
of the projector, and me
on his other side.
I don't remember much of
that year, just that I
bugged him to sign my
yearbook at the end.
He was a good sport about it,
even though I
knew I was being annoying.
I don't know why I
wanted that signature
so bad. But I did.

He became my savior
in high school. I know
he'd never know that.
I'm sure he just thought I
was weird for
encouraging the teasing. But
he was the first one
to ever
make a point to ensure I
knew he was kidding.
He told me he'd stop if
I ever asked him to. I doubt
he remembers that.
I don't know why he would.
I was just the girl who wrote
sick stories about a girl
raped by her own father and
who wanted to be teased about
some imaginary fling with
the awkward, smart boy
who sat on the other side of me.
The number of times
I told him we weren't
a thing and I was still a virgin...

I don't know
why I ever told him that.
I told him that all the time.
Nearly every day.
At least once a week.
He told me I shouldn't admit that.
Looking back, I think
he was trying to
protect me. He knew
what that would mean to
a particular type of guy. Maybe
even what it meant to him
on a certain level.

But I was never afraid of him.
I think that's why I could
say it openly. I wasn't ever afraid
of what he could do.
He's a good person.
He opened my eyes to a lot of
dark things in my mind.

As I think about it now,
two years later,
I was my happiest when I
was with him. He mostly
ignored me in school. And until
the end of those two years
together for English,
I pretty much ignored him too.
Our time together was the bus
ride home at the
end of the day. He lived in
the neighborhood across
the street from mine, so we always
got off at the same stop.
It was a good stop.
We had plenty of time
to talk, and we got off
to go our separate ways before
we got sick of each other.

I remember
when he stopped riding the bus.
It was about halfway through
senior year. He and/or his buddies
got a car, so they just
used that. The bus ride got
really lonely after that. Of course,
by then I already had
a crush on him. But I missed
the back-and-forth we had
done for nearly two years. (He's
the reason I learned
how to sass after all.)
I'd never minded bus rides.
I could daydream or write.
But after we had spent so
much time together, I suddenly
didn't like bus rides so much
anymore. I guess I just got
the shockwave that
everybody else had had for years.

I couldn't wait to get out of there.

And then I got out and
I never even got his
yearbook signature.
It's stupid.
But it bothers me.
I still have the
yearbook from middle school
where he'd signed it. He'd teased
me about bugging him. We'd
hardly even spoken back then.
I wish I could've seen
what he would have written
in my high school yearbook.
There were a lot of
things from the end of that
year I wished I had
handled differently. But I guess
that's how the world is built.
You regret all the things you
didn't do in the past and you
promise yourself you'll
never do it again
in the future.

I guess I'm
just the only one who's
recognized that as a lie.

Chloe Alex

Those Life-Long Friendships of College

The other day, I was tagged in the following article (which I'm just copying and pasting for the sake of referring back) by one of my closest friends.

10 THINGS YOU SHOULD THANK YOUR COLLEGE BEST FRIENDS FOR RIGHT NOW

https://thesouthernwander.wordpress.com/2015/03/20/10-things-you-should-thank-your-college-best-friends-for-right-now/

 

If I was to give one piece of advice to anyone coming into college for the first time, it would be to make one really good best friend.  In the years leading up to my departure to college, I had this idea in my head that I’d meet a ton of new people and make a shit ton of new friends in my new life.  I remember my senior year, when dreaming of that wonderful place called college land, I told my best friend in high school I knew I’d make, at the very least, fifty friends.  Little did I know, that wouldn’t be the case.  For a lot of people in college, they find it unexpectedly difficult to meet people and make long, lasting friendships with their peers. This in part due to college “oneness”, or the feeling of being one fish and a very large pond while struggling to maintain that state of being an independent.  For me, my pond was a rather very large ocean with over 20,000 fish and I was swimming in it.  I tried clubs, joining a sorority, everything. Everyone seemed to always be doing their own thing in college and had no interest in maintaining a friendship outside of loose chitchat in lecture halls or social gatherings.  Unlike the dream I had of my thousands of college friendships, I ended up with a very small number of close friends who I could now, after eight months, call my sisters.

 

I've always said, you go to college to find your bridesmaids, not your husband. The friendships you make in college are the ones you should hold on to and cherish more than anything. College is a place where you are discovering who you truly are, and the friends you make during this time are more important than you could imagine.  Now is the time to make those mistakes you’ll regret a year or two from now, and if your friends are still there after that time you ran half naked across the intramural fields, then you know they are your friends for life.

 

The truth is, you can’t do this alone.  In order to thrive and blossom in college, you need a strong support system.  You need to lay the foundation for a strong and vibrant friendship that can push you through finals week, stay up with you all night studying flashcards, and be your shoulder to cry on when that upperclassman boy finds another girl.  College is going to be the first hardest fight you’ve ever had to face.  It’s going to kick your ass.  It’s going to leave you feeling battered and broken.  But it’s going to be an amazing ride.  You’re going to meet so many people who are going to mold you, shape you, and give you strength.  And if you can find those people who love you for all your faults and all of your weaknesses, who see only potential and magnificent beauty in you, then you’re already half way there.  Hold on to them, love them, and thank them.

 

1.  Thank you for being my partner in crime.

 

     In just a few short months, we’ve basically become the actual definition of “sisters from

     other misters”. It’s like something in the universe drew us together like magnets because we

     were supposed to find one another.  You accepted my weirdness, you loved me for all of my

     quirks, you always stood by my side no matter what, and for that I couldn’t be more grateful.

 

2.  Thank you for taking time out of your day to be interested in mine.

 

     I know you’re probably sick of hearing the same story about the same guy every single day

     for the past few months, but you listen. At least you pretend to. Thank you for staying up

     all night to hear me out about this guy or that guy or how much I hate a class. Thank you

     for having an interest in my life and for actually caring about what I have to say.

 

3.  Thank you for showing me my worth as a woman.

 

     I’ll never forget those nights we’ve spent lying on the scratchy carpets of the residence hall,

     crying over some guy who didn’t love us back, listening to Hozier.  Who found someone more

     interesting, with bigger tits, or a prettier face.  Thank you for reminding me not to define my

     worth on the attention of a man. Thank you for reminding me that I am strong, I am

     independent, and I am worthy of everything and all of the love in the universe.  Thank you

     for not letting me fall to deep and for picking me up after every heartbreak.

 

4. Thank you for being unapologetically honest no matter what.

 

     If it wasn't for you, I would have gone to class with my entire ass and jellybean underwear

     showing through my leggings. That's why I love you. Thank you for telling me everything

     straight up and for always being open and honest with me.

 

5.  Thank you for not judging me and for being there with me as I make bad decisions.

 

     I know some of the things I do are questionable.  Thank you for not thinking I’m a weirdo.

     Thank you for not judging me when I thought about having sex with that guy that one time.

     Instead of thinking I was a freak or hitting me, you made sure I was ready and asked what

     kind of lingerie I was going to wear and then we both laughed about it for an hour.  Thank

     you for letting me use your shaving cream, so I wouldn’t leave without silky dolphin legs.  

     Thank you for not judging me after all of the stuff I tell you, like how I loved the feeling

     after drinking too much Bacardi or how I had that thing with that guy that one night.  Thank

     you for sharing this weird, crazy, messed up experience with me and for giving me Tylenol

     when I experience my first hangover.

 

6.  Thank you for daily pep talks.

 

     Whether it be before a huge exam, or before a hot date, thank you for always pumping me

     up and keeping me in check.

 

7.  Thank you for always being up for food.

 

     No matter what time of day, or what you're doing, thank you for always being up to

     grabbing food with me. Whether it be 7 p.m. and a not-so-delicious dinner at PCB or

     ordering pizza at midnight, or calling in some insomnia Cookies at three a.m., you're

     always game for food.

 

8. Thank you for taking road trips with me.

 

     Thank you for always being cool with going on random, spontaneous road trips and for

     helping me navigate the GPS that can't seem to stay on my car dashboard.

 

9. Thank you for always accepting me the way I am.

 

     There's a lot of pressure today to be perfect in all aspects of life. Thank you for always

     reminding me how boring the word "pretty" is. Instead, we shouldn't strive to be just

     perfectly pretty, but rather "pretty amazing", "pretty talented", and "pretty smart". Thank

     you for always always always loving me and accepting me for the way I am. Thank you for

     not making fun of me when I'm stretched out in pajamas with no bra or makeup on. Thank

     you for showing me that it's okay to be totally and completely vulnerable. Thank you for

     making me feel comfortable in my own skin and for reassuring me that I am and always

     will be beautiful, and life is beautiful, and everything will be okay.

 

10. Thank you for showing me there's nothing I can't do.

 

     Thank you for encouraging me every day to do everything I ever wanted to do. Thank you

     for encouraging me to apply for that study abroad program in some foreign country or

     that internship nobody thought I'd get. Thank you for showing me how to live with a full,

     loving heart. Thank you for keeping me sane during exams, breakups, hookups, crazy nights,

     and pillow fights. Thank you for listening to me ramble and being my designated crying

     buddy and drinking pal. Thank you for being my other half. Thank you for making this huge

     college not seem so big after all. Thank you for being my lifevest when I felt like I was

     sinking in this giant ocean called college.

 

 

 

This was one of those chain Facebook posts where I'm supposed to tag my "Life-Long Friendships Made in College"—which I was in the process of doing when I realized it could be read as a low-blow.

 

(A little background information:

 

One of my best friends from high school and I are in the middle of not-speaking. It started several months ago when I realized the mean words passed between us weren't in teasing anymore. At least, they didn't feel like they were teasing—and I am extremely good at hearing underlying texts. Then again, who needs underlying texts when someone calls you a "fucking cunt"?

 

Anyway, to avoid a rant—because that's not what this post is about—she and I are no longer talking and currently in the "not friends" zone, so posting something like this seemed like I was rubbing it in her face.)

 

So I'm posting my responses to this article here!

 

Thank you:

 

Ally and Dez - I'm not really sure y'all count since we met while we were little, but I'm counting y'all anyway, because you two really are my best friends. You two have been there through everything! From raiding your mother's closet for clothes to get all date-worthy, dressed-up in to summer pool parties and fireworks in the front yard to my homeward bound support system in everything I do. Dez, thank you for putting up with me through our semester of roommate-hood (because I know I drove you nuts), and Ally, thank you for tolerating me through all the awkward years of childhood and my wuss self.

 

Beanie, Angelique, and Hayla - You three made London feel not so far away from home. I dedicate my favorite moments of studying abroad to my friendship with y'all. And although we're far away now—with two of you in Arizona and the other still in London—I truly believe our friendship with last the test of time.

 

Mary - While I met you through Dez, you have proved a true friend to me and I love you for it. You were creating a niche for me long before I ever stepped onto campus, and as such, your friends opened their arms to me. Before I even knew it, I had a great circle of friends that eased the trials of college. Thank you so much for always standing by me!

 

And last, but certainly not least:

 

My kindred spirit, Kathleen - Since that first day in Chorus when I finally broke from my shell and spoke to you and we realized we had so much in common, I have known that you are truly my twin. You are the one I call when I need food at some insane hour, I want a book recommendation, or I'm just bored and sick of homework. You are the one who will go on midnight drives with me in your adorable little car, Norman—who I have learned to love as though he was mine. We mesh scarily well and I know—even after only just over a term of knowing you—I know we will be friends forever. I love you, girl.

 

To the friends who I have lost over the years, maybe we'll come back together in the future; maybe not, but I know that there is someone out there who will be your Life-Long Friendship from College and you'll be the happiest you've ever been when y'all are together.

 

To all those friends I'll make in the future, I can't wait to meet you and explore all our adventures that are waiting just beyond the horizon for us!

 

                              — KGratiaM