Lonely.

Inspiration and solace for this post.

I've struggled for the past week with the idea of being alone. Close friends often make fun of me for my fear of being alone, something I blame on a more than interesting childhood of experiences.
I don't like being alone, but I recognise that it's something that's necessary for me to learn and when I do learn to be alone, it will be at trait that I treasure. In the mean time, I feel sad and confused, a little angry and very isolated.
I am surrounded by people all day long, especially now that I share a room (something that hasn't happened since I was eight) but we don't share any close connections. While I learned in the past year that I can accomplish tasks alone, I do not like being alone in a space.
However, here at the new college, the people I am closest to and trust most are 1.5 hours (or more) away, not just minutes.
Besides making my own peace with being alone, I hope to preach the gospel of being lonely. As I sat today in the dining hall eating lunch alone, I made a conscience effort to embrace sitting alone and taking in all around me as well as paying attention to my own thoughts.
Of course, being alone at a college is "weird" and we must "befriend" this person. What follows though, is an awkward encounter with a person I don't know.
All in all, try some alone time y'all, even if it's just for a few minutes.

Leaving

Music for this post.

Last weekend I managed to have a brief but lovely heart to heart with the now previous hausmate, MK. I've been psyching myself up about leaving for weeks now. New college wasn't my first choice, I wasn't even going to apply.. My mother made me visit and although campus was pretty students I came in contact with seemed uninterested in their world and themselves. It was almost disturbing coming from my liberal, multigenerational haven. And months later, new college still isn't my first choice. I don't doubt my own ability to make the best of it but I'm not excited. Anyway, as a way of dealing with this up I have generally talked about school A LOT. I have not talked about leaving or admitted to it or the fact that I'm leaving some of the people I love most in the universe.

I have lived here for the majority of my 19 years. There were smaller periods by the sea or up north but this town is the only place I would ever consider "home". I want to shout my love of this town, its people, the obsession with Thomas Jefferson, the restaurants, the mountains surrounding the town, all of that, I want to shout about it. Having lived here so long, lots of loved ones have left me. Leaving is a brand shiny new feeling. I'm not sure I like it really. It's awkward and I don't really know what to do with it so I carry it around mostly in a paper sack. I wonder when to take it out and be honest about it and when to hide it behind my back and pretend it's a happy thing.

Leaving now sucks for my loved ones who are staying. I trust that they wish the best for me but I'll still miss them. The last year was one of the happiest of my life and I attribute that to many here and those are the ones I am sorry to leave. Don't worry, I can't stay away and the USPS can be our friend.

Warning:

I recently had a long internal dialogue during the start of nap time (this happens disturbingly often because the only things happening are Hebrew lullabies and small children snoring) about the different styles of blogs and which style I think mine is. Not surprisingly I couldn't categorize myself but it does seem like, for the mean time anyway, this blog is going to be sappy, emotional, personal and really not all that intellectual or interesting. You've all been warned.

Missing #2

When my nail polish matches the tiles in the diner while I eat sweet potato fries and a large piece of tuna and an olde time band tunes ten feet away from me. Yeah, I'm going to miss that hard core.

Loving the home place.

{Or, "Things I will miss about my home town, #1}

I've been admittedly terrible about blog posting the last few months, or year really but I promise that I write plenty in a real life journal and I just keep my overdramatic ramblings to myself. Hush if you think this blog is overdramatic and just close the window. Anyway, in 21 days I leave for a new college and a new town. This is causing much loving on the original home town and defending myself to loved ones by announcing it is the last chance I have to _______!

Yesterday I walked from my haus to the hometown's downtown with LC. It was a little warm and muggy but generally pretty agreeable for this Southern town. We took in the Jeffersonian architecture and ran into too many people we knew and avoided still more (there's a certain tilt of the head that one perfects in small towns, it's just for when there's someone on the other side of the street you don't want to engage with). I was lucky because LC leaves this lovely place soon too and was just as willing to be in awe over everything we already knew and loved.

Early on we walked down a quiet street and heard banjo playing wafting around us. I have a special place in my heart for banjos and we frantically spun our heads around to find where it came from. Soon enough we spied (it did take a little time, since we are both relatively small) a boy sitting barefoot, legs dangling of a high roof top with his banjo. We both bemoaned the lack of camera, smiled at the music and walked closer to downtown.

The Poop Chronicles

Friday was the end of week 7 with the preschoolers. And a week with the preschoolers includes a lot of poop. I do not generally consider myself a poop coneseiur of any kind but living with MK for the past nine months has given me enough exposure to at least moonlight, so here goes.

Not only do I work with preschoolers but I work with the littlest ones. They are the cutest ones and the ones that sleep the most and the ones with the most interesting speech patterns and habits. And they wear diapers.

I would love to tell you that I believe my own children will never poop, or that I will potty train them pre-delivery but unfortunately, in this arena, I am quite the realist. Kids poop. Kids also sometimes have questionably gross motor skills. One kid at the preschool is adorably tall, and sturdy. Now, I use the word "sturdy" with caution. This is mostly because, once upon a time, a boy caused me a little pain and then told me he thought it'd be okay because I was so sturdy. Calling a 18 year old girl sturdy? bad idea. This kid though, is sturdy. He is only three but comes up past my hip and weighs at least 40 or 50 pounds. His height has made him impressively clumsy.

Last week he needed to poop (again, you spend nine hours a day with children and they eventually have to use the bathroom) and decided he could wipe himself. The way he showed me? Gracefully flinging some poo covered TP in the direction of my skirt (think ribbon dancing). When I asked him why he put it so near my body he replied, "I didn't. It came out on it's own". Questionable.

Yesterday I managed to have a conversation spanning the entire day only about bodily functions. And a lot of poop. Poop. Poop. Poop. Some how I doubt my new room mate at the new college will appreciate all my poop talk.