over again

NOW what is there to talk about? My biggest fear is that I too will become someone whom people find predictable. My heart sinks when I think of people like that, and how fun they used to be. I don't think there is anything wrong with restlessness. Isn't forever long enough to be boring?

why do I bother coming to the lib

ps a word to all "studiers" here at club Ted: plz don't make out in the table in front of me it is distracting and gross

still swimmin'

Vowing to be a little more diligent with this.

Dad was here last weekend (MSU.) It's funny how here we identify weekends by who we played. Regardless, we won and it was so nice to have Dad here. He took me and Ellen and some friends to Barnaby's after the game and he took me to get my class ring Sunday, which we won't tell Mom apparently. I got a really pretty omicron jewel in mine— just like Dad's. I like the idea of keeping it family. I feel so well taken care of whenever the parents are here. For instance PJP filled up my gas tank, which is so nice.

I feel like everything I do these days, however, is in some attempt to prove to them I can take care of myself. They know I can and I will totally when the time is right, though, which is more than evident in the way they have gone about raising me and my sisters. I talk to them about once every two weeks, if that. I think my mom thinks it's weird if I call. She assumes something is wrong. My dad expected me to have moved in and assembled all that damn furniture in my room by myself. Is that weird to look back on? I am 22. I want to assume I am pretty independent. Maybe they just like babying me and Ellen when they can because it's so seldom. Like how Mom cleans my bathroom at home or puts my clothes in the dryer or makes sure there's plenty of coffee in the morning.

Then again come to think of it, she has never made my bed, cleaned my room, done my laundry or known what homework I have. Neither has Dad. Have they forever been preparing me for being on my own? Because now I think it's going to be a pretty easy transition now, no matter where I am. I still don't want to rely on their help with getting there— wherever "there" is. That is still an annoying question to deal with. What am I supposed to tell people when I don't know the answer myself? I need more time.

Another thing. I am slowly getting back into the swing of life here that I had forgotten since Spain. I think I kind of turned Spanish since being there— at least with their whole nonchalant tude. Nothing is a big deal anymore. Which is a great thing and kind of a bad thing, like when it comes to things like deadlines. It does me a lot of good to be stressed out and nervous some of the time I think it whips me back into shape. But it leaves me (and the ten other people with whom I live) in this perpetual state of sick, exhausted and surreal weird state.

sentiment

I don't feel unlike someone has placed my head upon a t-ball stand and is taking consecutive powerful swings. Overload. Such a change of pace from this past year in Europe, when comically little was expected of me. Now I am being pulled in 23423 different directions. Guess I'm just not used to it. And I still can't get myself to the point I was at freshman year, for instance, when I was so absorbed in everything completely and unfortunately. Now I can def still be sure to make time with the roommates to do mindless shit like watch Gossip Girl and make fun of Momence.

This past weekend Ana, Dad's cousin, told me I am like her, the kind of person who needs to see instant results to feel any kind of satisfaction in what I do. This makes me realize why I decided that this summer's internship at ILP was definitely not the kind of thing for me— because I felt useless. But this weekend I found out that one of the grants I had applied for with Bank of American was approved! Not a huge amount but when it's a nonprofit whose annual budget is like 200 grand every little bit counts. I feel like I actually did something tangible for them. Any future in nonprofits? nooo gracias still

Home sweet Marion

I went home this weekend, as in down 700 mi to Charlotte. It's like I had never left. Weird, maybe because it's only been three weeks. Anyways. It was terribly hard to tear both me and my sister away from the prospect of Saturday, when my friends would be renting an RV to go to Ann Arbor for the game. Poor us. Back home for a wedding, of all things. I don't know what the pissiness was all about. I just was bummed about missing a weekend. It was so nice to see all of the family, especially the Schrade kids who are the best in the world. Krysta was the flower girl in B's wedding and took about 3 years getting down the aisle, as she insisted on handing a rose bud to every person on the end of each row, of which I was one [sweet.] I amazingly didn't stutter any of the words of the First Reading, nor did I trip down the altar stairs in my red heels. Overall a great success. I turned into waterworks of course when I saw B's face as he looked at Megan. I haven't seen anyone so completely crazily in love in a while and it got me. I kept seeing that skinny tan cousin of mine who would wreak havoc on Isle of Palms with me when we were little. Now he's all grown up.

A good time was had by all at the reception, especially when I convinced the DJ that playing Ruben Blades would make the Ecuadorian women lose their minds. The damper on the occasion was the game which apparently we fudged up. I guess I am glad I didn't go then. But now it's nice to be back here, sitting at my crappy little desk working away at my homework once again. But only after I had to, obviously, spend hours catching up with everyone about the mad drama that went on this weekend, again. Welcome back to Marion.

This week is going to suck suck suck. Aside from the newspaper owning my soul and the added pressure of careers (did you really have to make a fair to remind me?) there of course are obligatory random meetings and another impending game weekend. And Dad coming this weekend. He was not too pleased with my body art. I'm on thin ice again it looks like. "Oops."

dsfn3r9

I cannot decide if I hate sleeping or I am just really bad at it. We got out of the office tonight at a record 12:45. Plenty of time to finish the paper. Which I did. Then looked at facebook pictures from Spain for two hours. I want to go back to Europe.

Please remind me to schedule my wedding on an extremely significant NCSU football game.

xoxo

Better than Christmas morning

My Inside Column from Friday's paper:

For my first Inside Column in over a year and a half, I would hate to make mine cliché and just reminisce about my college experience and how awesome football season is. Sorry. I read those and so will you.

Since I was in Spain last year and only had the opportunity to watch one Notre Dame football game total (thanks Lisa), I think I am easily more excited for Saturday than any year I have ever gone to Notre Dame football games. Which have been a lot.

I used to live in South Bend, and in grade school, my mom and dad would tote my two sisters and me to family tailgates every home game Saturday. From there they would force us to go around with our little box of candy bars to sell to all the over-served and overly enthusiastic ND fans.

This was the annual Candy Sale, the creative fundraising effort of my dear old Saint Joseph Grade School on Hill Street. Who could resist mediocre, overpriced candy from a sweet-faced kid in a school uniform? While I hated selling the candy and probably decided at that point on I would never be a marketing major, I did love the excitement of football Saturday and deep down vowed to never leave it completely.

High school rolled around and those Saturdays did not change, but now I was ditching my parents and rolling into tailgates with my friends after biking from our Wayne Street houses. After sipping Diet Cokes for a few hours with family and friends we would bike back and resume everyday life.

Notre Dame to me then was then still my comfortable background playground, but the prospect of actually belonging there did not really cross my mind. I thought of Notre Dame as a place for overachieving, out-of-state kids. I crossed it off my list.

And then, after a cross-country move and a change of heart, came freshman year. Suddenly I felt just like I did as a third grader, when everything was big, intimidating and exciting. As the games went on the novelty of it all faded only a little, and then suddenly I was gone and only hearing about football game three days after the fact, from people’s Facebook stati or from my frustrated dad.

To be back here again this year brings me back to those SJGS days. Everything to me now is big and foreign again. The novelty is back, but with the privilege of sitting in the senior section.

Keep the novelty alive. Study abroad and buy candy from a grade school kid. Go Irish.

Insomnia

Really I can't sleep until like 4 or later. What is this? Did my laundry. And my roommate's. Then my nails and cleaned the room. Resumed work and will keep reading until I fall asleep.

I went to the dining hall tonight with my sister. It was terrifying and crowded and people are constantly hassling you and running around frantically. Not going back there anytime soon. Was I one of those little frantics?

It's good now because I have zero form of routine whatsoever, besides the class schedule I am unfortunately stuck with. Everyday should be different, I think, because it can be so easy to get comfortable with a norm. Which easily translates to monotony. But in my case, I used to flip out if that norm was in any way altered in my day-to-day. I would "mix it up" by going a different route to class. Great about being out of the bubble.