I moved out when I was 17. I quite honestly never realized how badly I would miss my family until recently — at 20. I mean, sure, I’d occasionally get that nagging feeling and wish that I could talk to one of them, but I didn’t really pay attention to it. Now, I’m working full time, going to school, barely keeping up with the normal daily things, and I rarely get to talk to them, ever. Now my sister has a crush, she’s turning 17, starting college in January…and I really wish that I could figure out a way to spend more time with her. I don’t want to miss out on more than I already have.
So, this Thanksgiving is going to be pretty interesting. I’m going to the beach house with Adam and his family. I’ll be by myself on Saturday and Sunday, since I have class on Sunday, then I’ll stay at the beach house from Sunday night to Tuesday afternoon, when I’ll come back for class…then go back to the beach house so that I can have Thanksgiving with them the next day, then drive back to my parents’ the same day for Thanksgiving dinner with me family, and then go back to the beach house again. It’s going to be eventful…and will kill me on gas.
Anyway. Off to wake up Adam.
I’m moving things around so that I can have everything in one spot…so this is an older post that I had on FB.
I was walking along one of the pathways at the college today, on my way to history class. There were hardly any other people around — not surprising at 6:45 PM on a Tuesday evening. My purse kept hitting my books as I walked, so I had to keep adjusting the load I was carrying. I looked up, after settling my books for the third time, and glimpsed a familiar figure through the trees.
I tend to dislike running into people that I haven’t seen in a while. I find that I get a little awkward and rushed and nervous, because I don’t want to appear rude, even though it’s making me appear rude anyway. Anyway, I sidestepped a few times so I could actually see her as she came closer. I realized that, yes, I did know her. She had been a translator for a deaf girl in one of my first math classes. She has long white hair and always talks with her hands along with her voice.
My books began to slip again, so I used that as a private excuse that would keep me from making eye contact with her, even as our pathways crossed at a small intersection. I looked up, remembering that I would need to see her in order not to actually physically run into her. It turned out that she was ten feet away from me anyway, so we made eye contact.
She smiled when she looked at me, and I smiled back.
“Hi,” She said, nodding at me as she strolled along.
“How are you?” I asked, forcing a smile and straightening up as I walked.
“I’m fine, how are?”
“I’m doing well, thank you,” I smiled again as she walked past.
That was when I realized that even though I’d seen her daily for three semesters, she didn’t recognize me.
And then I realized that it happens a lot.
Then I rationalized that she sees hundreds of students every day.
But then I remembered having lunch with her outside of school.
I turned around, half hoping she would somehow recognize me. I ended up staring at her long braid swishing as she walked away from me, down the little hill and off to the theatre building.
And then I forget her name, and I decided that was okay.
I was 7 years old when I first heard about “snail mail” from my mother. She worked at the post office at the time. I’d also decided that I desperately wanted to go to Africa. What did I do? I dragged a big box to the front door where we kept all of our outgoing mail and scrawled “Please snail mail to Africa” on it in magic marker. Then I instructed my sister, who was 3 at the time, on how to tape up the box. She couldn’t use scissors yet, so I cut them for her and she put the pieces on one at a time. She also had to climb up on a chair in order to reach. Tiny lil’ thing.
Once that was done, my brother came up and asked what we were doing. I told him I wanted to go to Africa so that I could bring back a giraffe and diamonds. So he opened the box and put some canned vegetables in and a jug of water (we were doing a food charity drive for kids in Africa, so he thought I could get them there faster). I thought that I was very well prepared for my trip. Then he opened the front door, pushed me out the door and down the sidewalk to the curb, where we all sat and waited for the mailman.
The mailman arrived and proceeded to tell my brother that he (the mailman) couldn’t carry the big box by himself. Then he proceeded to inform us on how the package should be properly shipped. They then had a quick snack on top of the box…I was still in the box. So my sister poked food through the holes that I’d cut out of the sides, ‘cause I thought I’d suffocate if I didn’t have them.
So it’s 12:17 and I’m still awake. I should be in bed, considering I work 8 – 5, M – F. But no, I’m awake. Why? Because Adam (my best friend & roommate) and I went running last night…and now I hurt so bad. I’m walking funny. My calves burn and once I sit for a few minutes I can’t stand straight up. I have to hold still for a few seconds and slowly straighten out my legs.
Adam’s in bed. He’s wonderful.
Logan just logged off. I’ll talk to him in the morning.