The Socratic Question

Once, I went wandering in a Hemlock grove.
Socrates came up to me
And asked me what my deal was,

And I replied, "It's hard for me to explain:

I cannot untangle myself from the words.
They are in my tears and
The pounding of an artist's heart.
The words are all I know;
They are the very air I breathe,
My anchor to reality
And the crystal barrier keeping me from it.
Without the words I die;
I die a death of black and white forgiveness
For the world that I glimpsed once
Through the looking glass.

He nodded and went on his way,
And I wandered lost in the Hemlock grove.

Day is Done, Gone the Sun: How Gettysburg Opened My Eyes

I have been meaning to write this post ever since I got back from my east coast adventure, which was over a month ago. I guess it never really seemed like the right time and place. That time is now.

On July 3 of this year, my parents and I set off on a road trip headed east toward the 150th memoriam of the Battle of Gettysburg. The original battle took place between July 1 and July 3 of 1863. The reenactment however took place from the July 4-7.

It is interesting looking back because I built up my expectations so much for the event. I remember hearing about it last fall and begging my dad to decide to go. That's about nine months of high hopes. This doesn't sound in any way as if it could be in keeping with the post title, I know. I do just have to say at the get-go that the event itself was almost shamefully Farby, don't I look all posh using technical terms? For those of you (most of the world) who don't know what "Farb" is, it's a slang term that reenactors use to describe someone who is amusingly, or just ridiculously, anachronistic. In some ways it wasn't much different from Pipestone in that it's touristy for the spectators. They kind of overdid it with the grandstand seating around the battlefield however. As one of the members from our group put it, it was pretty much like an outdoor fair except with people in costume walking around. Unfortunately I didn't get the chance to walk through the Yankee or Confederate camps; I think they would have been a nice relief. We knew to an extent that this event was for the spectators when we set out; the reenactor-only event was the weekend before and extremely hardcore. However it just seemed exaggerated.

In terms of reenactors however, it was pretty cool. There were a couple thousand soldiers that were present, with representatives from twelve different countries. When we were in the town itself at one point, we heard some Scotsmen talking...it was amazing! The reenactment was held a couple of miles out of town in the opposite of the actual battlefields. The first day was ok; it was ungodly hot and humid so we actually left the site in the afternoon to go explore the town, but we made sure to return for the camp dance that night which was pretty awesome. I came to the conclusion that Minnesota soldier reenactors need to learn how to dance and come to the balls, because the other states are showing us up. There were so many attractive soldiers that were dancing!! (There were so many couples that wanted to do the Grand March that it took over half and hour and we never even finished all the figures O.O) Ok I'm done.

The events of Sunday July 7th are the main reason behind this post.
Sunday afternoon was the reenactment of Pickett's Charge, the final skirmish of the Battle of Gettysburg. For this reenactment, nearly every soldier that was present onsite participated. For those of you with imaginations, (although I'll post some pictures), think of the sight of masses of gray and blue uniforms moving as one and intermingling. For a girl who's only seen small reenactments with 50-100 soldiers with was quite awe-full.

 

Although we had been to the previous day's reenactment, not to mention probably a hundred other battles in my lifetime, for some reason this one caught me. Part of it was the commentary. They have commentary at Pipestone as well, but I think the sad retelling of the events of Pickett's Charge coupled with the sheer magnitude of the soldiers on the battlefield was what really got to me. In Pickett's Charge, the Rebs tried to charge up a hill that was strongly guarded by the Yanks. Due to narrow breakthrough points and the resultant bottle-necking of the troops, the Confederates were essentially slaughtered. There were unbelievable losses on both sides, but to watch one gray uniform after another go down brought tears to my eyes. This is when it truly hit that this was really a spectator event. There were people behind me who were not so much laughing I guess as saying things like "Ooh ow, that's gotta hurt" in reference to one of the soldiers dying. It genuinely made me mad the reactions of the spectator; to them it was entertainment to me it was history. I felt bad because this time last year my brother and I were voting on who had the funniest way of going down once shot at Pipestone. But like I've said, this was so different from Pipestone.

I think the eeriest part of the afternoon was that not only was it the same weather before the Charge as it was on the actual day 150 years ago (humid, hot and 87 degrees), it started raining cats and dogs about ten minutes after the reenactment ended. Apparently just after Pickett's Charge ended the first time around (originally) it started pouring and the humidity finally broke. It was a fitting, if spooky, end to the whole event.

After we left the site my mom and I went to visit the actual battlefields and the cemetery. We drove part of the way around the 10-mile loop of sorts that hits all the sites of the skirmishes with memorials everywhere. One of the ones we made sure to hit was the Eternal Light and Peace Memorial. It was still sporadically raining and windy so the flame kept going out, relighting itself and going out again, but I managed to get one shot of it lit. We also found the memorial to the 1st Minnesota.

 

 



We ended up at the cemetery at sunset and by that point I couldn't take it any more and I started crying. to see row after row of markers. I mean I've seen my share of grave markers having grown up rambling around cemeteries with my dad, but all the unknowns was just heart-breaking. This is my favorite shot from the whole trip:



I've rambled on for ages and now I'll come to the point.
Gettysburg changed my perceptions completely. As I said, I've been going to battle reenactments since I was a wee one, canon smoke is actually one of my favorite smells, and they don't phase me; this one did. And it was because now the soldiers had names and faces. At Pipestone the soldiers are never reenacting a specific battle, as none were fought in Minnesota, so it's easier to disengage from the fact that you are watching people die. That was what was so hard about Gettysburg; each person that fell represented someone in that cemetery. I mean sure any battle reenactment could be said to be memories of fallen soldiers buried everywhere; but it's not the same thing. Sitting watching the reenactment and then again at the cemetery I realized that although we immerse ourselves in history, it is still all too easy to forget that we are re-living a war. I think this is especially hard for civilian reenactors because typically we deal in etiquette, dancing, tea-drinking, and fashion. But even for soldiers it can be difficult to remember.
When we were at the cemetery my mom and I met some men who had participated in the reenactment earlier in the afternoon and they were commenting on how strange it was. Even more so they told us about how they had practiced for the reenactment earlier that week actually on the original battlefield. On the anniversary of the charge, on July 3, they were out reenacting a battle that had taken place on that same spot 150 years earlier. I'll never forget one of the men talking about how he got goosebumps when he was trespassing on the soil that still holds the blood of thousands of men. He said it really hit him.
History is a beautiful thing, and objectivity is essential in some aspects of its study, but when we forget the pain and loss and don't allow ourselves to empathize across the centuries, we become desensitized. It's like when I was looking out over one of the battlefields on the way to the cemetery: all I was fenced in meadows pretty much covered in brush and sometimes various livestock. I had to stand there for a few moments and picture the noises and smells of battle as well as the scenes of fighting men for the importance of such an innocuous field to really sink in.

So basically what I'm trying to say is that Gettysburg changed how I perceive reenacting. In a somewhat convoluted way it's become even more important to me because of the depth in meaning and emotion that (should) go into it. No longer will I go to a battle purely for entertainment (although strictly speaking there were some spectators to early battles during the Civil War); no longer will I think only of teas and balls and hoops, with only the vague mention of  "the war".

I recently read a line from a poem written by a fellow Katie in 1968 (the poem is all about being a conscientious objector)

"As peace lovers, as dissenters, we are perhaps spared warfare

But never spared war."

-Penelope Suess   "Noncombatant"

Although the poem is about the Vietnam War (despite Congress never declaring it so, people hundreds of thousands of people died, thus it is a WAR)..anyway...even though it's about events a century later than I have been discussing, I think it still fits the circumstances perfectly. We choose to portray people living during the Civil War; we should not forget the war, it is integral to the very fabric of the lives of the people we portray no matter where they may be. Too often we forget the pain and suffering of the past, excusing this with "It was so long ago, the world has moved on". Yes the world has moved on, but without the pain and grief and struggle, how are we to portray truth?

We Are All Connected to Each Other...In a Sickening Web of Obsession

This is going to start out with a rant (and a fairly petty one at that), but I swear there will be a decent argument/one-sided discussion shortly.
A few days ago (although I just found it now) someone I knew from grade school posted a video on youtube about things he's seen posted on Facebook.
Exhibit A:

DISCLAIMER: he did point out in the comments that he doesn't think the people are bad.

Anyway as I was watching the video, expecting to laugh at some poor sod, I  heard him repeat at least two statuses that I had posted on Facebook. (One of which, the "speak always in the language of the stars" was something I wrote and am still fairly proud of). Part of what frustrates me is that I'm incredibly embarrassed that I had TWO quotes. I realize that the video was supposed to be funny, but seriously, why create a video about a status someone put up a month ago? If they annoyed you so much why in the world did you write them down for later use? And what's wrong with posting about the stars...or about having to work at 8am? It annoys the begeesus out of me that I would probably agree with him if I were not one of the ridiculed. I know that I'm ridiculous and post stupid stuff sometimes, but I don't like having this pointed out to me via the interwebs by someone whom I haven't even spoken to in ages. I kind of want to just yell at him, "I am effing unique and you're fecking lame if you aren't absurd once in awhile". Then I remind myself of my frequent lack of leniency toward people more absurd than myself, or at least those of a different brand. So I guess, Tyler, let your damn hair down.

 

Ok rant done.

Now the discussion: What is the deal with social-networking? Posting this, tweeting that, hashtagging all around...and if that weren't enough, now there's Vine where you post random vids/gifs.

Now I am the last person to be criticizing Facebookers and Twitterbugs because I check both every ten minutes when I'm bored. I know...it's embarrassing. We get addicted.  Basically my post is going to look at two things: why we social-network period, and our obsession with posting

First.
Networking used to be something that you started doing once you entered the real world and needed People to further your career. That's where sites like LinkedIn came in. You could communicate with potential employers or employees and see all their information as to employment history etc. People now use Facebook for this too, and in that case it's a good resource, but what is with the idea of "social-networking". (I do realize, you those snarks who are reading this, that I am in fact posting this blog to a social-networking site. Thank you for your concern. Shall we press on?) Myspace was one of the first sites. I had a Myspace for awhile because it was the thing to do (again, why?) and it wasn't as bad as the rumors, but still creepy. I got a Myspace to follow the activity of and to connect with the people I knew from my grade...all forty-five of them whom I saw everyday anyway. But no, I had to know how they spent their evenings etc, and even more importantly I needed to be a part of something. It was the same reason that I got an AIM and eventually a Facebook. Then Facebook came in all crisp and bright and shining opportunity. When I first got a Facebook in 2008, it seemed like the major goal was for everyone to have as many friends as possible. I know one guy who made it to 1,000 friending everyone he knew or had even heard of. In this our basic need to be included is evidenced. We want our connection with any one given person to be acknowledged by them, be it by a nod in the hallway, a smile in the supermarket ten years later, or by acceptance of a friend request.

No denying, Facebook does a good job of connecting people. It's done wonders for my family in that it's helped with the reconnection with far-flung relatives. It's also helped me stay in touch with classmates now that we're all in different schools, states, countries. But why do we care about everyone's lives? We feel like we're missing out if we don't have that tie. Or at least that's how I am. That is why I'm still friends with a bunch of kids from grade school. I don't actually really care about what's happening in their lives, but I don't want to cut the connection. (Evidence of my pathetic-ness is when there's a thrill when someone from my past acknowledges me) Because while I'm still even remotely connected to these people merely by Facebook authority, I am a part of the Class of '08 and apparently cool enough to be acknowledged. We use Facebook to stay connected to the world, and on the one hand this has, like I said,  made it easier keep in touch, but at the same time people survived for decades with just a phone and for centuries with just letters. There have been so many times when I've wanted to just delete my Facebook (partly to see if anyone would notice/care...boohoo sad Bridget) but unfortunately sometimes it's the only way to get ahold of people. I think overall we social-network because then we're not alone. We're constantly surrounded, albeit virtually, by people.

This obsession with knowing what people are doing, how they're living, "staying in touch" almost to a creepy level has led to an even greater obsession with posting things.

Second: Screaming at the Screen-World

Why the hell do we have to post EVERYTHING?!?!
The thing with posting is that started with someone posting an update. And then someone else liked it. And then the first person was like "Damn, I should post some more". There is actually another side to posting that I'll get into later. The biggest thing I think that the availability of the "Facebook status" and now more than ever Twitter has to answer for is that now everyone thinks that whatever they say is earth-shaking. Random thoughts, normal routine activities, "awkward moments", my personal bane --> song lyrics, etc. No matter what it is, the world must be alerted. It has gotten to the point, helped quickly along by Twitter, where people post for the sake of getting the most likes. I don't know about you, but I've been guilty of thinking, "Hmm what can I post that people will actually 'Like'" and then pulling down recent statuses that have gone "unliked" in favor of something more interesting, unique, attention-grabbing etc. Isn't that unbelievably sad? This kind of leads into my second theory. I think we are so obsessed with posting because we, again, want to be a part of It. By posting we reinforce or presence in the Group as well as our importance and/or validity. Going further, Facebook and Twitter have just become another platform to seek the approbation of others in order to be included in the Group and/or to solidify our position. We post stuff that no one cares about to see if people will really care, or if they'll think we're funny, or smart, or pretty, or what have you. We want to seem brilliant and unique, or we want people to share in our indignation and frustration, to feel our pain and congratulate our fortunes.


Man it is a sad, sad friggin world we live in. O.o
I'm going to hide at Hogwarts.
Peace
Sláinte

Contradictions

I just want to fight, that's all
Scream and yell, shake you
Punch my fist through that wall.
But I can't, because it's all in my head,
A place you've never been;
I've never let you in.
Instead I've walled you out.
Every second I feel myself place
Another brick, I can't stop it.
If only you understood, then I could
Scream and yell and tear down the stars
And everything would be OK.
But it's not. And I don't know if it will be again.

Spring Break:A Travel Diary (Day 1)...or In Which Day One Seamlessly Bleeds into Day Two

So what am I doing for my first official College Spring Break? I'm on a road trip with my family... to Tennessee. No offense to anyone who lives there, but it's not exactly the place I think of when I think Spring Break, especially since we're not even going to Graceland. (Although that was technically my decision.....it is pricey, man).
Anyway. It started out pretty rocky, and then....stayed fairly rocky throughout.  I'm not sure who exactly thought it was a good idea to lock my brother and myself within tongue-lashing and fist-throwing distance of one another. The latter didn't actually occur, if anyone was worried, but it could have...

The plan was to leave at 5am. Did we leave at 5am? Not a chance. Never in my life have we ever left as early as we meant to for any trip, including those where we had to be at the airport at a specific time. My family is not the most time conscious. Even when we all were awake and supposedly ready to go, various people ended up running back into the house for something or other at least four different times. Hooray for organization!

We finally got on the road shortly after 8 o'clock. It wasn't long thereafter before I was asking myself why the heck I hadn't just stayed home and slept. Remember how I said my brother and I don't get along? Yeah my whole family is much better not stuck in a twenty foot square space. My family is critical and arrogant and each person thinks that they know exactly the Right way to do something. I am of course including myself in this, because I am most definitely the same way. However, my dad and brother are even more accomplished champions at being pricks. My smart-ass comments most likely didn't help, but hey, where's the fun in being docile and taming the acid tongue? ;) I got, not in trouble per se but at least reprimanded, a few times for making comments about Iowans based on supposed Minnesotan superiority. It was funny, in a haha-wait-you're-a-friggin'-hypocrite way, when other people made off-hand comments which were no worse than my own.

The drive was mostly a blur. Well, not exactly a blur, but I slept for most of the first half. Part of this was because I was tired, part was because I was bored (I get  nauseous when I read for too long and we forgot the car DVD player), and part was honestly just because I'm used to sleeping at particular times during a weekday because of when I crash between classes.

By 3pm, we were in Illinois and we were hungry. The problem: we hadn't seen any food signs along the highway we were driving on. Miles after miles passed, and still no customary blue sign with reassuring symbols of tasty, if vastly unhealthy, sustenance; there were even conjectures that perhaps the people of Illinois did not eat. After what seemed like a decade, we finally saw golden arches. It was after we'd eaten that more issues began to arise. Everyone was now awake. Oh the horror! :P
Plus, my dad took over driving. Which meant that my mom was in the back with my brother, which meant Quiz Bowl Questions. Don't get me wrong, I love trivia questions. But this is where the cumulative arrogance of my family comes into play...or should I say explodes into conflict. My dad thinks he knows everything, my brother is only minutely better, and I'm somewhere on the spectrum. There's always issues. My dad didn't pay attention to the road because he was focusing on being a know-it-all and answering first and we got lost for a few minutes. (This of course caused my brother to go on and on about all the things my dad did wrong, even though he doesn't even have a permit.) There were insults and comments whipped around the car like a whirlwind and I ended up just curling up in the front seat, listening to music, crying, and ignoring everyone else out of frustration.

Now, before people are overwhelmed with pity, things got better. :)
My mom stopped asking questions and fell asleep! :P
That sounds a lot harsher than it is intended. It seems however, that the equilibrium in the car can only settle when one or more of us is asleep. It is a scientific discovery! When all four of us are awake and alert, bashing of heads ensues. We all hate each other! Haha, just kidding. :)

After that I pretty much just sat in the front seat and acted as a second pair of eyes for my dad. We crossed into Indiana around 7pm CT because that's when all our cell phone clock's changed. Shortly thereafter white speckles began flying at us. Could it possibly be? Snow? We had left Minnesota to get away from the snow! This was inconceivable! Never mind the fact that we had initially intended to avoid Indianapolis because of a snowstorm. I, apparently, was the only one who actually remembered this and was thus not surprised. We braved the elements and kept going. Coming up on Indianapolis, my dad thought, well why not just drive on to Cincinnati? So we kept going.

Crossing into Ohio was pretty weird. Literally on one side of the border there was snow, and on the Ohio border there was none. No snow at all. The surroundings would have been green, if  it wasn't all wrapped in Night's ebony cloak.  When we neared Cincinnati, my dad once again said: "well we're this close, why not just cross into Kentucky and then stop for the night." So once again, we drove on. Weirdest thing? As we crossed the southern border of Ohio, our headlights passed over a looming sign that said Welcome to Indiana. My dad and I both had mini-heart attacks. Apparently a bit of Indiana wraps around Ohio to the south before Kentucky. So within half an hour we crossed three different state borders: Indiana into Ohio, into Indiana, into Kentucky.

At this point it was about 11pm, and I figured we would stop shortly after we crossed the border. My dad however, figured we might as well keep going...apparently until he ran us off the road out of tiredness or the car stopped from lack of fuel. We didn't though. I guess I never really paid attention well enough in Geography, because Kentucky really surprised me. I was expecting like farmland and countryside, but we drove through hills and heavily wooded areas. I'm slightly disappointed because I'm sure it would have been beautiful during the day. It was actually very pretty at night by the light of a nearly-full moon, but also quite eerie.

We finally pulled into Lexington, Kentucky about 12:30 am. We found a Days Inn and promptly crashed. Now apparently we're having lunch with some "old friend", but shortly we'll be on the road again, Destination: Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

Will write more upon arrival, with pictures included.
Loves,
B 

¿Quién soy?

For my Feminist Philosophy class today we had to read a piece called "The Construction of Self in U.S. Latina Autobiographies" by Lourdes Torres. It was all about Latinas who are oppressed by men in their culture and the need for understanding the stories of individuals in order to bring about change. Anyway, I really resonated with the article and was looking forward to discussing it with my classmates.

Man. That class was...let's just say interesting, but literally painful.

Our class discussion mostly focused on the idea of identity and oppression as well as white privilege. I think one of the most interesting points that the article brings up is the idea that women will always be identified first by their gender in a given situation, Woman. Thus they are all initially defined as being part of a homogenous group, whereas men are free to define themselves and be identified as individuals. It was something that I'd never thought about it, but it's true. A good example is of a successful business woman (my brain for some reason immediately thinks of Helen Hunt in What Women Want) who is in a firm with mostly men. She will forever be seen first as a woman and second as a successful business INDIVIDUAL. Even if the focus on her is a positive one, as in "Wow, look how far she's come as a woman in a male-dominated field!", she is still thus congratulated on the basis of gender rather than her individual merits.

The article goes on to the fact that women of color are automatically doubly screwed because not only are they initially identified by gender, but by race or ethnicity as well. In discussing this phenomena, the conversation inevitably turned to the idea of identity. This immediately set my brain whirring as it's something that I've been trying to work through and pin point for what seems like eons, but for what's probably only been like six years lol.  I've always been exceedingly proud of my Puerto Rican roots even if they sort of went by the wayside with regard to attention as I was growing up. However, it has always confused and upset me when I've tried to define myself. Part of is it because in a sense I think I've always been aware of White Privilege, even if it was just a little bit. I used to fervently wish that I was Native American or African American when I was little because I felt so guilty over all the stupid white people had done to them.

However, now it has made me feel as if I can't identify with being Latina because I still receive White Privilege due to my skin and the perception that I am White. Almost as if I don't deserve the title, or that when I tell people I'm Puerto Rican I'm somehow being fake or cheating or something. I'm not sure exactly how to describe it. This and the feeling of losing some Puerto Rican connection because I've lost much of my Spanish kept threatening to bring me to tears all throughout the class. This is where the physically painful part comes in. Did you know that it's exceedingly painful to hold back tears for an extended period of time? I didn't, but now I sure as hell do. Doing so resulted in a freaking massive headache. It went away somewhat when I brought up the contradictions in the discussion, but it still hasn't gone away completely. :/

Overall it was a great discussion, it was just hard because I feel like I've lost all my connection with Puerto Rico since my grandma's dead and my mom just doesn't really do anything with it...other than get defensive.

Yup. So that's kind of it.

¡Soy LATINA!

I want to fly like a eagle..

Today was my first session of two of my new classes: Literature for Growth and Healing, and Feminist Philosophy.

Man, what a day.

I am so psyched about the upcoming semester. When I was first looking at the syllabi etc., I started to feel majorly overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the burden I had taken on. However for the most part my experiences this day have alleviated some of my fears. My teachers seem like they'll be good for me, ready to guide but not to domineer, to pass on their passion for their subject, but to leave room for wings to unfurl.

In my lit class, we did three different little free-writing activities which were pretty fun and I can already feel the stirrings being coaxed back to life. :) A part of the class, because of the focus on growth and healing, will have to do with journaling and the benefits etc. For class I belatedly read the assignment in one of our textbooks about journaling, and I became super psyched to once again write in a journal. I stopped writing in journals because I felt that I was doing it wrong, much like this blog, writing not often enough or screwing up the format, whatever. Plus, looking back at my journals just depresses me at what a little immature, boy-crazed, idiot I was in Junior High and the first few years of high school. However, this really opened my eyes, and I think it'll be helpful. :)

My philosophy class was also really fun even if it was only sort of a getting-to-know-you day. We did all the normal stuff, but they the instructor went off on a tangent about monogamy and Banobo monkeys, and just sexuality in general. It was interesting and I feel like this woman is going to create a lot of fun classroom experiences and I'm excited to see what she knows and to discuss feminism in relation to philosophy with my other classes.

I guess my next task is to take Feminist Theory so that I can understand the workings and mentality of the movement, rather than shunning it or defending it without any knowledge-base.

So internally hyper!!
that might just be the exercise endorphins though....

Slainte

Lost Between the Worlds

I have recently been watching the epic tv series Merlin from BBC. It is an awesome show and has reawakened in me the obsession I had when I was little surrounding the legends of King Arthur. I've always loved magic and legends and myths, having grown up reading and being told stories. Even then I felt the pangs of sadness that I couldn't hop into my books and enter their world.

I've become obsessed once again, to the point where Arthur and his cohorts are on my brain nearly all the time.

Now the sadness is back and it's overwhelming. It sounds stupid and childish, but I want to be in Camelot, or I want to go back to the 60s and attend Woodstock, or I want to meet the High Kings of Ireland and steal away to Tir nA nOg. But seeing as I can't Actually Physically transport myself there, i'm thrown into depression and I don't know what to do. It's like my wildest dreams are dangled in front of me and I just can't reach, or they're pulled away from me at just the last moment as a voice snickers maniacally in the Void.

I feel I'm lost between the worlds. I have no real interest in this world, but all others are closed off from me. :'(

No more.

Emptiness

If I Ever Leave This World Alive

Listening to: "Black is the Colour" by Gaelic Storm

Drinking: Tea of course :P

Reading: Shattered Mirror

Well it's 2013! We made it through the end of the world, aren't we all so clever, we should all pat ourselves on the back before we go back to slow destroying the planet and each other.

Congratulations, that was your daily dose of sarcasm. :P

It's hard to believe that it's already almost the end of January. But I guess since I've spent the last four weeks pretty much just sleeping, reading, and watching Netflix, I shouldn't be surprised that time has passed without my knowledge. However, the end of January spells change once again. Well I guess it's not really anything new, just different from what it has been recently.

That's right, starting February 4th, I will be officially immersed in the second semester of my college career. This of course means that I will be moving back into the dorm next weekend and frantically trying to get my homework done before the first day of class.

I should have done this a month ago, but the end of the semester busy. I kind of just want to reflect on my first semester.

I think that the most glaring fact is that it was not what I was expecting it to be; from talking to other girls on my floor, they felt the same way. I had the same issue with high school, although I think college is even more distorted. From tv shows and movies we get this shiny, intense, free, exciting look at what college life is like. Now granted I knew it would be different going to a small all-girls school, but I guess maybe I expected more?

Don't get me wrong, I love the atmosphere and the feeling of sisterhood etc, but it gets really boring on weekends, and I do miss dudes if only for the social aspect of talking to someone who is not female.

Also I've come to learn a lot about myself. The most important thing being that I can only stand a certain amount of people-time and then I need to be alone. It's thus really tough living with someone else because you can't be alone in your own room. However at the same time I can't be completely alone or I get restless as I found out last summer. It's hard though because in order to not blow up and start screaming at people, I try to pull into myself and just ignore everyone and put my headphones etc. I can't explain to anyone because I have my pride and I don't want their pity...plus I wouldn't know what to say.

At the end of the semester my mood was pretty dark and I just felt like I needed to get out. Now it's loads better and I'm even kind of looking forward to going back, but I know it's still not going to change much. It's ironic because the root of most of my issues is Change itself. Everyone else seems to loving growing up and being in college but  I just can't face the future. I don't see anything to look forward to except debt, working all the time, and being miserable. Why are people so anxious to run headlong into the harshness of the world? What's the point?

Well anyway, that's all I guess. Wow depressing stuff. Oh well.
Peace.
slán go fóil