Of Clean Kitchens and Going Home

So I just went to change my facebook status to something about a clean kitchen and how much I enjoyed it. I did change it. But I had a second thought about the clean kitchen. It just seems like something my mother would say.

“Ya, her kitchen is always so clean.”

Yes, I know. I just have memories of being at home and talking with mom in the kitchen after a long day. I’m sitting at a barstool and she’s wiping off the last crumb on the counter to complete the day. I listen to the grumbling of the dishwasher and play with the last bit of moisture on the countertop. A clean kitchen means the day is winding down at an alarming rate. It means that dad is relaxing and the kids are “getting ready for bed.” We’ll talk about the next day and go over the schedule. I love going over the schedule. So much.

I think I really just can’t wait to go home! The beginning of this year was wrought with expectations and little comprehension of exactly what I was getting myself into . . . again. I didn’t want to leave home to come here because home is comfortably welcoming and sooooooo much warmer. But I once again faced the truth and tried to remember how great it is here. I love it here. I really do. There’s something about living a life where every second of your day is used up. And, when there are a few seconds that lay idle by the wayside, I feel guilty. Goal for this Christmas break: learn how to relax again. Just one more day of sticking my nose against the grinder and then I’ll be done for two whole wonderful serene weeks. I’m about to cry just thinking about it.

Reflections on the Costs and Benefits of a Sudden Gust of Wind

Oh boy do I love me a good windy day. Lemme give you a little sensory detail from this week’s blustery afternoon. I walk from one still building to the next, a short 20 ft, tops. Whilst in transit, I am engulfed by wind that has as little direction as the coeds around me who have just changed their major for the 3^rd time. I’m up to my ankles in a constant undercurrent of leaves rotating in a haphazard flipping and flopping and flailing and flinging acrobatic motion, painted with colors more vibrant than Behr. Then the wind moves up in a flurry swirling around my body until it fills my hair with dynamic life! It’s one of the most helpless feelings. One of the most relaxing. One of the most empowering. The wind moves through with such urgency and leaves me with such vitality. I think reflection means there doesn't have to be a conclusion. Add to this experience a poufy bright red jacket playing the role of a parachute, catching the conviction of the wind, and taking me backwards until I pivot around into my most aerodynamic shape. No big deal, but I spend the rest of the day painted with a frazzled smile and nobody knows why . . . .

Quality Control

Today I ran into what has become a somewhat common occurrence. I found another lopsided toilet (forgive my crass language) in a building on campus. Now, the last time I ran into, or happened upon, this rather unique situation was last year

"That's not a very common occurrence."

Yes, but think of the circumstances: I live in a first world country, a more developed nation, even, a nation ranked with the Global North. The restroom in which this took place is an oft-frequented restroom by many. And I am under the impression that when a person enters a lavatory they expect a level seat, a comfortable seat, one that does not lead the user to contemplate lopsidedness. It is because of these things that I feel this is a major oversight.

So I'm concerned. First because I am fearful of the plumbing nightmare this may foreshadow, and heaven forbid my classes are canceled because of a break in the sewage line

"Sick."

I know. Second, I am concerned because this powder room is in the tallest building on campus. And the two toilets are on the first and second floor. And as such, I am forced to believe that the building has a crooked foundation. Now would be a good time to go through a wide breadth of metaphors regarding weak foundations

"Please don't."

Don't worry, I won't. But allow me to express this one last thought, rather prediction, on the matter. The building, one day, will be leaning so much that it will topple!

"You've got to be kidding."

I'm just sure of it. And I don't think any kind of fortuitous circumstances as surround the Leaning Tower of Pisa will be in any way connected to our building.

It's What I Know

So. The new school year is actually just code for new faces. Really cool faces by the way.

Today, two days previously, and two days hence are like a rubber stamp I pull out the last week of August (Who starts school in August? I mean, really), and the first week in September. There's always the way super duper nervous feeling the day before, spawning from haunting memories of finals week the semester previous, ripened by a great summer and a mind that tries repress the worst memories of the lot

"That just makes them worse . . ."

Ya I know. After being repressed it’s like a dementor could totally make me faint. They’re that bad. Not really. But by mentioning Harry Potter you all understand better than I can ever explain.

Then there’s the actual first day. Today was better than any other first day because guess who has matching outfits?!? Heather and I!

"You both look super cute!"

Sure do! And I’m almost totally void of the nervous feeling. I’m just excited to learn, excited to be able to say at the end of the semester, “Wow, I learned a lot.”

Now I’m going out on a limb to predict the next two days. Another day of new classes. Cue excited feelings, great expectations, lofty goals, dangerous amounts of motivation etc. Ok the next day is when I first fall asleep studying and I awake to more work then I fell asleep to. Here’s a hint: put your money on this prediction, it’s a winner.

For the time being I choose to remember the super awesome scrabble, dentist office, Krisen, Katie, family, chickie babies, and long distance phone calls centered summer. Featuring Pitbull. Obviously. And I’m glad nobody around me knows that there’s a party going on in my head with music by Justin Bieber and a surge going through my body that takes all the control I have to keep it at just gentle foot tap or occasional head bob.

What’s in a name?

The phrase that entered my mind when I decided to become an official blogger were “fight or flight.” I chose flight in the form of a completely frantic first draft of a first post, which will not be published here. From the half page list of concerns in that first draft, written in an unintelligible stream of consciousness, the only concern that emanated was that of the title. I place a lot of weight in the title because:

A. I think it is the first impression a reader (assuming they exist) gets of the blog.

That’s the only reason, but it was still very important. I didn’t want a title that sounded too depressing, or one that denoted a blog of introspection to the point of discomfort, or one that included a disclaimer for why the writing or ideas or subject matter was anything less than Pulitzer Prize winning material. I wanted a title that left me to define the blog by the content. It had to be unique but still related to the content and a good first impression of me.

“So. After all that. How’d you come up with a title like this?” she asked skeptically.

Oh gosh I don’t know. It’s still confusing even to me. Just know that when I look down it fits me in the same way Cinderella’s glass slipper fits her.