When I woke up this morning I had one of those half cognizant realizations that you're always confused by. It was a "where did that come from?" Yes. I had one. At 6:00 a.m., just as my alarm clock went off, I had the startling revelation that I needed to buy toilet paper. Am I out? Not yet, but upon checking my supply, I saw that restocking might be nice. That's not the point. The point is- WHAT on earth possessed me to think of toilet paper before I was fully conscious?

I need to move to a colder climate. I have countless cute sweaters. And it's 90 degrees outside. Currently I look like a hippy remnant with my odd assortment of clothes. I don't like looking hippy. I like looking preppy.

I put white-chocolate-rasberry creamer in my coffee this morning.

I turned in a paper in English class and my professor offered me a job when I graduated. It's in Frankfort, so probably not... but I shan't burn that bridge.

All the computer labs were being used, so I went to visit Jodi. Jodi is one of my favorite people alive. She's amazing. She was my boss for about a year, and now I just stop by out of habit. We chatted for a good hour both agreeing that we tend to judge people on how they dress- I pointed out that I look like a hippy. She laughed. And agreed. Rightly so.

Then Erest called- apparently Bops loves my sunglasses- my huge bug ones. I KNEW that she was amazing! Right after that I called Bunny. We talked for 35 minutes and 47 seconds while I went to go get a den pop and look for an open lab. We need a girly movie and a life outside of West Lafayette and school assignments. I think we're going to Indy in a week...

I have two more classes. One which I'm changing to honors so I can effectively kill myself through over-working in my last semester of college, and the other in which the black girl who sits behind me snorts and says, "White people are dumb." every 30 seconds. Should be a fun day...

Then work. :)

Then children's choir, which I forsee being my new passion.

Then coffee.

Then massive amounts of studying until I fall asleep on my Child Psych notes.

Should be fun.

Happy Wednesday!

The class I have already taken and will drop as soon as IU sends my transcript for the on-line equivalent

I always get an itching to describe certain members of academia right as I'm laboring under first impressions. As the semester continues their character develops (not always) and sometimes it's hard to include all their character (in some cases).

Let's spend today on my English professor.

He's an eccentric man. I don't think there's any other way to describe him. The first day of class we did not get a syllabus. We were not told a class outline. We were not given expectations, grading procedures, or any of the other common first-day staples of a college course. Instead, we spent an ENTIRE 20 minutes learning how to pronounce his name. No joke. I looked at the clock.

His name is Fiscle. Pronounced like "thistle" only with an "f". That's it. I just gave correct pronunciation in less than a paragraph. Two sentences, in fact. Amazing, I know. Perhaps I should go into higher education. I bet I could teach people how to say "Blake" in one easy step. I'd be a genius in my field...

This would not have been so bad were he not insulting my intelligence at the same time. He began the class by telling us that this is "very hard... you'll have never experienced a class of this intensity." I almost snorted. It's English 108. Then, after speech which scared every freshman in the room and simulataneously convulsed each upper-classman with silent, hidden laughter (yes, the two of us were very amused...) he said, "Everyone, pull out your schedule."

I hadn't printed mine. "Young lady- you need to print off your schedule. You'll get lost." I smiled and said, "Thank you." He doesn't need to know that I've been coming to this university since age 3 and that I have been a student since 2004, and that my mortar board has been color coded and scheduled for almost 48 hours. He then proceeded to walk us through the schedule. It went something like this:

"Okay, everyone look- is there a class at 8:30 on Monday. Everyone check. You have it? Good. Now, does this class also meet on Wednesday and Friday? Are there any Tuesday, Thursday slots? If there are Tuesday, Thursday you may be in the wrong class. Are you okay- did you check? Everyone check. Double check. Good. Now, everyone... is the class called ENGL 108? ENGL means "English." Does everyone have that? Are you sure? Is your Monday, Wednesday, Friday class labelled ENGL 108. Remember ENGL stands for "English." Okay, now look again. Are you supposed to be in HEAV? That's this building, Heavilon. H-E-A-V. Has everyone checked? Okay, double check. Look again for any Tuesday Thursday times. Now go back through the schedule and check everything again. Do it again. Are we okay? Are you sure? You're where you're supposed to be?"

Even if I had been in the wrong class, I don't think I would have left. To leave would be to admit a level of stupidity that I never want to be associated with. My brain felt like it was going to explode from the pure idiocy of the whole proceeding.

He then read the roll call. Oh yes, he did. And he spent about 3 minutes on each person's name- after pronouncing it correctly he would preen for 30 seconds about how amazing it was that he had done so well at pronunciation and that it was a sign of preparation and knowledge of the English language. (There were 4 Indians in the class **knowledge of English doesn't help with those pronunciations, but he thought it did** and the way he spit out their names was something to behold. My name's normal. He laughed at it and said, "Well, there's nothing exceptional about that. Fairly boring name, right?" Excuse me? "Blake" is a FABULOUS name. However, I felt worse for the others whose names were derided or butchered. No one dared to correct him, even though I saw one guy shake his head when his name was chopped.)

Then, after another soliloquey about the difficulty of college (of which difficulty he had shown us nothing) he let us go. And, even though the syllabi were sitting in a stack next to him, he merely tapped them and said, "Ahhh, you young, eager freshmen. You shall not get a syllabi today! I bet you have no other class that does that. I'm sure no one else is so thorough in their acclimation. You will have no other class like this one!"

Let us hope not.

No Words

I hate this feeling. It's like an internal force, something inside me screaming. It wants to be written, and, as horribly Hollywood as it sounds, I don't feel better until it is.

But I don't like it. It hurts. Like ripping off a scab. Oh so bad, and yet good at the same time. It vaguely resembles the feeling I get mid-exam. A sort of panting exhaustion, a strange adrenaline rush, a "this is is!" moment. In an exam you can prepare. There's no study guide for writing your life.

The tricky part is, I don't even know what to say... There's some feeling sitting in my gut, and there are no words to add substance to it. I'm grabbing at phrases, but nothing seems to come...

Maybe I'm lonely.

I think that's the closest I can come. But it's not even that. It's like a subtle nostalgia. A faint whisper of "I love you"... perhaps the melody of "Moon River." Almost like waking up the day after Christmas and realizing it's all over. It's like those tears you cry when driving, a cup of hot chocolate, one of those nights when you wake up at 2 and realize you're all alone- in the dark. It reminds me of down comforters, fireplaces and candle light. There aren't words. There are only senses.

I want the English language to have a word for this.

But all I can say is I'm lonely. I'm wistful. I'm content.

The end.

The-start-of-senior-year-first-week-of-classes-haphazard-random-revelations

I am a frantic (happy) workaholic.

The new school year always opens my eyes with startling revelations- this was one of them. I really am. I love to be incredibly, insanely busy. I love to be running from morning to night, from one activity to another, constantly moving, constantly going, constantly opening my schedule to peruse my next activity. Such mayhem is my passion. I'm happier, more alert, bubbly, and incredibly full of energy. I love it. I've decided that in the future I will HAVE to have a job that requires my constant running and stress. Or I could become a mother. Either, or...

Being loved is amazing.

This was the second revelation. When I began my college experience I took admiration, like, and especially love for granted. That's not to say that I had an excess of any of those (barring love from my fam) but they were common. Normal. Now, as a jaded senior, love suddenly is incredible. And rare. I treated being loved as a matter of fact when I started college, now I view it as something to be highly prized. I'm very sure that there are multiple people who's love or affection I have rebuffed, ignored, or underappreciated. And I'm even more sure that (in many of those cases) I was a complete idiot. I'm flawed at loving, and even more flawed at accepting love, but despite my errors I am now sure that the greatest thing any human can do (other than love his/her Creator) is love and be loved. Victor Hugo says it marvelously in Les Miserables "Life's greatest happiness is to be convinced we are loved."

Okay, enough intensity. As a reward for your patience, dear reader, in wading through my foggy thoughts and half-formed ideas and convictions, I will now proffer several lighter revelations impressed upon me by this school year.

I love my new, purple water bottle. It's shatter-proof, stain-proof, and has a fabulous little insert that keeps me from dumping water all over myself. (Which, as many know, I am prone to do.)

My mortar board has never looked so fabulous and I think color-coding one's life is one of the most fascinating past times EVER. For this, (and my penchant for organizing 3-ring binders) I am dubbed (perhaps appropriately) a "nerd."

Engineers are born tired. They look exhausted the first week of school, so it must be an innate, genetic thing that makes them look tired, for (surely!) they could not be strained to the point of exhaustion just yet...

I like spending money. But not on rent, groceries, books, and bills.

Coffee is my motivation for getting up in the morning. My new white-chocolate-raspberry creamer is the last word in heaven on this earth.

I love my Julie-Bop. And I miss her...

End of revelations, or, at least of the ones I'll share.

Happy first week of classes!