Domestic Goddess

My mother is my hero. She has been married to my dad for nearly 30 years, and not once have I seen them even raise their voices at each other. Mom is a hospital administrator (read: she's the boss). She is a high-powered business woman and very successful, and yet she manages to have supper on the table almost every night. She does the laundry and waters the plants and changes the house's decorations with each season. She plans our family vacations down to every detail and researches the best deals and best quality. She's a bargain shopper and coupon cutter, and I have not wanted for a day in my life. Between my mom and my dad, I have been provided with every need, not mention many, many wants (and believe me, I have lots of wants). I have witnessed my mother lose her first born and battle through her grief with grace and inspiring faith in her Savior and Creator. My mother is an unbelievable woman of God, seeking his will every single day and praying through every situation.

I could go on, but I won't.

When most little girls dressed up like princesses, I was dressing up in my mom's heels and power suits. But I was still playing house and working tirelessly in my Fisher-Price play kitchen. I dreamed of being a doctor or (shocker) a hospital administrator. I had business meetings with my dolls, and I even fired a few.

I have learned so much from my mom. I am a world-class planner, and I am efficient to an almost comedic level. Lately, though, I've been straying from my ambitions of being a "somebody" in the business world.

I got a sewing machine for Christmas, and I have taken up cross-stitching while I watch re-runs of Sex and the City and Will & Grace. I watch Food Network when I'm up late and dream up meals that I might cook for Evan if we can ever fit a date night in. I've been painting and Mod Podge-ing anything I can cover in scrapbook paper. Alice and I are planning to paint my apartment soon, and she's introduced me to Martha Stewart's website.

Don't get me wrong: I don't think God's plan for me is to be a stay-at-home mom (although I have all the respect in the world for these truly selfless individuals), but I think there's a happy medium between being a business woman and domestic goddess. And that place is what I like to call "Soccer Mom."

I want to be a wife and mother. I want to volunteer in the community and host Disciple Now weekends for my church. I want to bring juice boxes to my kids' soccer games (or football or swimteam or cheer practice or dance rehearsals). I want to hand-make Halloween costumes. I want to sponsor the high school senior's Homecoming float and be the cheerleading coach (career goal: guidance counselor). I want to try out for local theater and sing solos in "big church." I want to make a quilt, and I want to have a signature dish. I want to host cocktail parties for all my grown-up friends and work in the church nursery on Sunday mornings.

So I'm going to be a guidance counselor. I probably won't find a cure for cancer, and I'll definitely never be a millionaire... But I'll cultivate relationships, and I'll make things with my hands that I can be proud of.

And I'm down with that.

Holiday To-Do Lists

Disney World: check.

Graduation: check.

Family Christmas #1: check.

Botanical gardens with Anna & Jacob: check.

To-Do:

Erica's Christmas Party

Girls' night with Lele, Anna, and Erica (a bachelorette party, if you will)

White Christmas PJ party with Eureka

Lee & Lele's "Pre-Wedding" Dinner

J-Crowd's Christmas Party

My graduation party at Erica's

Boondock's (oh yes... another hometown bar)

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve on Sesame Street with the Harveys

CHRISTMAS

Brazelton-Isom union

Family Christmas #2

Jacob's Rockin' New Years Eve birthday weekend in... of course... Mentone.

Throw in a couple of Harvey gatherings, and voila! my Christmas break is complete.

Sometimes I think about my holiday planner (that's right, I keep a planner, so what?) and I'm completely overwhelmed. There is very little time to lay around with a pet in my lap and read Mark Twain (I try to read a classic in between others... you know, to keep me cultured), almost no time for a quiet date night with Evan, and few precious moments of crafting (yes indeedy, I've been crafty this break... painting, cross stitching, etc... lots of projects started, few finished). But even in the whirlwind of activity, I am so thankful.

I have renewed friendships and had lots of girls' nights, an activity I have been severely lacking. I have relied on myself more and Evan less. I have spent precious moments with my family and created countless memories with my friends. I have watched two of my close friends build a relationship and another friend totally rebuild her life and get back to her incredibly strong and hilarious self.

This break has been busy, but it's one for the records.

Old Souls

I'm an old soul. I know, I've mentioned it before, but I've been putting some thought into it recently.

My friend Erica, she's a hippie. She loves the Beatles and Mick Jagger, and she's a free spirit like no one you've ever met. She lights candles and mellows out, and she finds that "anticulture" fabulous (and trust me, Erica loves things to be fabulous).

Evan, on the other hand, loves the seventies. If there's a paisley-printed shirt in the shopping vicinity, Evan will find it. If it happens to have a wide collar as well, he'll buy it on the spot. And no matter how much I beg, he'll wear it in public sometimes. That man would love nothing more than a starring role in Saturday Night Fever, and I would never stand between him and his disco dreams.

Me, though... I'm a different story. Sure, I have my hippie moments. I love a good peasant blouse from time to time, and you might even catch me with a "love knot" tied in my hair once in a blue moon. I listen to Janis Joplin sometimes, and I love a good Bob Dylan number. I can get down to KC and the Sunshine Band, and when I watch So You Think You Can Dance the disco numbers are some of my favorites. But neither of those eras have ever thrilled me, really.

I've been in love with Frank Sinatra since I was a little girl. I've known, though, for years that it would never work between the Chairman and me. He's a boozing gangster, and I'm a strong-willed broad. Sure, there'd be passion, but the fights would be epic. Instead, somewhere in my tweens, I set my sights on Cary Grant. He's intelligent and witty, and he's so charming that I can completely overlook his real name... I might even call him Archie when it's just the two of us. And that accent... it's not really British, not really American. Just pure, heart-melting magic.

While other little girls were buying Hanson albums and watching Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead (or whatever), my daddy was renting countless classics for me, like Pillow Talk and Singin' in the Rain. I firmly believed that Rock Hudson and Doris Day were meant for each other, and Casablanca changed my life forever. I would love to wear full skirts with waspy waists, or even high-waisted slacks like Kate Hepburn. I could listen to Jimmy Stewart talk all day long, and Audrey Hepburn's Holly Golightly was my inspiration to be feminine but eccentric.

Golden Hollywood: that's where I belong... schmoozing with Ava Gardner and Bogey, wearing pillbox hats and silk stockings, and taking black and white glamour shots.

Meanwhile, people say I'm an old soul because I love to cross-stitch, and I'd love to learn how to knit and quilt. I want to be a flighty domestic like Laura Petrie. My Pandora station is always set on Bing Crosby or Dean Martin, and Evan knows that to earn brownie points he can order take-out and rent movies for me like The Philadelphia Story or Sabrina.

The Movie of My Life

For a while now, Evan and I have been casting people in the movie of our lives that we plan to produce one day with the most star-studded cast the world has ever seen. The perfect actor or actress is found in a very special moment, not sought out. We wait it out and let the actor come to us, like when we cast our friend Roeder. We were watching an episode of Friends when Chandler jumped up on the coffee table. In a fit of giggles, I knew: that's Roeder. Many people persistently try to cast themselves, but we always say no. It has to just happen; no one gets their first pick. I finally organized an album an introduced the cast to the world, but it's still a work in progress.

Evan's is one of my favorites because I love him and Matthew Morrison almost equally.

I love my dad as Steve Martin too; it's just too perfect.

Done. Done. Done.

Last night, I finished my senior project, my last project as an undergrad. I talk about that a lot, but I am not sure that it has really sunk in... or that it ever will since I'm going straight into grad school.

I just finished my homework. Literally, all that is left now is to turn it all in and graduate. Bizarre.

At work, all the interns have closed their files. My last day is tomorrow, so I can't really start anything new. To sum it up, I have nothing to do. Nothing. I did homework, which I'm not allowed to do. I updated my Urban Outfitters wishlist. I checked Alice and Jane's wishlists. I checked for new blog updates, but alas there were none. If only I had more friends that blogged... Dad, Alice, Lauren. I e-mailed my mom and Evan (I'm really in to correspondence).

Now I'm contemplating Christmas lists. I have a few things already for Ev, but not everything. I have Alice, John, and Sheila covered (last year, Evan and I decided not to get gifts for each other's parents... he totally went behind my back and bought my parents trinkets). I have some ideas for my dad, and something in the works for Thomas. That leaves my mom, Jane, Lauren, and Erica. Some of my favorite people, and yet my mind is drawing a blank.... thank goodness I have another 6 hours at work to think on it.

I am eating dinner tonight with Aubrey and Rebecca. Times like these are what I live for... just talking and catching up... and eating. They're Evan's cousins, but they are so precious to me that they feel like my own family. They are at this really fascinating chapter in their lives, and I love to hear about the friends they are making, the boys they are crushing on, and the classes that are ruining their college experience.

I wish my blogs had fun themes like Chasley's, whose blog is possibly my favorite. She is as funny in cyber space as she is in real life. Unfortunately, mine are really just stream-of-thought... lists and plans and random thoughts.

Evan's funny thought for today: "I think XS and XL should be changed to 'Tiny' and 'Huge', respectively. And anyone wearing an XXL should lose weight."

Happy Thursday.

Career choices.

I officially have a grad school schedule. Did I already mention that?

Full-time status for a grad school student is 9 hours, not twelve. I thought I would at least give that a shot and make sure I make it out alive before I dive into the crazy, and almost never completed, world of 12-hours. My one class on campus is on Monday or Tuesday... either way, beginning of the week... and my other two are online. So...

I've decided to substitute teach. My dad says if you make it through substitute teaching, you might just like education. So I guess this'll be my test. I'm thinking that, since I can participate in class from anywhere with Internet access, I'll try to sub at my very on Alma Mater as well as some Tuscaloosa County schools (which, incidentally, are huge and terrifying compared to my sweet 4A high school). Ideally, I could work on homework while the kiddies watch movies or do the pointless writing assignments that teachers leave while they're away. Maybe it won't work out that, but if it doesn't the other perk of substitute teaching is that my schedule is completely at my discretion. Huge paper due tomorrow? That's cool, I can't teach today.

I hadn't planned to work since I'm a "full-time student" so I figure a little work here and there is better than no work at all, regardless.

I just hope grad school doesn't blow up my world so much that I can't fit in one day of substitute teaching every once and a while...

Closing a chapter. Opening a chapter.

This morning I drove to work and started my last week as an intern and my last week as an undergraduate student.

This morning I listened to Christmas music in my car for the first time this season. I had to turn it up loud in order to hear it over the blaring heat that was struggling to satisfy my 85 degree request.

Yesterday I started on the last project I'll ever do as an undergraduate student... as an Auburn student.

Yesterday I sat down for the first time in my new advisor's office on the campus of the University of Alabama. Together, we mapped out my grad school career. "God willing and if the creek don't rise," I'll be a certified school counselor and Master of Arts by May 2012.

This past week, I watched the Auburn Tigers put up a valiant fight against UA and shut down Mark Ingram's Heisman ambitions at my last home game in Jordan-Hare stadium.

This past week, I took two of my friends from high school to Auburn to meet up with all my friends from college... and I watched as a couple of them formed what could be lasting "friendships."

This age is strange for me. Sometimes I sit back and watch the world fly past me. Many of my friends are searching for or settling into "grown-up jobs" and the "real world." Lots of my friends are getting married and joining their lives and beings with another person. And a few are entering graduate or professional school to continue their education. When did we get this old? Five minutes ago I was worried about who I would take to prom, and now I'm fighting the urge to plan my own wedding as I watch some of my best friends plan theirs. It seems likes yesterday I was toasting to the New Years with all my single friends at the beach; within a year, everyone on that trip is now in a relationship... and we're already planning another New Year's celebration.

Don't get me wrong: I love to see it all happening. It's a thrilling part of life, seeing who becomes what and finding out about a new engagement every other weekend. But wow. How did I get here?

Okay, we lost, but...

I had a thoroughly fabulous break.

I spent time with the parents.
... shopped with Eureka.
... New Moon-ed with old friends. And gossiped. And gossiped. And gossiped.
... picked up my second bridesmaid's dress.
... reunited with old friends at a bar in my hometown.
... gave thanks with my family... gave thanks with Ev's family.
... drove to Auburn late at night and dished with my girlfriends about boyfriends, new and old.
... bar-hopped with the very best friends a girl could ask for.
... may or may not have witnessed the beginning of a beautiful friendship... or two.
... watched an incredible Auburn football team play with heart and pride.
... was a very, very proud almost-Auburn-alum.
... spent much-needed time in the town I love so dearly.
... ate lunch at my all-time favorite Auburn eatery: Big Blue Bagel.
... rode home with Evan and Marlena; whoa-incredible conversations.
... decorated for Christmas with my mom for, like, the 22nd time in my life.
... listened to Christmas tunes for the first time this season. Sing it to me, Bing.
... watched Glee with Ev.
And now I'll go to sleep in the home that I grew up with, and I'll sleep peacefully because I am blessed beyond belief.

One month from today...

I'll be an Auburn grad.

I'll be done with my undergrad career forever.

I'll be on Christmas break.

I'll be with my family and on the eve of a Marcum Family Christmas celebration.

I'll be kind of like a grown-up... but not really.

I'll be starting a new chapter in my life...

Thursday: so close to Friday, yet so far away.

Good news: I found my camera adaptor this morning! A much-needed photo upload is in order.
Bad news: I found it because I thought I must've left one of my Target bags in the car. As it turns out, I left my milk somewhere in Target. I had to make my oatmeal with water. I know that's how some people do it all the time, but, people, let me introduce you to the joys of oatmeal made with milk. You'll never go back. Promise.

In other news, I am so very excited to go home this weekend... to see my sweet puppy Maggie, to sleep in my old bed, to shop and lunch with my mommy, to watch Auburn (hopefully) beat Georgia, and to just spend time in one of the most beautiful cities in Alabama. We're stopping off in Birmingham on the way home Friday night to eat dinner at Cheesecake Factory with our newlywed friends, Ryan and Kaleigh (Ryan called himself a "Cheesecake Factory virgin" so we knew there was no other option for our dinner date).

Evan and I had a food intervention last night. I have a phobia of mass markets-- that's not to say that I'm afraid of people... I just really hate places like Target, Wal-Mart, grocery stores-- so I've been refusing to go grocery shopping. Unfortunately, one must eat... and this one has been going out to eat far too often. So we're restricting dining out (with the exception of weekends, I'm sure), and Evan convinced me to go to Target... and I did, and I bought groceries with a vengence. We literally spent two hours in Target, perusing the aisles of frozen food, canned food, health food, fresh food, accessories, clothes, electronics, books. I made it out alive... but with a little less money. Or a lot less money.

I should be working...

monotony.

I haven't had much to write about lately because everything's been moving at the same pace, a pace that is either busy or slow... I can't decide. Sometimes it feels slow because it's the same old routine day after day

Breakfast.

Get ready for work.

Check e-mail/Facebook (I mean something MAJOR could have happened overnight).

Drive to work (at this point in the season, when it's a chill 45 degrees in the morning, I know exactly at what point in my drive to work my heat will kick on)

Work.

Lunch.

Work.

Possible work out.

Shower.

Dinner.

TV/Quiet time/Reading/More Facebook

Bedtime.

But then again, I look back at the end of the week and think about how time has flown. Either way, fast or slow, there are no major developments in my life... none of which have inspired me to blog, at least.

Evan and I went to Auburn last weekend and watched the Tigers beat the Ole Miss Rebels, went to an excellent Halloween party at Jacob's, and then spent the afternoon at the Summit Sunday... and capped it all off with dinner with Alice and Blake. It was pretty much the perfect way to end October.

My current annoyance: I have all these incredible pictures of Halloween costumes and whatnot on my camera, but I have no way of uploading them to my computer. You see, sweet Evan sat on my old camera, rendering it useless, so in the meantime I've been using my dad's camera (which I have quickly grown to love despite it's inconvenient size). I don't have an adaptor or whatever technical equipment is necessary for the transfer. What's more annoying: I'm almost positive I have it somewhere, but I have searched my tiny apartment and found nothing. Maybe one day I'll get over my fear of large marketplaces and go to Target to buy a cardreader. Then, around Easter, the world will be introduced to Jacob's remarkable Halloween party.

Until then, more of the same.

There are some highlights to look forward to in November, though, and because I love a good list, I'll list them:

-Pre-LSU party tonight at Evan's

-LSU v. UA tomorrow at 2:30

-Church visit Sunday

-Going home next weekend for much-needed shopping and time with family

-Hays and possibly Harvey parents coming to Tuscaloosa the next weekend

-Sips N Strokes with Mommy

-A week off for Thanksgiving/"Fall Break"

-THANKSGIVING, duh.

And then we'll cap off November with a trip to Auburn for the...

-IRON BOWL.

Here I come, November.

trick or treat.

Don't get me wrong: I love Halloween.

But I have the misfortune of having incredibly clever friends, who all come up with really funny costumes and funny ideas.

To an observer, it's a lot of fun. To a participant, it's a lot of pressure. Already, I'm getting texts saying, "Can't wait to see your costume!" and "I'll tell you like I told your boyfriend: I'm expecting you guys to have really stellar costumes!" While I appreciate everyone's good faith in my ability to come up with a good costume, I have "costume-block." Everything I think of seems so cliche or too childish-- Alice in Wonderland, Cops and Robbers, Fred and Wilma... nothing that hasn't been done at least a million times. I am also really opposed to buying costumes at costume stores because they're overpriced and look too fake (I know, I know... it's a costume, it's fake).

So I'm in a pickle.

Pickle... maybe I should be a pickle.

See, that's the kind of thing I think of when I'm so desperate.

pros & cons

Pro: Alice came to town and we got pedicures and flexed our artistic muscles at Sips N Strokes
Con: The people in the apartment above me partied until 4 a.m., so I woke up at 7 already in dire need of a nap.

Pro: I finally pulled out my favorite sweater-- it's light blue and soft and thin, so I can wrap it around me-- because the weather finally felt just right.
Con: I burned my finger on my straight this morning and, as the over-used but adorable British toddler quote goes, "It's still hurting."

Pro: I turned the radio on just in time to hear "Party in the U.S.A." in its entirety-- the perfect start to a Friday morning.
Con: I hit every red light on the way to work.

Pro: My project at work today is to create a box maze for the fall festival, so basically I've been constructing my own personal playground at work.
Con: The air-conditioner is not on, so I've already broken a sweat trying to wrestly the mismatched boxed together and bind them with duct tape.

Pro: Tonight is much-anticipated girls' night, complete with fruity drinks, colorful pajamas, and the promise of lots of talk about weddings, engagements, and boys.
Con: I must fit a nap in before girls' night; nobody wants to be the first to fall asleep at a slumber party.

Pro: it's FRIDAY.

you're an old soul.

Two people in my office have called me an "old soul" since I've worked here.

Usually, I'd take this as a compliment, as someone saying I was remarkably mature and well-rounded, but I'm beginning to wonder if they just mean that I'm the lamest twenty-something they know....

Mentone Mountain Madness.

This weekend hosted my third trip this year to a tiny mountain town called Mentone, Alabama. I have grown to love this hamlet (so pumped to use that word) nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. It is quaint and out of the way, a parallel universe where time and calories are obsolete. The sun wakes you early, and the company keeps you up late. And, of course, there's no such thing as a diet: hamburgers, hot dogs, and tacos are the usual fare, followed by cookies and chips and cans upon cans of soda. There's no such thing as a bad time in this wooded retreat; you're surrounded by your closest friends and sometimes family, too. The plethora of activities includes Scrabble, Rook, Monopoly, cornhole, and everyone's favorite- Things. Even in solitude, Camp Harvey has much to offer. God's hand is impossible to ignore from the rustling leaves to the rushing Little River (okay, it was flooded this weekend... it's not always rushing), all of which can be taken in by a canoe trip up to the "rapids" or a hike to the "secret waterfall."
Highlights of this weekend:
- "Party in the U.S.A."
- Logan hanging from the rafters during "Party in the U.S.A."
- Erica quotes, like, "He's an equal opportunity employer."
- Blake's dancing, of course
- "...and green beans... but I guess they're just beans to you." and other color-blind jokes.
- Things
- Cinnamon roll birthday cake substitute
- Real Talk with Jacob Russell, something of a departure from Real Talk with Ben Peters
- Sound of Music montage on the dock, featuring Kelsea, Evan, and Lindsey
- Canoeing with four dogs
- 12 hours of SEC football
- Blake's potato soup and Stouffer's lasagna... there were cookies, too, but I burnt them.
- Evan would want tacos to make the highlight list...
- I traded phone numbers with Joe, so now I'm friends with a rock star.
- Photo shoot in the woods/on the dock... but then...
- Evan sat on my camera.

There you have it. Mentone, round 3, was a complete and total success.

Mid-term Evaluation

I have been very pleased, to say the least, with my internship placement. Every day is a challenge: the work is not always in my comfort zone, and I do not always succeed in my endeavors, like finding utility assistance for a client or answering difficult questions that come up in relationship classes. Some weeks I feel stretched to my limit, and other weeks I feel like a superhero capable of changing the world.
When I first arrived here, staff members often referred to me as ‘the marriage intern.’ At first this lulled me into a feeling of false security. Thinking I was in my safe zone—teaching ACHMI classes that I had worked on for several semesters—I came to work everyday ready for the paperwork and intense classroom discussions. Soon, though, my role as intern evolved into much more. I have observed after-school programs designed for underprivileged elementary and middle school children to be mentored and tutored, where a 7-year-old girl astutely pointed out that I needed to shave my legs. I have gone on home visits to assess the needs of those who are home-bound. I have conducted many intake processes where I met with and evaluated a client’s needs and referred them to agencies that can meet their needs, like food banks and clothing assistance. I have attended committee meetings whose topics span from the agency’s fall festival to the community's Hispanic Service Providers coalition.
Many people struggle with relationships, but I thrive on interaction with others. In a service agency, human contact is not a plus but a necessity; my ability to communicate with others is something I have grown to pride myself in. Of course, where there are strengths, there are also weaknesses. I am a people person, and that is to say that I love getting to know people and building relationships based on mutual disclosure and shared experience; leading a group, however, is stressful to me. In front of an audience, I am unsure of myself and consult my notes often... probably too often. I co-facilitate and assist with several classes here, and each time I have to mentally prepare myself for public speaking. In my head, I rehearse each line and anecdote over and over again. Sometimes I even write out a script because when put on the spot I falter and fumble with my routine.
I consider myself quite blessed to have alighted on this agency. The atmosphere is familial and laid-back, the services provided are precious to this community, and the experiences as an intern are priceless. I have been exposed to so many people groups, and my awareness of a community’s needs is heightened exponentially. I feel like my metaphorical bubble has been burst—not everyone lives on their parents’ payroll, whose perks include an expensive education, frequent dinner dates with friends, a nice apartment, new clothes as often as trends come and go, and membership in every club or society possible—and, because of that, I am a better and more thoughtful person.
At the end of the day, I often have to remind myself that I cannot change the world. I cannot single-handedly restructure and rehabilitate a client's lifestyle and circumstances. But the little moments-- the food referral that fed a family for a week, or the relationship class that encouraged a client to call his estranged daughter-- those are what make this type of career worthwhile. Even if we only help one person out of every ten clients, then we've done our part.

Getting back to my roots.

I cut my hair... like, a lot.

For most of my life, I've worn my hair fairly short. In college years, though, I've been lazy and cheap. So recently my hair's been longer than it's ever been (well, naturally... I wore extensions a couple of times), and I've had a love-hate relationship with it. When I put time and effort into-- those brief occasions being Friday nights and the occasional Saturday-- it was pretty... at least, I liked it. But every other day of the week, I flat ironed and pinned back my wayward bangs, and sometimes I threw in what my cousin called, "OMG! The Lauren Conrad sidebraid!!" Not a terrible look, but just kind of...bleh.

My plan, as of this spring, was to wait until after Lauren's wedding. She wanted all the bridesmaids to wear up-do's, and I eagerly obliged. On July 4, one week before Lauren's wedding, Lele asked me to be in her wedding, though... so I committed to another 6 months of bleh hair.

But then...

Hailey asked me to be in her wedding in June, and I just couldn't do it anymore. So this weekend I resigned myself to go for it. As they say, "Go big, or go home."

So I cut off 5 inches, and I dyed it down to it's natural color... or close. Admittedly, it's shorter than I'd like, but that's the nice thing about hair: it grows back. She cut off the length initially, and I thought, "Wow. I love it." But then she just kept cutting. It's much choppier than I'd like, and a little thinner than I'd prefer at the ends... but the length is good and the color's better and the 'do is not half bad... so I'm not complaining... but next time I'm going for the Jen Aniston bob and not the Kristin Cavalerri layers (yep. i took pics to the salon).

It's funny, now that it's done. I come to work, and some people say, "I love your hair!" (Lamont gave me knuckles), and some people stare earnestly at me and ask, "Did you do something different to your hair?"

Yes, as a matter of fact. I cut off five inches. No big deal, it's just half the lenght of my hair.

Something terrible has happened.

Last night I was doing my normal bedtime thing-- I had just laid down with a pillow between my knees and one fluffed perfectly under my head and my precious blanket (that's right, blanket) pressed to my face, and I was watching Conan. The night's guests: John Krasinski, Patton Oswald, and someone else that I knew I wouldn't be awake for.

Let me take a moment's pause from my story to let you in on something. I am in love with John Krasinski. I know that millions of women across America are in love with Jim Halpert. That's great; Jim Halpert is beyond sexy. But John Krasinski, the actor... wow. I am 100% convinced that if we ever met (fingers crossed), it would be love at first sight. Fireworks would erupt out of nothingness, and an epic love story would ensue. Evan knows all this, and I think he's coming to grips with the potential loss.

Back to my story. So I'm watching Conan, and I'm totally psyched about John Krasinski's appearance. After the initial joking and a funny story about John's obscenely tall brother, the conversation moves to Jim and Pam on The Office. Spoiler alert: Jim and Pam are engaged. Next thing I know Conan uttered these terrible words, "Now, you're also engaged, is that right?"

And yes, he is.

I'm going to pull the ultimate catty-girl line now and say, "She's not cute enough for him."

and the beat goes on.

Okay, I have at last been productive.

Reference letters: check.
Statement of purpose: written.
Resume: updated.
MAT: taken.
Application: started.
Homework: done.

Ready for: weekend.

Meanwhile, my birthday is Monday. 22 is a weird age because it's the first age in a while where there's nothing to really look forward to. 10: double digits. 13: teenager. 15: learner's permit. 16: license. 17: R-rated movies. 18: register to vote. 19: legal adulthood. 21: legal to buy alcohol. 22: one step closer to thirty.

So it's my first birthday ever where I'm not sure if I should be excited about. I mean, I've really enjoyed being 21. Young, in college, and still on my parents' tab (although, if I do get into grad school, hopefully that won't change... hint, hint, Mom). As I approach 22 at warp speed, I'm beginning to realize that I'm...older. People my own age are engaged, pregnant, in the real world... but we're babies. Or at least that's how I feel. I can't file my own taxes or make a yearly budget; I can barely make my own doctor's appointment.

One more reminder that I'm growing up: I ordered my cap and gown today. I'll pick it up between 8 and 2 on December 18, and then I'll march across the stage, shake Dr. Gouge's hand, and into the world of job searches and (hopefully) grad school I'll go. After that will I finally consider myself an adult? Probably not.

Plan B if grad school doesn't work out: Swedish tour guide.

Getting this in order. finally.

E-mails requesting reference letter: sent.

Reference letters acquired: two. (waiting for one more)

MAT prep book: bought.

Grad school application: started.

Things to do:
- Write statement of purpose.
- Recreate resume (my recent PC-->Mac merger destroyed my resume, but nothing else).
- Register for MAT.
- Take MAT.
- Finish application.
- Pray that this is, in fact, God's will for my life.
- Wait.

Since I've been in such a frazzled mood lately (greatly taken out, I'm ashamed to say, on sweet Evan), I'm going to list all the things I'm thankful for... what's that cliche? "I'm too blessed to be stressed."
Things that make me smile:
- My favorite jeans.
- Pandora.
- The family atmosphere at work.
- Dr. Pepper lip balm.
- Auburn football.
- Sweet tea and lemonade, mixed together. I believe it's called an Arnold Palmer. Thanks, Arnold.
- The chillbumps I get when Spirit flies over the student section.
- Fake designer purses bought in scary Chinatown basements.
- Entrance exam study books and practice tests.
- Inside jokes.
- Fun blogs about adventures in foreign lands.
- Playing "Things" with all my favorites.
- Chinese take-out and endless episodes of Friends and Scrubs.
- Planners.
- Jim Halpert.
- To-do lists.
- Hooded sweatshirts and UCA soffe shorts.
- Dorky e-mail forwards from my mom, always featuring a picture of some animal being 'hilarious'
- Foreign accents.
- Fresh raspberries.
- Wanda's mom's Friday lunches at work.
- Random text messages from Lauren that always include some ridiculous memory.
- Wedding pictures (see: abryanphoto.com, thanks Alice).
- Sermons by Scoggins, my wonderful FBCO pastor
- Dinner at Newk's and long talks about life and love with Jane.
- Jewelry that my mom wore in high school making a come-back in my wardrobe.
- Having to make myself stop listing things because my life is just that blessed.

I promise I'll be more positive next week.

grad school.

It has suddenly occurred to me that if I don't get into grad school, there is not a single thing I'm qualified to do. I'm a Human Development and Family Studies major. You do the math.

I have to find 3 professors that I'm buddies with, that can vouch for my being a good student and hard worker. Here's the problem: I am a good student and hard worker, I am not buddies with any of my professors. Discussion in my classes was often controversial and sometimes very self-centered with lots of personal stories. I'm just not one to share my life story with 35 strangers, and definitely not defend my opinions (read: I don't perform well under pressure).

It's one of those days when I just can't shake the stress.

I should probably be spending this time writing important e-mails to professors I never really talked to...

Living the dream.

Today I'm not exactly content with my life.

Although new to the blogger world, I'm quickly accumulating (or "following" as the locals call it) blogs that my friends are posting. When I say friends, I mean people I have met in college who have pursued a much bolder path than me. Two dear friends are in Hong Kong for two years, one is in England, and one-- I just found out-- is in the Dominican Republic. And here I am...

in Alabama.

Sure, I enjoy my internship. I'm learning, and I love the people I work with (although, I'm quite certain that I do not want to work in social work). And yes, I'm looking forward to grad school, assuming I get in. But there is no adventure here.

Craziest thing I've done all week: Chinese take-out and Season 1 of Friends.

I don't know exactly what I want, and I know I can't up and leave the sanctuary of my home alone. But there's a longing within me... I want to build houses in Africa, or work in a college ministry in England, or be a travel guide in Sweden, or teach English classes in Mexico. I'm not sure the timing is right, but in the meantime I'm squirming under the (caution: melodrama ahead) oppression of living here in my comfort zone.

I've travelled far from home and more often than most, which creates an internal struggle like you wouldn't believe. On the one hand, I feel like a prat complaining that I'm not out there somewhere on a safari or life-changing adventure. On the other, I am not innocent anymore. I have felt the surge of energy as you step out of the cab onto a cobbled Swedish street, felt my heart race as I boarded the tube in frenzied London, and felt chill bumps cover my arms as I stared up at the Roman Coliseum. And from time to time, I can barely stand it. I want so badly to go back, to see more, to do more, to revisit things as a traveller rather than a foreigner. I have this overwhelming sense of, "If I knew then what I know now..." and I want to do it all over again. At the very same time, though, I want to see everything I've never seen before... the Eiffel Tower, the Greek ruins, the Wall of China...

Back here in reality, I'm sitting at a cubicle in Small Town, Alabama. Tonight I'll teach a class of people my parents' age; they'll be more interested in telling me about their children or asking about my own dating life than listening to me give them advice about their own. And who can blame them? I'll cap off the night with So You Think You Can Dance and a trip to the gym. All the while knowing that across the "big pond" my friends are discovering life in Europe, Asia, and so forth.

My apologies for this depressing post. Someone please send me somewhere.

Think of a pleasant memory.

Yesterday in class we asked the participants to think back on pleasant memories of their childhoods.

Our purpose here was to discuss being an intentional family, spending time together on purpose... making memories on purpose.... making life happen instead of letting it happen to you.

A couple of the participants insisted that they had no pleasant memories, which was shocking and sad. I hope, in this particular case, that they were only being difficult and choosing not to participate. Eventually most of them came up with at least one, but it was just one more time where I thought of how privileged I am and how blessed.

I couldn't help but think back to my own childhood, and my mind spun with a million different memories all competing for the number one spot.

I remembered when my family moved into a duplex in Moulton. My brother and I took the biggest boxes and made them into rocket ships. We laid on our backs and drew buttons on the interior of the box (we picked up on the horizontal positioning after watching Apollo 13). We spent what seems like hours in hindsight simulating take-offs, pushing buttons and talking to ground control with authority.

I remembered making up "dances" with Adam. He, an avid wrestling fan, would convince me that we were making up cheerleading dances, and I willingly complied. In reality, Adam was testing out pile-drivers, diamond cutters, and figure fours (all wrestling moves) on me. Music videos played on the television in the background, and he'd set the "dance moves" to 8-counts. We would do our "routines" over and over again on a quest for perfection in the rec room. I don't recall ever questioning whether or not our dances were in fact dances, but I do remember being highly disappointed when Adam suddenly realized he was playing with his little sister and moved on to better, cooler things.

I remembered being at the beach with Rachel. We always shared a room with twin beds (Adam slept begrudgingly on the pull-out sofa bed), and we would lock him out and turn the bedroom into our personal playhouse. We'd jump from bed to bed, pretending to be Wendy and Peter Pan. We'd watch pedestrians on the sidewalk out our windows and make up stories about how they were robbers or newlyweds or immigrants.

I remembered the very special days when Mom let Adam and me finger paint in the kitchen floor when we were very little. She'd spread newspapers out and dress us in old t-shirts, and we'd paint our masterpieces as much on the newspaper as on our construction paper.

I remembered going on a road trip to Williamsburg, Virginia. I studied up on Pocahontas and John Smith before the trip and proudly announced facts about them from the backseat. Mom would distract Adam and me from fighting by asking us Trivial Pursuit questions and rewarding us with Gummy Life Savers. In the rare moments of peace, Adam and I would perform "surgery" on each other in the backseat using things we found in the floorboards. With a pen as my scalpel, I successfully extracted a battery from Adam's forearm. He later removed a tattoo from my arm with a blanket and an eraser.

I remembered making up dances to Mariah Carey songs with my childhood friend, Erica. We'd practiced into the early morning hours, listening to Fantasy over and over again.

So many good memories and such a blessed life. I really could go on, but there are more memories to be made. For instance, my co-worker is now performing a Boys II Men song on the other side of the cubicle.

Goal setting.

We started our September session this morning, and it's going to be a doozie.

We were talking about goals in today's session, and one woman confessed that one of her goals is to have a better relationship with her child's father. I found this goal to be optimistic and respectable, but apparently not everyone did. Another student, Dutchess*, yelled, "Ain't no need! That ain't a goal! They ain't worth it!" Dutchess, in fact, has an opinion about everything. We made lifelines too, listing highs and lows of our lives and encouraging everyone to end on a high note because they were all in a program set up to make positive changes in their lives. Dutchess assured us that too much was going on in her life to list on one sheet of paper.

We get a lot of this particular personality, this mindset that "My life is harder than yours." These are the people I dub difficult. They're a walking contradiction: they're quick to tell you how terrible their situations are, how their lives are falling apart at the seams, but they've got it all together and they have all the answers and they're not interested in help.

It's days like today when I'm torn between laughter and frustration. The antics are funny, but the attitude is miserable.

I made my own lifeline....

O Cheerleading (Make fun if you want, but I looooooved it)
O The Squad-- my three best girl friends in high school
X Worst break up of my life
O High school graduation/move to Auburn
X Lauren went to another college far, far away
O Alpha Delta Pi
X Learning that I must study to be as successful in college as I was in high school
O Auburn. It's the happiest I've ever, ever been.
O Panhellenic Counselor.
O Evan
X Leaving Auburn
X/O Lauren gets married. Saying goodbye to a married best friend is so bittersweet.
O Living in the same town as Evan. World of difference.
O Internship.
O Making new friends in my new home.
O Looking forward to grad school....

That's what I wrote on my paper.

In other news... I'm going to be an aunt. Not biologically, but I'm going to claim Rachel's baby as my niece or nephew regardless. People all around me are getting pregnant or engaged. Literally, all of Evan's friends are engaged and a couple of mine are far behind. Now Rachel's pregnant, and so are two of the women at my internship site. Oh, and Evan's roommate... he's going to be a daddy.

I'm beyond starving. Must break for lunch.

*Dutchess is not her real name.

Another slow day.

15 minutes to go.

The thing about this internship is a lot of times I'm so busy my head spins. For hours, I'll run around 'campus' taking care of business.... then, suddenly, I'll run out of things to do. I spend just as many hours doing absolutely nothing as I do working diligently.

Here's what I do in my spare time:
-Read blogs.
-Write in my blog.
- Facebook.
- Facebook.
- Facebook.
- Write e-mails.
- Peruse urbanoutfitters.com
- Read biographies on imdb.com
- Comment on pictures on Facebook.
- Listen to Pandora.

I'm running out of things to capture my attention.

In other news, the Harvey Family Reunion was a huge success, I think. I'm so comfortable with them that I've been referring to it as 'my' family reunion. There was live music, loads of food, Trivial Pursuit, and lots of picture-taking. On the other hand, I had to go to bed at 8:30 last night because I was totally, completely exhausted. We all went to bed around 4 am, but, while everyone else slept late into the morning/afternoon, I was up when the first ray of sunshine hit my sensitive eyes.

Friday I'm going to Auburn, and I am so completely unabashedly crazy excited. I may start packing this afternoon, but I'll try to hold off. Eeeeek!

I think it's time for a lay-out change, if I can figure out how... That's what I'll work on for the last 8 minutes of my day.

Good day.

Weagle, weagle...

College football is finally here.

I have been fighting the excitement for some reason (likely, that I just didn't want to get caught up in the "crowd"... a weird complex I developed in high school). Or maybe I thought I was above such nonsense, the only one who recognized that it's just a game. But, much like the swine flu sweeping the nation, the college football spirit is highly contagious, and I have, at last, been infected. This weekend the Eagle will soar, the Tide will roll, and all the other teams in the SEC will do their things...

Now I'm wishing I were clever enough to keep that last sentence going... the Dawgs will... growl? the Gators will... chomp? That's why I didn't continue in the first place.

I'm in Tuscaloosa doing an internship that I'm quite happy with, dating a guy that I'm very in love with (read: I'm happy here, promise), but Auburn is where my heart of hearts is during football season. My family and many of my friends goad me incessantly about "seeing the light" and "finally being in God's country," always hoping that I'll, supposedly, come to my senses or catch Bama fever. Now hear this: not gonna happen. Tomorrow's game is a small one as far as school rivalries go, but my heart aches when I think about missing it. I can picture it. I can feel it.

The RVs arrived Wednesday, Auburn flags flying high. The tailgaters are sitting around their camps, clad from head to toe in burnt orange and navy. Smoke swirls into the sky from smokers and grills dotted throughout campus. From every building on campus, a banner billows and declares, "Beat LA Tech!" or something far wittier. Students, all wearing their favorite worn Auburn t-shirts, walk with a spring in their step and find it difficult not to stare longingly at a stadium that come tomorrow will be roaring and filled to the brim with rabid Auburn fans from near and far.

Tomorrow one of the many proud eagles will glide around the edges of a twilit stadium, and Auburn and LA Tech fans alike will be goose-bumped. Pre-game videos will remind every ear in the stadium what it means to be an Auburn Tiger: Pride. Honor. Honesty. Human Touch. Tradition. And because Auburn men and women believe in these things, I believe in Auburn and love it. Students will chant interchangeably, "Bodda getta, bodda getta..." and "Weagle, weagle..." Aubie will create a ruckous doing hilarious, adorable Aubie things because that's what Aubies do. The band will march out, only after the drum major runs and leaps dramatically across the field, and spell out AUBURN TIGERS to the tune of the fight song: War Eagle, fly down the field! Ever to conquer, never to yield! War Eagle, fearless and true; fight on, you orange and blue!... And then. Oh, and then. The best part. Through clouds of fog, to a crowd gone berserk, a host of Auburn Tigers will run onto the field with their new (able) coach.

I have to stop there because I can barely stand it.

War Eagle.

War Eagle.

"And my brother... well, I call him Stupid."

Currently listening to: For Once in My Life by Frank Sinatra (I include this because I am of the strong suspicion that what I am listening to dictates the tone of my writing).

Last night was Round 2 of class at the Salvation Army with the homeless veterans. As I have come to expect, these classes are momentous and moving and encouraging.

We talked about communicating with people and building strong families. One man shared about all his siblings and their strengths (although, one he called Stupid seemed not to have strengths... but it did make me laugh). Another man shared about a friend of his that was like his family, and I knew immediately what that was like. During the break, a silent man in the back apologized for what might have come across as rudeness and let us know that he had lost his entire immediate family to a string of tragedies. And all these comments were such that I began to think about my own families' strengths.

(I think I've done a post similar to this before but, as I'm convinced that no more than 2 people read this, I'll carry-on as though just for myself.)

My mom is a rock. She carries our family because she is logical and caring. She plans and budgets and works tirelessly to be sure that our lives run smoothly and with as little disruption as possible. She is always there to put my life into perspective, to build me up when I'm down, and to take me down a few notches when I get ahead of myself. And at the end of the day, she's content and so put-together.
My dad is my hero. He is strong and never afraid to try anything and so, so smart. He's magnetic in a way that draws crowds from all ages, through his musical talent or just his humor. And even beneath the showman, he's sensitive and good. He writes poetry for my mom because he loves her in that old-fashioned way, and I know he still has a hard time telling me 'no' because I'm his baby girl.
My brother was precious to me and everyone he met. He had a contagious smile and bright eyes. He cared deeply for those closest to him, and he was a prayer warrior at an astonishingly young age. Fiercely loyal and affectionate, he often let me know that, aside from being his incredibly annoying little sister, he loved me dearly.
Lauren, more a sister than just a friend, is funny and random and spontaneous but also incredibly responsible and organized. After a bad break-up in high school, she brought me Grapico, raisinets, and gossip magazines-- all my favorite things. She's one of the only people I've ever been able to just sit and be with, in silence or in giggles, in mindless chatter or in tearful conversations about lost love.
Rachel is easily the cousin I am closest to, not because we have spent the most time together but because we are so very alike in many way (but entirely different in others, too). She is affectionate and warm, artistic and feminine, athletic and beautiful. She was my idol growing up because, being six years older than me, she was always at the stage I wanted to be.

Those are the people I would consider in my most "immediate" family, although I could write a paragraph of nice things about anyone in my family, I think. I am so incredibly blessed, and the sweet veterans last night reminded me of that in a loud and resounding way.

My favorite, because he shares the most and wants to get the most out of the program, shared yet another funny story (one that may or may not translate across cyberspace). We were talking about negative people and their impact on our lives, that they will bring you down faster than you can bring them up, and Sam* raised his hand to tell a story. He told of dating a girl years ago who was so negative he could barely stand it, but so pretty he could hardly walk away. After months of dating and listening to her constant complaints, one night after dinner he offered to go out and get her favorite dessert-- apple pie and ice cream. He said, "I left... and I ain't never been back! She's still waitin' for that pie!" Everyone in the room cackled and rocked in their chairs. For a moment I couldn't help but pity the lovelorn woman waiting for her promised pie, but I have to give it to Sam... the man's got style.

Happy Hump Day to anyone sweet enough to drop by my little blog.

*Sam's not his real name.

Life in a small town.

I had Friday off, and it was, in a word, fabulous. I went to the gym and had left-over Mexican food for lunch. I did my homework and watched Full House with Jane. We had the best conversations and wasted the afternoon away with no agendas. We talked about crushes (hers) and families and blessings and accomplishments. When Evan arrived at my house after work, he was surprised to find hyper-prepared me unshowered and unpacked. He didn't complain, though, because he's Evan.

We went to eat Friday night at our (my) favorite hometown eatery: Mama's. And we ate our (my) favorite pizza: pineapple with extra marinara. And we laughed and talked with Evan's wonderful family and all the familiar faces passing through the restaurant. After dinner, I pretended to be Jane in order to rent a movie on the Harvey account (from which Thomas and Evan are banned, apparently), and I had the distinct pleasure of introducing Thomas and John to a classic movie (and one of my favorites): Billy Madison.

Saturday, my dad and I had breakfast at, of course, Mama's. The chocolate chip pancakes and western omelette that we split between the two of us were pure perfection (read: TRY THEM), and we left so full that I almost bailed on our golf game. But I didn't. And I played terribly. But I loved it because it's golf and it's what we do, Daddy and I. I can remember being on the golf course with Dad, probably on four years old, and loving whipping through woodsy golf trails on the golf cart and playing with my sawed off, tape-handled golf club.

After golf, we met Mom for lunch at another downtown eatery where we saw many more familiar faces. That's the thing about small towns; it's like the song from Cheers, "You wanna be where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came...." Seriously. Eating a meal in public with my dad is like eating with the mayor. You leave the restaurant, full and satisfied, feeling like people know you and care about you. That's a feeling you don't find in a big city where people seem isolated and self-involved.

We spent Saturday afternoon at Evan's house shooting the breeze with his parents. That's the thing about Evan's house; there's always conversation. Saturday afternoon, I laid on a work out bench (Thomas's old room has been transformed into a semi-workout room but still houses a bed so Evan will have a place to sleep now that Thomas has taken his room) and Evan laid on a daybed while we gathered in the "workout" room for an hour-long talk that materialized out of a comment about Trivial Pursuit.

Later, feeling "game-y," we headed back to my house and convinced my mom to play Monopoly with us. She won, of course, but not until we finished the game on Sunday afternoon. I put up a valiant fight, by the way. We ate dinner at Granny's house, and it was wonderful as always. I also suffered through what has to be my thousandth Braves game on Granny's big screen, but it was worth it in exchange for time with family and food made by Granny's able hands.

Sunday, Mom and I started planning our trip to Walt Disney World. All I can really say about that is how very, very excited I am. I love love love Disney World and Peter Pan's Flight and Snow White's Scary Adventure and monorails and national pavilions and Disney characters wandering around me. Later, I cooked dinner for Evan's family and it was successful (that is, not burnt or ruined or inedible).

Today I'm going to organize my life. I should do that now.

Vicky's Story

Yesterday I was blessed to stumble into the middle of a class here on my internship site's campus. I was running an errand, but left the building with so much more than I came for.

Vicky, an inspirational speaker brought in to speak to a group of unemployed women (many of whom are single mothers and victims of abusive relationships), saw her mother murdered by her father when she was 15 years old, had a baby when she was 16 years old, and lived in an abusive marriage for eight and a half years. Along the way, though, she managed to finish high school and get a college degree. She now does counseling at a domestic violence center here in town. Most remarkable about Vicky, though, is her perspective on life. I have never met someone in person that has had it quite as bad as Vicky; similarly, I have never met someone so willing to give glory to God. With every breath, Vicky praised God for everyday of her life, for his mercies, and for his blessings. She is someone with every reason to be bitter and discontent, but she lives her life with joy. I can't stress this enough: joy. Think about that as something completely separate from happiness. She glows, she can't help but smile, and she's contagious.

I was so inspired by her, and I only walked in on the last ten minutes of her spill. My greatest hope is that the women in the class were moved, that some form of hope was stirred deep within them. I didn't know what it was like to have issues until I worked here. 'I have too much homework,' or 'I can't find someone to go to dinner with me'... those are my issues. This population, though, are struggling to feed themselves and their families. They are uneducated not by choice but by circumstance.

I don't know how you walk away from a service profession like this, exposed to so much hurt and need in the community around you, not aching to start a revolution.

Mending Bridges

Last night we taught at the Salvation Army to a group of veterans living there. I didn't realize just how stressed I was about it until we were about to walk in the door of the classroom (read: cafeteria).

I drove myself to the Salvation Army, an adventure in itself as I'm new to this town, around 6:00. I had no idea how serious Salvation Armies are, and I suppose it's because when I think of the Salvation Army my mind conjures up images of the store front windows of the SA in my small hometown where consignment clothes and other things are sold. The shelter, however, is a completely different concept. Upon entering the building, one goes through a metal detector the likes of which you see in an airport. Then you sign in at the front desk, and the receptionist unlocks the first door to lead you into a corridor. After a series of locked doors, one finally arrives in the heart of the shelter. Before you know it, you're in the midst of homeless veterans, yelling up and down the hallway at one another and shuffling past you, the obvious intruder. All this was, of course, a bit jarring to me, but my supervisors seemed undeterred and walked into the cafeteria/classroom with ease. I followed, afraid to make eye contact with the motley crue of veterans that were required to be with us.

It's important that you know that these classes, for the veterans at least, are mandatory. And a few of them are quick to let us know that they did not choose to be there but are required. One, in fact, continually complained about the length of the class (which, in reality and with a positive attitude, the 2 hours flies by) and chose not to participate at all. He refused to sign any consent forms or complete the pre-class survey. He went so far as to offer our free pen back to us, but we told him to keep it. For the rest of the class, he sat back with a sour grimace on his face and his arms folded decidedly across his chest, interrupting once or twice to remind us he wanted out early.

Aside from our one "bad apple," it was really encouraging to interact with the other veterans. The men who had at first seemed a bit frightening to me quickly became men with stories and complicated pasts. One man shared about his seven children--the obvious highlight of his lifetime, his struggle with drugs and alcohol, and his time in the armed forces. Another man told of his honorable discharge from the navy and his desire to go to school, graduate with honors, and eventually be an executive chef. The youngest man in the class talked briefly about his plans to write a novel. It was really uplifting to see these men receptive to our cause, searching for empowerment and someone to believe in them.

For the most part, I was merely an observer, but I hope to become more active in the classes and play some sort of role in the achievement of these down-and-out veterans' goals.

Sorry, Alice.

As Alice reminded me, I haven't blogged in far too long. I'm sitting at "work" (internship) right now; my supervisors are out to work, and I've finished everything they left me to do... so here I am. Back to the blog.

Internship is like a transition into the real world; not quite adult, only partly student. I've been here a week, and it's already a bit of a rollercoaster. Some days I think, "Man, I've really found my calling." And other days I wonder if it's not too late to start over in another field.

I'm interning at a family resource center. We have GED classes, English as a Second Language classes, classes for dads having a hard time paying child support, classes for unemployed men and women referred by DHR, classes for single parents, etc. Needless to say, I'm working with a very very diverse population of people. The majority are low-income or unemployed African American women, but a slew of white women come through as well. A lot of them come from Hannah Home, a shelter for women who have found themselves victims of domestic violence. Sometimes it's really exciting to see them picking up the pieces of their shattered lives, but a lot of times it's particularly devastating.

For as long as I can remember, all my needs have been met. I have never hungered or wanted for anything and, for that matter, I have never had extensive contact with people in these circumstances. When I worked at a pharmacy in high school, I would have brief conversations with and the occasional delivery to the "projects" but that's the extent of it. So I'm here in the midst of the poor Tuscaloosa, uneducated Tuscaloosa, unloved Tuscaloosa.

And I'm terrified. Really, really terrified. My stomach knots up when I think about it. So far I've basically trained and observed, but at some point I'll be teaching classes. Me. Priviliged me, teaching a group of people that I have little to nothing in common with. I'll stand before them, completely non-credible for anything I'll be teaching save the lesson plan in front of me, and teach them skills that I myself have never needed to use. And they're supposed to take my word for it. They're supposed to change the way they've been living their lives because I read a few guidelines off a sheet of paper.

I pray that I can reach them someway or another. I pray that they not laugh me out of the room. I pray that I provide them with the smile that so many people don't "waste" on them.

I'm going to try and be more consistent with my blogging now. I'd really like to keep a track of my internship and new life here outside of the bogus reflection papers I turn in to my professor.

I wish I may, I wish I might...

Thursday night I went to a show at our community theater with my dad. Afterward, we milled around and talked to everyone we knew because... well, it's what we do. When we were satisfied and practically the last people standing, we headed back out to my dad's convertible. We put the top down and rode home with the warm summer wind in our hair. The Beach Boys were singing loudly over the radio when we got to the bridge before my house, and I tilted my head back and sang straight up at the clear, starry sky. It felt like the summers when I was little riding in the convertible listening to ZZTop and the Eagles. It didn't bother me at all that my hair was whipping mercilessly around my face. I just thought happily to myself, "This... this is summer."

I hope I have moments like that... driving under the stars and singing oldies music with my dad... every summer.

Whoa.

Okay, not that many people read this or anything, but I have been gone for a long, long time. Something crazy was happening with my Internet at my place in Auburn, and since I've been home I've just felt busy what with the holiday week and all.

I'm in Kentucky right now, awaiting my best friend's wedding on Saturday evening. I've known this was coming for awhile now. Not only have they been inseparable since Day 1, Lauren's been talking about their impending nuptials since Thanksgiving and they've been engaged since New Year's Eve (Australia time). But now it's here and it's so.... so real. All of a sudden my best friend is getting married. A bride-to-be. She's going to be someone's wife. I'm sitting now in the apartment Ivan (her fiance) has been living in and that she'll move into Saturday night, and it's bizarre. This is kind of like a family home now. Family conjures up the image of children and so on, but you know what I mean.

Today Lauren played the music that we're all walking down the aisle to (in very typical Lauren fashion, it's not the traditional music that comes to mind when you think wedding march). It's an Icelandic band that Ivan likes, and it's beautiful and haunting and dramatic. I sat here listening to it, picturing Lauren walking down the aisle on what will surely be the most momentous day of her life, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with a flood of emotions. I hid it because Lauren didn't seem moved at all; if anything, she was more concerned that it seemed too dramatic. But it was like I suddenly realized the reality of the situation. Lauren, my Lauren, is Ivan's Lauren. Not that she'll ever be any less mine, but she's not just mine. Maybe that seems obvious to everyone else, but whoa. She's a grown up.

In other news, my computer has a virus, and I think my virus scanner has a virus. It keeps popping up that I have a Trojan spyware virus, and then I clean it, it says it's clean, and it pops up again. This is no good. No good at all. I haven't visited any websites that I haven't been visiting for years, and I haven't opened any suspicious links. I'm not okay with this at all.

Good night.

Call me uptight...

Plans are very important to me. My mother is a planner. All my life, there's been a schedule. Curfews, agendas, to-do lists. Not in a crazy-restrictive way; just in a 'life needs order' way. And thus, this is what I've grown accustomed to. Furthermore, I'm an up-and-at-'em kind of girl. If I'm going somewhere, I want to get there. I'm not a big fan of solo roadtrips, so I'd rather not delay the inevitable. I hate hanging around when I know something needs to be done. And if I know someone else's day depends on my own plans, then I especially hate making them wait around...

So when I say, "I'll meet you in Birmingham," I don't mean just whenever I get there. I mean as soon as possible. And if you tell me that we're leaving at six the next morning, then of course I'll be there by six, six fifteen at the latest.

If no one's depending on you, go ahead, do what you do. Consider yourself ultra laid-back and, as the Eagles said, take it easy. But if someone's depending on you, sitting around and waiting on you, make a plan. Be considerate.

Am I uptight? I prefer 'efficient.'

Memorial Weekend.

SUCCESS! We had a beautiful weekend at the beach!... which equals a tiny bit of tenderness from sun on my shins, left shoulder, and the part in my hair, but it was so worth it!

Evan and I arrived Saturday around 4:30. The rest of his family didn't get there til closer til 8, so we took it upon ourselves to go get snacks and drinks (little did I know, grocery store trips are a daily-- sometimes TWICE daily-- event on Harvey vacays). I got a bag of fresh cherries and a bag of salt & vinegar chips, and I was set for the weekend. Evan bought a variety of cheeses, crackers, and Coca-Cola Classic. When the rest of our party finally arrived (I'm SO not used to the "laid back" pace my new family moves at!), we went to eat at Mikee's. Sheila, like my own mother, loves gumbo and she thinks Mikee's has the best. I had an odd moment of home sickness sitting there at the beach without my own family. After dinner, we sat at the condo and talked and watched television until we were all falling asleep in our chairs.

Sunday I woke up first, along with John and Sheila. I enjoyed peanut butter toast, a handful of cherries, and a glass of milk as I watched the waves crash and hoped for good weather. Around 9:30, when I couldn't stand it any longer, I started waking the others up and badgering them to head toward the beach. We made it out to the beach around 11, and I quickly found my place in the sand with a good book and a bottle of water. We braved the water from time to time when the heat became unbearable, and, after the initial shock of the first cold wave to hit you, the salty water felt incredibly refreshing. Alice and I headed upstairs around 1:30 and ordered pizza for everyone for lunch. We were eventually joined by the rest of the group, and then we returned to the beach after about hour. Sunday night we ate at a dive restaurant called Fish Camp-- all 25 or more of us. All the "kids" sat at one table, and we managed to fashion a "super straw" out of all our straws. We used the straw, and a strategically placed Evan, to sip out of a cup on the adult table. Very funny. After dinner, most of us came back to the Harvey condo (as opposed to the Woodward and Glass condos; they were the rest of our party), and played Catch Phrase. Note to all: 13 year olds are not very good at Catch Phrase. Painful, in fact.

Monday morning Alice, Jane, and I headed to the grocery store to pick up supplies for a Memorial Day breakfast. I made breakfast casserole and Alice made cheese grits and homemade cinnamon rolls. It was delicious, and it held me over for most of the day. Again, we stayed on the beach all day, this time reading gossip magazines. We ate at a very nice restaurant called Cobalt Monday night; my seat looked directly at the water at sunset. Perfect. After dinner, we played laser tag. Evan, of course, won, but I finished third and I was quite pleased with that. I'm beginning to think that there is no better beach activity than laser tag at Adventure Island. It's about a dollar a minute, but it is always, always a good time.

I got up early this morning and drove back to Auburn, arriving just in time to head to my Drugs and Behavior class at 1:15. Que perfecto.

Agenda for this week: Study D&B. Study the Word. Work out the bod. And finally, head to Indiana for Ryan Wright's wedding. Busy, busy.

About that studying...

Beach bound.

We're about to head to the beach and, of course, it's raining. In fact, the ten-day forecast is nothing but rain and more rain. Evan and I have yet to have a "successful" beach trip; that is to say, we've been in strange months (i.e. October and January) and have yet to see sunshine and sand.
On the other hand, we'll be there with basically his entire family (aunt, uncles, second cousins, etc), and it's sure to be a good time regardless.... I just won't come home with a tan, but let's be honest... I don't really tan to begin with.

Back to the grind.

I'm going back to Auburn tomorrow. In my week at home, I have accomplished nothing as planned. And by that I mean that I have spent zero time in the sun, and that is solely because there has been no sun. It has literally rained every single day that I've been home, and it's really starting to get me down. I've been rocketing back and forth between my family and Evan's, mainly eating, with no sunshine and little to no physical activity. Not to mention I've seen the same five people every day for what feels like forever. Don't get me wrong: they are my favorite people on Earth, but I'm really starting to struggle with cabin fever. And I'm torn because I don't necessarily want to start back to class (especially not summer school, every single day), but I'm dying to get back to my friends. To variety. When you're around the exact same person everyday it's so easy to take your frustrations out on them, and I fear that Evan is starting to feel the brunt of my seasonal depression. It's not his fault, but we're boring. We watch movies, we go eat with either set of our parents, we watch another movie, we go out to another meal. We haven't had great weather, and none of our other friends have been home, so our choices are limited. As much as I love this house, with my perfect bed and huge bedroom and newly decorated basement, I'll be glad to get back to my tiny, never satisfactorily ventilated bedroom and my friends.

In other news, we have completely renovated the basement. New carpet, new paint job, new furniture. It looks awesome. One hundred times better than before. I've really taken an interest in it, picking out and approving the colors, etc., myself, and it's gotten me really excited about decorating my next apartment. My own apartment. My solo apartment.

I should really go see what Evan and Dad are doing in the basement...

Dead battery.

My car died today in the parking lot outside Nail Tide, where Al and I had just got pedicures, and Palm Beach Tan, where I had just gotten a spray tan. As I stood in the hot, humid parking lot, sweat accumulating in my hairline and dripping down my back (undoubtedly ruining my developing spray tan), it occurred to me that I'm not necessarily ready for summer. For warm weather and sunshine, yes. For the nearly unbearable, unbreathable Southern summer, not so sure. You can beat the heat lounging in the pool or cruising on the lake, but at the end of the day you have to get into your car and take yourself home. My car, for one, turns in an inferno even on cooler summer days. In the dead of summer, it's intolerable. The air is unbreathable, the seats scorching hot, and my shirt sticks to my back where I'm sweating profusely from the hot leather (wearing sweaty or wet clothes is possibly the worst feeling ever). Outside of my car, I'm just a sweater. Period. From mid-May to mid-September you will rarely see my hair down from a pony-tail because, outside of the humidity-driven frizziness, my hair is baby fine and the first drops of sweat soak through it until I look like I've just ran a marathon (if only). Truly, I can't walk from the front door to the mailbox without needing to blow dry my bangs.

On top of my car being dead this afternoon, my phone was quickly dying and Alice didn't have her phone. Not that a fresh batteried phone would have mattered as my daddy and my boyfriend-- my champions and knights-in-shining-armor-- were not taking my phone calls. Luckily, my sweet friend Justin just happened to be walking out of Swen, a Chinese restaurant in the same strip mall parking lot where I was stranded, and he came to my rescue. Well, I should say that his fraternity brother Trent did. Justin, fully clad in frat-boy style: long-sleeved Polo button-up, shorty Columbia shorts, Chacos, and Costas, knows little to nothing about cars. He did, however, provide jumper cables and his friend provided the needed knowledge of positive-to-positive and negative-to-negative.

At the end of the afternoon, after having blown off Alice mom and Jane for lunch because my car made us about an hour late, I left the parking lot sweaty and irritated. I have yet to recover. Today is not my day.

Crunch time.

Two exams down, one to go. One grade in: A. So far, so good.

Next up: what to do with the rainy week (Guntersville v. Tuscaloosa), Alice graduates, Mother's Day with the fam, two weeks of consistent Evan and possible lake time, beach with the Harvey/Woodward clan, class starts, off to Indiana for Ryan's wedding... that brings us to the first of June. Just a hop, skip, and a jump from July: Lauren's wedding.

Goal for the coming months: get in shape. I eat pretty healthy on the weekdays, then Evan comes to town and we go out to eat for every meal and eat crap (even breakfast: hello Chick-Fil-A chicken mini's). For the next part of the week, I eat left-over crap. Wham-bam, three pounds. Bikini season is no time for this nonsense. Did I mention I'm the MOH at La's wedding? That's right: strapless dress. Get it together, Linds.

Also, I've been doing really well on my reading list. I read a devotional book at night after my quiet time (currently reading: The Case for Christ, by Lee Strobel), I read the books Evan gave me for Christmas in my downtime (I'm trying to spend more time with real books than the Facebook), and I read Harry Potter when I'm at the gym (I've read them before, but they're SO good... you'd be surprised how this makes me WANT to go to the gym). Don't worry, Evan gave me 8 books (no lie) for Christmas, so I have PLENTY of reading to do. Although, I will be looking for a new "devotion"-type book soon; I'm almost done with Case.

This blogging is all in lieu of studying for my 8 am exam... soooo, I should probably go. Adieu.

i don't watch the news.

I don't watch the news for good reason: it brings me down. I can have a wonderful day of laughing with friends, appreciating cool breezes on sunny days, reading good books... and flip to the news just to find that swine flu has come to Alabama, 30 minutes from my parents home no less, and our economy is still in a downward spiral. It takes a lot out of a person.

I'm not saying that I don't have hope for a better tomorrow... but I'll be awfully glad to see it.

Sometimes I wonder if there's ever a time when there's no bad news on TV. Do I not even notice, or is there in fact always something terrible happening?

Thank God for the promise of an eternity free of stress and bad news.

I can't believe I'm watching professional baseball.

As I'm a very supportive girlfriend, I didn't complain when Evan tuned in to the Yankees-Red Sox game around 7 tonight. Evan left at 8:30, and I'm still watching. I've never cared for baseball, especially not on TV, but now that Evan's walked me through a few basics... I might be well on my way to fandom. Not to mention, I'm becoming a fair judge of who wears their baseball pants in a satisfactory way and who doesn't. For instance, Yankee Derek Jeter wears his pants long and loose. Unsatisfactory. Brave Kelly Johnson, on the other hand, wears his socks high and his pants snug. For this very reason, I'm looking into getting a Braves t-shirt with JOHNSON across the back, like a true fan (and because Alice won't let me have Francouer).



My Thursday thru Sunday has been, in a word, superb.

Evan got here Thursday evening, and we went to dinner with Blake and then to the best experience I've had at Auburn: we, along with a couple hundred other Auburn students, went into Jordan-Hare stadium-- not the bleachers, mind you: the FIELD-- and laid out our (Blake's) sleeping bag and watched The Dark Knight in HD on the jumbotron. Did I mention the free snacks and beverages? It was incredible, lying in the warm spring night next to some of my favorite people.

Friday afternoon, Evan and I headed home, where we ate with his parents and little brother at Guntersville's premier restaurant, K.C.'s Coyote Cafe. After hours of talking and laughing over blackened salmon, fresh-baked bread, and completely unnecessary but entirely delicious blackberry cobbler, Evan and I headed back to my house to watch The Office that Mom had taped.

Saturday morning, we headed to Blount County for a visit with the Marcums and the Hays clan. I hadn't seen my mom's side of the family since Christmas, so we spent nearly all day there, telling the same stories I've heard since childhood sprinkled with a few new stories that had happened since the last time we were all together (like, the principal of my younger cousin's middle school being strangled by a student after breaking up a fight in the lunchroom). I spent most of the afternoon drinking in the fullness of this wonderful family: Daddy J, the quite patriarch who puts his God and his family above all else; Momma Em, a people-pleaser who wants nothing more than to know that her family is happy and safe; Aunt Debbie, who is as spirited as she is small and loves her family with a passion she otherwise reserves for Alabama football alone; my own mother, who is caring and thoughtful, pouring over each event so that no one's workload is too heavy and everyone can relax and enjoy each other; my younger cousin Anna-Kate, who is beautiful, artistic and athletic at the same time, with a beaming smile and a sweet heart; Uncle Linc, who is reserved and fiercely loyal to his family, especially his four beautiful children; my great aunt Connie, who is independent and loving, determined to stay connected with those she loves most. I could easily go on and on, listing every member of my family and exactly why I love them so, but I won't. I might never stop. Next, we went to my dad's parents' house. Their sprawling farm is picturesque in many ways, with a white picket fence, front porch swings, and a clover-laden pasture complete with a one-eared pony. I have so many memories at this house: making "frog caves" in the sandbox with Papaw, hayrides from the pasture to the pond where we'd fish for hours, sneaking into the kitchen with Megan for a midnight snack then giggling in the back bedroom about our successful mission through the creaking kitchen, and even recently bringing college friends home to enjoy the simple pleasure of life in the country. It's interesting to be this age... I remember how invincible and immortal my granddad seemed when I was young, and now he seems so frail to me, his breath sometimes labored and his hair growing thinner. But this aging man is incredible still in his own right. In April of last year, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and told he wouldn't live to see August. Now, one year later, he still rides his tractor on good days and has recently acquired an electric wheelchair to get him to and from his garden.
Today, we went to church, where Scoggins spoke the Word over us with an understanding and clarity that never ceases to amaze me. Afterward, Evan and I went to Zaxby's for lunch and then straight to the pool. I spent hours reading and slipping in and out of sleep until my stomach started hinting that it was just about dinner time. We went to Johnny Brusco's, the pizza place where we had our first date so many months ago. After dinner, we came back to my place and Evan quickly navigated the television to ESPN, where we started watching the game at Fenway Park. Which catches me up to the present.

On tap for this week: one twenty-minute presentation, three days of class, three hours of undergraduate research, and one final on Friday. I think I can, I think I can...

*I typed this blog twice.

List-making.

Things that make me all kinds of happy:

• Watching Kris Allen and Adam Lambert rock my face off on American Idol.
• Eating Chicken Salad Chick with Blake-- Buffalo Barkley and one new scoop everytime.
• Planning summer vacays: Disney World? Carribean Cruise? Do I want a picture with Mickey or a tan and and Elton John piano bar?
• Downtown adventures with Mal on Friday afternoons.
• Speaking of, Toomer's lemonade with vanilla. Thanks for that.
• Going through old pictures.
• Knowing that even though I may not ever win an Oscar or be on the cover of a fashion magazine or in a history book, the Creator of the universe knows me by name and calls me His own.
• Feeling like slowly but surely I'm being integrated into a new family, new siblings included.
• Marcum family gatherings: same stories every time. Never gets old.
• Watching hours upon hours of House on DVD, even when Evan would really rather watch Scrubs.
• Casting celebrities to play my friends in my imaginary movie.
• Frasier re-runs.
• The feeling I get after I've turned in a huge assignment.
• The fact that I have only one class left in my undergraduate career, with the exception of an internship.
• Watching one of my nearest and dearest be all smittened with a new love interest.
• Thinking about being Lauren's maid-of-honor on the most important day of her life.
• Watching my parents flirt with each other, after 28 years of wedded bliss. Can we all be so lucky?
• Bubble baths.
• Fresh-out-of-the-dryer clean sheets.
• When my room is clean. Like, really clean. Dusted, vacuumed, organized.
• Harry Potter movie in July.
• Bookstores. Why can't I have my very own bookstore?
• The Advertiser-Gleam.
• Going out on the lake.
• Theme parks.

Okay, I'm going to stop. But know this: I could easily keep going.

Heavy stuff.

I'm sitting at a bakery/coffee shop downtown, supposedly working on a mega-huge paper that I have coming up. Luckily, Malorie and I are tag-teaming the assignment (not that we're doing the same paper so much as we're keeping each other accountable for actually putting work into it), or else Sunday night I'd be hunched down in the living floor, papers sprawled around me, working frantically.

So, I'm in this coffee shop... and a man walks in. Late sixties, probably, with one of the deepest voices I've ever heard. His hair is frazzled in a very crazy-old-professor manner, and under his Members Only windbreaker he's sporting a dress shirt and tie. He orders his coffee, today's special, and goes on to talk to the little barista who seems to know him well. He talks about his life and times at Auburn, how he knew the people that buildings are now named after, how the barista's jewelry (a fleur-de-lis) is also a symbol of the Boy Scouts of America, his ever-changing relationship with God including the Catholic study Bible he keeps by his bed... anything that came to his mind, he shared. The barista was incredibly kind and patient, complimenting his wealth of knowledge, never patronizing him or giving impatient nods. But it was terrifying and heartbreaking to me. He seemed lonely, befriending a college girl at a local bakery.

Lately, the idea of getting old... of dying... scares me to death. And for no reason, because I know in Whom I have believed, and I know that life everlasting is mine. And yet, lately I'm plagued with a thousand "What if's?" What if the end is just that: the end...? What if for a moment in time I'm stuck in some sort of limbo between life and death? What if it's painful? What if I'm wrong? And in my heart of hearts, I know. I know I'm not wrong. I know that my Savior lives and has redeemed me from the death that I deserve. But sometimes doubt gets ahold of my spirit, and I can hardly breathe.

I think it's just this time of the year, when I'm feeling so suffocated by schoolwork. I don't have time to sit down with God, and my life is so noisy I can't hear His voice through all the chaos.

This is not where I thought I'd be when I started typing this post. This man, this poor coffee shop man, just made me so sad. The thought of being so lonely rocks me to the core.

No worries, though. I just purchased an extra large slice of blackberry jam cake, and my soul is about to soar.

Tiramisu.

Tonight I'm going to Toomer's to study/work/laugh/text with Malorie. Here's what I've been thinking about all day: the tiramisu I saw in the dessert case on my way out of Toomer's last week. If they don't have any left, I'll just die. That's right: die.

On another note, I love Gilmore Girls. I'm glad I didn't watch it with Lauren in high school because then my weekday afternoons now would be far less interesting.

Today I feel overwhelmed. Completely, utterly overwhelmed. It just suddenly hit me in class this morning: two twenty minute presentations, one ten-page paper, one exam, 18 hours of undergraduate research, and finals. All in the next three weeks. And it doesn't help that it won't stop raining! A little sunshine would increase my rate of productivity ten-fold, I feel certain.

After seeing the new AT&T commercials featuring the very attractive creator of the Toms shoeline, I've decided I may need to invest in a pair.

With that said, my battery is dying. Adios.

unwrapped.

The title isn't an introduction to a particularly revealing blog. I'm just, in fact, watching Unwrapped on the Food Network. I really, really, really wish I was a great cook. I mean, I can throw together a recipe given the right utensils... but I wish I could just whip things up, like Evan's Granny who is evidently the authority on all things edible. Rarely do you sit down to a meal with Evan where he doesn't see something on the menu that his Granny makes better than anyone around. I've eaten her food: the man speaks the truth. And what I like best about Granny's cooking: lots and lots of salt. But where there is lots of salt, there are lots of other spices, and Granny can spice things up in a hurry. Not to discredit my own grandmother's cooking. She, too, is quite the chef. Her specialties are chicken and dumplings, macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole, and she always has a new kind of punch. Her love of new recipes goes beyond punch though. Aside from the afore mentioned staples, Momma Em almost never cooks the same dish twice. Every holiday is a trial run for a new dish straight from the pages of Southern Living magazine and the like. Some are hugely successful... others... well, some stones are better left unturned.

I think shows like Unwrapped are fascinating. The machines are incredible, and it's just really interesting to see a product from raw to grocery store. I also always really liked the episodes of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood where the picture on the wall turned into a TV screen and you were suddenly inside a factory learning how crayons were made and the like. Fascinating stuff. Have you watched an episode of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood since you were older than 10? Those little puppets are the stuff nightmares are made of.

Unwrapped is currently unveiling Rainforest Cafe. True Story: Rainforest Cafe is my favorite chain restaurant. Ever. I love it. No matter where I am and what restaurants a guide book says I SHOULD go to, if there's a Rainforest Cafe nearby, I will choose it EVERY time.

Furthermore, I am NOT okay with this weather. Freeze warnings in April? I think not. Don't get me wrong: I am not looking forward to 98 degree-soaking-wet-by-the-time-you-get-to-your-car weather. I'd just really like to have a nice spring... sunshine and breezes, you know the stuff.

Tonight I was productive, and I'm always surprised at what an accomplished feeling I would get. I'm surprised because you would think that I don't ever get anything done. I mean, I call my mom just to tell her how good I feel about myself. I likely make my Facebook status something pertaining to my success. I wrote one paper and wrote the most critical part of another (the part where I decide what I'm writing about. Can't go anywhere without that). Not to mention, I managed to send approximately 100 text messages in the meantime.

Did you know White Castle was America's first fast food restaurant? Neither did I. Thanks, Unwrapped.

I've procrastinated long enough. Time to top off my productive evening with a little light reading in the form of a 30-something page research article about sleep and its functions. Go on: envy me.

is this my swan song?

It's been a good weekend. I needed a good weekend: I had a rough week, as evidenced by my pathetic little bloggings.

But I've started wondering... is my time here really coming to close? and what will that feel like when it's truly said and done? (something about watching Sex and the City makes me put questions in my blog... I've always seen myself as something of a Carrie... but who doesn't?)

For any of you who don't know, I'm headed to Tuscaloosa in the fall. (Mal, I just realized this is a rip off of your blog, which is particularly sad because Auburn ---> Tuscaloosa is FAR less dramatic than Auburn --> HK). Really, I am psyched about it. No more late weekend nights driving to and fro from Tuscaloosa to Auburn, all in the pursuit of love. No more hating Saturday just because it's one day closer to Sunday, and Sunday means a goodbye that never gets easier. Finally, a relationship that seems normal. But in exchange... Goodbye, Auburn, the university that has felt like home since the first time I stepped onto its glorious campus. A worthy and unavoidable exchange... I mean, everyone graduates and moves on eventually, right? But here it is, staring me down: my swan song. My final acts at Auburn University. My final sorority formal. My final limeades and ocean waters with Trey. My final months living with Erica (and Justin). My final Idol-viewings with Blake. My final rook games with the boys. My final downtown adventures with Malorie. My final parking lot chats with KB. And so on...

I just hope to find happiness outside of Evan in Tuscaloosa. My fear is that we'll be "that" couple... only hanging out with each other: laying on the couch every night, watching bad TV and eating take-out Chinese. At face value, that sounds adorable and perfect to me. Comfortable and relaxed. But what happens when we need something outside of ourselves? I learned the hard way that you can't base your happiness in one person. And with Evan... it's so easy. He understands my heart in a way that I can't express, and it's so appealing to lock myself in with him.

Okay. Disclaimer: I'm talking to a very old friend via IM about past relationships and broken hearts.

And now, my attention is elsewhere. Goodnight.