It's 6:00 am. (It should be noted that these timestamps LIE - usually I am grateful that they don't betray my unhealthy nocturnal nature, but what the hell; it's finals week and I am definitely not the only one on this whack schedule.)
I need a break from my paper, even though it's just finally starting to go well. I have the attention span of a goldfish on crack, apparently. And I needed to do something else.
Anyway, I realized that I just finally started to get excited about this paper I'm writing. (Actually, for my other English class - Black Bards.)
Then, of course, I was thinking about other people's papers. (And, because MZ was telling me snippets about hers before and as she was writing it, I also started thinking about how much I wanted to read it, once finals were over and I had the time. I think we talked about it, but sometimes I also make things up accidentally, so who knows?)
And then (like how this disjointed train of thought is still going?) I remembered something really weird that happened once, last semester.
I was walking to English House with a girl in my class that I knew pretty well, and we were talking about our final papers. I had written mine about The Handmaid's Tale (or, "My Favorite Book Ever to Exist") and she had written about Ender's Game, another book that I really love. I hadn't even considered that book as a possible paper topic, so I was really curious and interested when she started talking to me about it. She was describing her paper and I was nodding along and all was going well.
"Hey," I casually remarked, "I'd love to read that, actually. It sounds really interesting. Would you mind maybe sending it to me?"
She hesitated and looked wary. "Um, no, I'd rather not," she replied. "I mean, I'm just really proud of it and I don't want it... out there." [This is a paraphrase, since it happened a little while ago, but I think it is accurately along the lines of what she said.]
I was taken aback. My first instinct was to think that I had done something rude by asking to read it. Was I wrong in expressing interest? Do people not usually do that? (In the past, friends and acquaintances and I have shared papers, so I guess I just thought this was a common thing to do?)
"Oh--" I started, unsure. "Yeah, no, I mean, I totally get it." (I didn't.) "Of course." Luckily, we were only a few feet to the door of EH when this occurred, or the rest of the walk would have continued in very awkward silence, for I was out of things to say, and still pondering where I had gone wrong.
Actually, as I recount this, I'm still wondering where I went wrong. Of course it is her right to choose not to share her work, and I get that part, at least. But I'm still sort of puzzled. She seemed really interested in talking about the paper, so it wasn't as if she were shy about its quality. I guess that when I'm proud of something, I really want to share it. With everyone. And anyone. So if someone - even a total stranger - showed interest and asked to read something I had read, I would fork it over without hesitation and peer over his or her shoulder anxiously, awaiting feedback. (Or, let's just be honest - praise.) It's so bad that often I resort to sending my papers to my English major parents, who, luckily, probably because I'm an only child and they are bored without my presence sometimes (at least, that is just what I keep telling myself), are only too happy to read and comment.
(Actually, they're quite useful as editors, too - they don't hesitate to point out where I go wrong. Once, I when I was 11 or 12, I vividly remember leaving a paper on the kitchen table by accident. I came back, and the poor thing was mutilated by red marks. They looked sheepish when I railed at them, my righteous, middle school self enraged at the violation. "But honey, you left it out. We're sorry - we thought you wanted us to look. We were only trying to help. Don't worry about all of the red, there really isn't that much wrong with it...")
At any rate, maybe I was just overly presumptuous in thinking that everyone has the same narcissistic (ha, see - I told you all that I was a closet narcissist...) need for feedback and praise on their work that I do. Maybe normal people are content to just write things, talk about them a little and turn them in. They don't need others prying around or validating their work...
Huh. Sometimes I wish I could just be "a normal person" like that.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
all I am
As predicted, I'm using this blog as actual procrastination, now that it's officially "no longer an assignment." Like how I couldn't even wait a day after the due date to write again? I am still in shock that I was so against this at the beginning of the semester, and now I am almost compelled to do it. What does that say about me? Are my standards and morals really so quick to change once I simply try something and like it? (What if I "tried" murder and found out I was ok with it or found it enjoyable...?)
Ok, enough of that particularly disturbing tangent.
I woke up at noon today. And only then because someone came to my door asking about lost keys from Brecon Prom. Unfortunately, I was too confused and disoriented to be of much help, and she was too embarrassed at having woken me up. (Although really, since I was the one asleep at noon, who really should have been embarrassed?) Yesterday was hard. Not only the "saying good-bye to the seniors" part, but there were other things too. I won't go into detail, but I'll summarize briefly just to say that, as is my usual pattern, I ended up looking out for people. One of my "favorite" (read: it hurt me a lot) quotes from the night, after I magically procured a pizza for some of my drunk friends: "A---, when did you get so awesome!?" You wouldn't think it was that bad. But I knew exactly what she meant, because you have to consider the source of these things. She's not my friend - we don't even really like each other, because... well, she doesn't really like many people. Her "default setting" so to put it, is not set to "like." Which is fine. But don't come over all nice, just because I'm taking care of you.
Admittedly, they would have probably mostly sorted themselves out if I had been elsewhere, but because I wasn't elsewhere, I felt responsible. I got them to a safe place, ordered and paid for a pizza, procured cups from a friend and gave them water - and made sure they drank it. I made sure they all got home... or at least had a place to sleep for the night.
After I got someone back to our dorm (with the aid of the Lantern Van, which I never call - except for this time, because it really would have been an impossible task without it), tucked her in, brought her a glass of water and put a trashcan next to her in case she needed to throw up, I walked up the stairs with RB and ZS. And then I just started crying, because I kept thinking of what that girl had said to me. I was too busy dealing with everything at the time to really process it. But it had been nagging at me, and once I had a few seconds of quiet, I finally let it get to me. They were really great about it. But all I could think about was the fact that I basically just take on this role of taking care of people all the time. And, for some people, that's all I am. I'm only important because I step in when I'm needed and get things done. It was that way on Saturday as I DDed, it's like that in rugby as I'm mostly used as a "place-filler" for A-side, it's like that... too often for my liking. (I do know that it's not with everyone, and I am grateful for the true friends that I have - but this is still too much of a pattern for me to be comfortable with.) And the worst thing? I fully allow this to happen. Because that's all I think that I'm worth, too.
Clearly, I have a lot to think about this summer - once I can get myself disentangled from this place for a little while, I think I'll be able to deal with things better.
I've just had it with Bryn Mawr for a while. I need some space, and I need it now.
Ok, enough of that particularly disturbing tangent.
I woke up at noon today. And only then because someone came to my door asking about lost keys from Brecon Prom. Unfortunately, I was too confused and disoriented to be of much help, and she was too embarrassed at having woken me up. (Although really, since I was the one asleep at noon, who really should have been embarrassed?) Yesterday was hard. Not only the "saying good-bye to the seniors" part, but there were other things too. I won't go into detail, but I'll summarize briefly just to say that, as is my usual pattern, I ended up looking out for people. One of my "favorite" (read: it hurt me a lot) quotes from the night, after I magically procured a pizza for some of my drunk friends: "A---, when did you get so awesome!?" You wouldn't think it was that bad. But I knew exactly what she meant, because you have to consider the source of these things. She's not my friend - we don't even really like each other, because... well, she doesn't really like many people. Her "default setting" so to put it, is not set to "like." Which is fine. But don't come over all nice, just because I'm taking care of you.
Admittedly, they would have probably mostly sorted themselves out if I had been elsewhere, but because I wasn't elsewhere, I felt responsible. I got them to a safe place, ordered and paid for a pizza, procured cups from a friend and gave them water - and made sure they drank it. I made sure they all got home... or at least had a place to sleep for the night.
After I got someone back to our dorm (with the aid of the Lantern Van, which I never call - except for this time, because it really would have been an impossible task without it), tucked her in, brought her a glass of water and put a trashcan next to her in case she needed to throw up, I walked up the stairs with RB and ZS. And then I just started crying, because I kept thinking of what that girl had said to me. I was too busy dealing with everything at the time to really process it. But it had been nagging at me, and once I had a few seconds of quiet, I finally let it get to me. They were really great about it. But all I could think about was the fact that I basically just take on this role of taking care of people all the time. And, for some people, that's all I am. I'm only important because I step in when I'm needed and get things done. It was that way on Saturday as I DDed, it's like that in rugby as I'm mostly used as a "place-filler" for A-side, it's like that... too often for my liking. (I do know that it's not with everyone, and I am grateful for the true friends that I have - but this is still too much of a pattern for me to be comfortable with.) And the worst thing? I fully allow this to happen. Because that's all I think that I'm worth, too.
Clearly, I have a lot to think about this summer - once I can get myself disentangled from this place for a little while, I think I'll be able to deal with things better.
I've just had it with Bryn Mawr for a while. I need some space, and I need it now.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
the end of an era
Today, I started writing this:
So, I'm writing my final blog post from some patch of Haverford green, on actual paper. The last 48 hours have held a lot of "lasts:" last class as a sophomore (not nearly as epic as "last class as an undergrad" that so many of my friends have been claiming lately, but whatever - it's a milestone to me), last rugby game of the season, last "assignment-and-no-finals-don't-count," last Tradition with the class of 2010. By the time I copy this to the blog, I will probably change most, if not all of it.
And then it abruptly ends. Aha. Predictably, I am terrible at writing things down on paper. I'm too self-conscious, I love the quickness of typing, it feels so final and real... I just prefer computers, now that I'm so adjusted to them.
Anyway, today was fun, but exhausting. Prom Dress rugby was in the morning, which was actually somewhat of a disappointment, because we lost - to Drexel. It's really nothing against Drexel, but I remember playing them last year, and I remember playing Kutztown last game and... wow. I don't know what happened to us. (And "us" definitely includes me as well, because I really didn't feel as though I played well today.) Maybe we got a little overconfident, since they're a D4 team (we're D2), and we beat them every year. Maybe we didn't take things as seriously as we usually do - people didn't show up to practice a lot this week and I'm pretty sure there were some, ah, parties on campus to go to last night. Maybe we're all just exhausted from finals and the oppressive heat we were playing in just took whatever little we had left to give that game.
Either way, it was a little bit of a sad note to go out on. For my part, I felt like I was just not moving very quickly. (And I'm actually kind of a slow runner to begin with, so losing speed for me is really not ok.) During Friday's practice, I felt that way too, but I was hoping it was just the fact that I was so tired, plus the fact that I think I did something to my leg on Wednesday practice, and it was bothering me when I ran. But I don't know. I was slow, I got tired quickly, and I just wasn't as determined as I usually am. I'm disappointed, but I think we were all having the same off-day together. (It also probably didn't help that the scrum collapsed on me three times, the last of those bending my neck at a really unacceptable angle for necks to bend.)
But it was really great to see a bunch of alums at the match, and play with them in the (albeit brief; very brief) alumni match afterward. JW was there, much to my great joy. And some others that I played with, as well - LKR, LG, DE. And a few that I never played with, but heard epic stories about as a freshman.
I spent the rest of the day at Haverford (designated-driving friends around), which reminded me once again of how I need to spend more time there. As I keep telling people, it's a vicious cycle - I'm all "Oh, I should go to Haverford." "But wait - I don't really know many people there and it might be awkward." And why don't I know people there? Because I'm not there very often! I really need to work on this, because I've really liked all of the Haverfordians I've met so far, and would probably like more, were I to meet them.
So, I'm writing my final blog post from some patch of Haverford green, on actual paper. The last 48 hours have held a lot of "lasts:" last class as a sophomore (not nearly as epic as "last class as an undergrad" that so many of my friends have been claiming lately, but whatever - it's a milestone to me), last rugby game of the season, last "assignment-and-no-finals-don't-count," last Tradition with the class of 2010. By the time I copy this to the blog, I will probably change most, if not all of it.
And then it abruptly ends. Aha. Predictably, I am terrible at writing things down on paper. I'm too self-conscious, I love the quickness of typing, it feels so final and real... I just prefer computers, now that I'm so adjusted to them.
Anyway, today was fun, but exhausting. Prom Dress rugby was in the morning, which was actually somewhat of a disappointment, because we lost - to Drexel. It's really nothing against Drexel, but I remember playing them last year, and I remember playing Kutztown last game and... wow. I don't know what happened to us. (And "us" definitely includes me as well, because I really didn't feel as though I played well today.) Maybe we got a little overconfident, since they're a D4 team (we're D2), and we beat them every year. Maybe we didn't take things as seriously as we usually do - people didn't show up to practice a lot this week and I'm pretty sure there were some, ah, parties on campus to go to last night. Maybe we're all just exhausted from finals and the oppressive heat we were playing in just took whatever little we had left to give that game.
Either way, it was a little bit of a sad note to go out on. For my part, I felt like I was just not moving very quickly. (And I'm actually kind of a slow runner to begin with, so losing speed for me is really not ok.) During Friday's practice, I felt that way too, but I was hoping it was just the fact that I was so tired, plus the fact that I think I did something to my leg on Wednesday practice, and it was bothering me when I ran. But I don't know. I was slow, I got tired quickly, and I just wasn't as determined as I usually am. I'm disappointed, but I think we were all having the same off-day together. (It also probably didn't help that the scrum collapsed on me three times, the last of those bending my neck at a really unacceptable angle for necks to bend.)
But it was really great to see a bunch of alums at the match, and play with them in the (albeit brief; very brief) alumni match afterward. JW was there, much to my great joy. And some others that I played with, as well - LKR, LG, DE. And a few that I never played with, but heard epic stories about as a freshman.
I spent the rest of the day at Haverford (designated-driving friends around), which reminded me once again of how I need to spend more time there. As I keep telling people, it's a vicious cycle - I'm all "Oh, I should go to Haverford." "But wait - I don't really know many people there and it might be awkward." And why don't I know people there? Because I'm not there very often! I really need to work on this, because I've really liked all of the Haverfordians I've met so far, and would probably like more, were I to meet them.
Friday, April 30, 2010
about a party
Tonight, I "Party Host-ed" Brecon Prom, an event that hasn't been held in three years. There was a lot of talk about potentially having it, and as a dorm president, I felt obligated to do something about that. So I sent out an e-mail/survey, people responded and... I had a party?
It's funny, because I'm not much of a "party" person. If I'm going to hang out, I prefer to do it in a smaller group of friends I know really well. The only exception to this might be rugby socials, but even those it's my teammates and I feel pretty close to a lot of them. Point is: I didn't throw this party because I wanted to have a party; I was trying to do what the rest of the dorm wanted.
Honestly, I think it went pretty well. We didn't have a ton of people, but that's because I didn't advertise it super-heavily. Firstly, because Brecon can only hold a Level 1 party, for 30-60 people - and I didn't want half of the college coming to a party that they wouldn't be able to get in to. (I mean, not that half of the college has enough motivation to trek all the way to Brecon, when we can't even get a third of our sorry arses to Plenary... but I will save that one for another time.) Secondly, I thought people in Brecon would be more comfortable with a chill, "mostly-Brecon" party. And thirdly, Brecon Prom was described to me in the past as "a giant, naked orgy" (no, really. That is an actual quote. But I'm not naming my source.) and "really sketchy, with lots of sketchy men." So while I told everyone that nudity was ok, it was optional and not required.
I found out that hosting a party is a lot of work. Oh wait, actually, I already knew that from Rock Drag Ball, but it was more pressure this time, because 1) I didn't have the entire team around to back me up, and 2) it was a "wet" party, so alcohol does require more planning. Not only in terms of the preparation, but during the party especially to make sure that everyone is ok.
With the number of people who came (I'd estimate we had up to 45 on the higher ends of the night, if that), it was a lot easier to keep an eye on things. One of my other party hosts, MW (21-years old as required to have a party with alcohol) was really phenomenal. She was really available, on top of things and amazingly helpful. RB did a lot of work for the party, too, as did a few other people, to whom I am eternally grateful. I could not have done all of that by myself.
Glad it's over, though. And can't believe the chaos of this weekend - Prom Dress Rugby, Haverfest, May Day. Wow.
It's funny, because I'm not much of a "party" person. If I'm going to hang out, I prefer to do it in a smaller group of friends I know really well. The only exception to this might be rugby socials, but even those it's my teammates and I feel pretty close to a lot of them. Point is: I didn't throw this party because I wanted to have a party; I was trying to do what the rest of the dorm wanted.
Honestly, I think it went pretty well. We didn't have a ton of people, but that's because I didn't advertise it super-heavily. Firstly, because Brecon can only hold a Level 1 party, for 30-60 people - and I didn't want half of the college coming to a party that they wouldn't be able to get in to. (I mean, not that half of the college has enough motivation to trek all the way to Brecon, when we can't even get a third of our sorry arses to Plenary... but I will save that one for another time.) Secondly, I thought people in Brecon would be more comfortable with a chill, "mostly-Brecon" party. And thirdly, Brecon Prom was described to me in the past as "a giant, naked orgy" (no, really. That is an actual quote. But I'm not naming my source.) and "really sketchy, with lots of sketchy men." So while I told everyone that nudity was ok, it was optional and not required.
I found out that hosting a party is a lot of work. Oh wait, actually, I already knew that from Rock Drag Ball, but it was more pressure this time, because 1) I didn't have the entire team around to back me up, and 2) it was a "wet" party, so alcohol does require more planning. Not only in terms of the preparation, but during the party especially to make sure that everyone is ok.
With the number of people who came (I'd estimate we had up to 45 on the higher ends of the night, if that), it was a lot easier to keep an eye on things. One of my other party hosts, MW (21-years old as required to have a party with alcohol) was really phenomenal. She was really available, on top of things and amazingly helpful. RB did a lot of work for the party, too, as did a few other people, to whom I am eternally grateful. I could not have done all of that by myself.
Glad it's over, though. And can't believe the chaos of this weekend - Prom Dress Rugby, Haverfest, May Day. Wow.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
a post, dedicated to...
...WH, my ex-boyfriend.
So, all my talk of being a commitment-phobe the other day, as well as someone else's blog post about boyfriends made me think of my last serious boyfriend, and I decided that he probably deserved his own post on here. (If he knew about this, he'd scoff at me, look sheepish, probably argue with me about it, and maybe change the subject. Yes, he is adorable.)
I should probably come right out and explain that I haven't been in any other "real" relationships. There was the boy who asked me out in fifth grade, to which I replied "Where are we going?" (Ahahahaha, 11-year-old self. Good one.) I called him my "boyfriend" in a journal that I tried to keep for all of a few days and "liked him a lot" and I'm pretty sure I remember the word "special" being thrown in there somewhere... but I'm pretty sure we never even held hands. Ahh, such an awkward age. After this boyfriend that I'm about to talk about, I was kinda, sorta, maybe seeing someone last year, but I was still adjusting to being new at "the college thing" and I really ended up just not having time for him. We went on a few dates and got along really well, but I think we were just both in very different places in our lives. There were other boys who asked, but who I just wasn't as interested in and tried hard to be nice to about it. In some ways, it really wasn't them - it was me, and my enjoyment of my own independence.
Anyway, WH and I actually go pretty far back. We went to the same elementary school, but because we were a year apart, I didn't really notice him much until about 7th grade, when another boy, JF (note: different "J" than in previous posts) and he and I sat together in math class. Our school had a program in which it moved "advanced" students up a year in math. Don't ask me why it did this - for children like me who actually never showed an aptitude for math in particular it made no sense. JF and I were the first to qualify, (I have no idea how I did, honestly) when we were in 1st grade, but others were added later. I actually remember being given these tests and not knowing why I was taking them. Even when I found out, I remember thinking "but I like English?" But, I suppose it kept me out of trouble, because I really had to work hard to make up for my lost 2nd grade year. Oh, and then I skipped Algebra 1 when I transferred schools... This is probably why I have such a complete and total loathing of ANYthing with numbers now.
Anyway, we all sat together in math when JF and I were in 7th grade, WH in 8th, and were probably kind of delinquents sometimes. I seem to recall a fair bit of goofing around. They'd gang up on me and put balled up papers in the hood of my sweatshirt, I'd swear at them; it was great fun. On April Fool's day, we snuck into open classrooms and turned all of the desks facing the back of the classroom. I think we even got clever and asked the gym teacher, with his set of master keys to assist us. Somehow, our social studies teacher suspected us... I'm pretty sure I failed at looking innocent.
The next year, coincidentally, WH and I both transferred to H-field. As I think I might've mentioned, our town doesn't have a high school, so it makes sense on some level. For him, it was convenient because his parents are divorced and his dad lives in the town. For mine, I just needed to get the hell out of M-ville and my parents wanted me to have a year to get to know people before high school. (They knew that it could go either really badly, or really amazingly, because 8th grade is a tough year. Luckily, I ended up completely in love with it.)
While I was making friends over at the middle school, WH was having a harder time. I remember talking to him on AIM a lot (remember when people used to do that!?) and him talking about not quite being sure if he fit in there. He's kind of quiet, until you actually get to know him, and since high school is a big adjustment for all of the freshmen, I can see how he would have gotten overlooked at first. It also didn't help that my loathing of M-ville was probably proportional to his loving of it - his class was about 100 times better than mine, in terms of fewer behavioral issues, more really nice people, etc. So he wasn't as keen to be uprooted as I was. I reassured him that I'd be there to hang out with the next year, and in the mean time, invited him out with my "cool" 8th grade friends. (No, really. We went to this coffee shop in town - that our parents had to drive us to - and thought we were really awesome.)
By the time I came to the high school, I thought he was crazy for insisting that he didn't have friends. For his part, he seemed stunned that he did - he kept insisting that he didn't really know how it happened. (Um, because he's really awesome. Duh.) He still hung out with my friends and I sometimes, and since we lived in the same town, we were still in close proximity. Since we were in a bigger school and in different years (and, unfortunately, different math classes, until the year we stopped dating), we didn't see each other as often - but we did have the same lunch period. He ate with a bunch of goofy guys (for some reason, they would always call over to me from across the cafeteria and try to get me to date their friends... I was nonplussed about the whole thing... the other girls at my table were kind of jealous, even though none of them were very good-looking) and I ate with some girls in my year, but he and I would always detacthc ourselves from our aforementioned contingents and take the same route up to our classes together and give each other a brief summary of our days. As silly as it sounds, I always looked forward to our 2 minute walks. (I was probably tired of hearing the girls constantly talk about boys. I liked them well enough, and thought a few were attractive, but on the whole, didn't understand what the big fuss was about.)
As we moved into the end of the year, WH and I started spending more time together. We had wanted to hang out one weekend and see a movie, but it was my mom's birthday and I ended up not being able to. He asked me to come with him to Starbucks after school the following Monday, and of course I wanted to. (Not nearly as cool as "our" coffee shop, but it would have to do.) I remember having this vague suspicion that there was something different about this "get together," but not really knowing what it was.
We met up and walked into town together. I remember being nervous and not knowing why. Seriously, I hung out with this kid all the time - what was my deal? We got to the shop, ordered drinks and sat down near the window together. We made small talk - I have a distinct memory of telling him about how my parents bought me a new lawn mower (I decided it was "mine" because I was the one who mowed all of our grass - a fact, of which I was very proud). Then, he looked down at the table, cleared his throat and looked up at me again, and something about the way he looked at me triggered something, and it hit me: Oh my god, he's going to ask me out. And just as quickly as that lightening bolt struck, a second: Oh my god, I really like him. I really want to date him! (Or, such were the deep thoughts of my 15-year-old self, approximately.)
"So, uh, we've been friends for a while..."
He was hesitant and, quite frankly, adorable about it. I remember waiting for him to get it out, and wishing that I could just hurry up the process (and make him less nervous) and yell "YES!" but realizing that I should really let him finish. Our only hesitation was our friendship, which we agreed we would maintain, even when we eventually broke up (we were pragmatic high schoolers). As he walked me out to my dad's car when he came to pick me up, we awkwardly hugged and said good-bye. I was ecstatic.
When I blurted out the news to my parents, my dad couldn't suppress a grin, and my mom gave a small knowing smile, then raised her eyebrows at me. "Well, it's about time!" were the first words out of her mouth. I gaped at them in shock. "Yeah, we were wondering when you two would finally get around to it." I spluttered at them some more "But - wait - I didn't even... hold on - seriously!?" They continued to exchange looks and smirk at me some more. It was maddening. "Yeah, it's been a while. You guys really took your time. A few months ago when we dropped you off at that movie with that other guy who asked you on a date, we looked at each other in the car and said 'When is she going to get around to dating him?'"
Moral of this story: My own parents know me better than I know myself.
As a 15-year-old, I was flabbergasted at this revelation.
Anyway, WH and I spent the next 15 months together - we dated from the very last day of May, my freshman year, to the very beginning of my junior year, somewhere in the middle of September, I think. We had a really good time. To be honest, we had a pretty low-key relationship. We still did our 2-minute "day debriefing" every day... although now we held hands, and everyone suddenly thought we were a-d-o-r-a-b-l-e. (I remember being distinctly uncomfortable with all the attention given to a new couple, and wishing everyone would just leave us the hell alone about it.) We still played video games and watched movies together... although now we cuddled in between. We spent time walking around town and thinking up novel ideas for dates that didn't rely on our parents driving us around too much. He put up with my quirks, such as the need to meticulously plan everything and the "no-kissing-at-school-because-I-don't-like-couples-who-excessively-PDA-in-the-hallways" rule and brought me flowers and Spaghettios (my favorite childhood throwback food EVER) when I was sick; I made an effort to be more feminine and actually purchased some skirts (whaat!? It turned out, halfway through our relationship, that he still thought I looked "cute" with messed up "after softball practice hair" and wearing a sweatshirt and jeans) and wore them and tried really hard to be spontaneous when his friends came up with crazy last minute plans, and bought him clothing sometimes, because that's what I thought girlfriends did for boyfriends.
Our official line is that it was a mutual breakup, but, really, I know that I'm the one who instigated it. It was the beginning of my junior, his senior year and I realized two important things: 1) I didn't have enough time for him, and wasn't able to make it and 2) He wasn't entirely happy in the relationship, but was too nice to ever say anything about it. I really believe that it was the right decision. For my part, I really was way too busy - that was the year I spent most of my lunch times in the chemistry teacher's room, stressing about not understanding any of the material, and also the year that my tonsils became permanently infected and I spent most of my time extremely ill. (Think of how much money he saved on Spaghettios and flowers by getting out of that relationship!) I'm also a really independent person, and am easily scared off by the fact that someone else's happiness is dependent upon me. It was good for me to have a break from that, especially with the chaos that ended up being that year.
For his part, he started dating another girl a few months after me, and while I had a vague feeling of loss, I knew it was right for him. I just sensed that he wanted more from the relationship than I was willing to give. He never would have pushed me, and maybe he didn't even know exactly what he wanted, or how to express it - but I just couldn't stand the idea that things weren't quite what he wanted. Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to let them go. I cared about his happiness so much that I really wanted it for him, even if it wasn't with me. We ended our relationship with an awkward hug outside, as my dad pulled up to pick me up, a bittersweet echo of how we had begun.
We spent my junior year, his senior year on very awkward terms. (Of course, that was the year that we finally had a class together. Thanks, Universe.) We were polite, but I knew that, despite my best efforts, I had hurt him. It also didn't help things that shortly after we broke up, his best friend committed suicide. Having gone through it with my aunt about a year and a half before, I knew (on some level) what he was going through, but I didn't know how to help him. I tried to be there for him, but I also didn't want to upset him by seemingly too clingy after we'd just broken up and were on weird terms. Sometimes, I wished we had still been dating, just so that I could better comfort him.
After he went away to college, we got back on track. He called me up on one of his breaks and asked me to have dinner with him at the new vegetarian place in our town. (Oh, yeah - we are both vegetarians, although I started eating fish again some time during my junior year as I desperate attempt to "get more protein" and be healthy again, before I knew that my tonsils where I why I was sick all the time.) I was relieved that he had initiated the contact, and that he was no longer cold and distant toward me. We avoided the subject of the year we had spent apart until the very end of the night, as I was walking him out, after hanging out in my kitchen for a while. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that," he began, and I told him that, really, it was ok - that I was sorrier, since I knew that I'd hurt him and didn't know how to make it better. "I just needed time... but I realized that I was being stupid, because, you remember how we promised we'd stay friends?" I smiled, because I had been hoping that he had remembered, too. We ended the evening, as is our pattern, with a hug, and promises to talk more often and keep our friendship. Since then, we've both been really busy, and away at our respective schools - especially when he went to India last spring semester for study abroad. Still, we've managed to have a few adventures, among them, some more vegetarian food, and an epically failed, although hilarious and enjoyable attempt at making a "Tofurkey," something we've been talking about since before we started dating, but never got around to. (We still, apparently, have yet to make a successful one. Maybe this Thanksgiving?)
Even though our feelings for each other have changed, WH will always have a special place in my heart. He was truly an excellent boyfriend, and there is no doubt in my mind that he will one day make an amazing husband, for a very lucky woman. I can't express how thankful I am that we were able to remain friends, and that we still talk, because as much as I like him, I also admire him as a person and am proud to be able to call him one of my friends.
I talked to him recently, and we plan to have lunch when we're both back home, at what is now "our" vegetarian place and catch up about my sophomore, his junior year of college.
My, how time flies!
So, all my talk of being a commitment-phobe the other day, as well as someone else's blog post about boyfriends made me think of my last serious boyfriend, and I decided that he probably deserved his own post on here. (If he knew about this, he'd scoff at me, look sheepish, probably argue with me about it, and maybe change the subject. Yes, he is adorable.)
I should probably come right out and explain that I haven't been in any other "real" relationships. There was the boy who asked me out in fifth grade, to which I replied "Where are we going?" (Ahahahaha, 11-year-old self. Good one.) I called him my "boyfriend" in a journal that I tried to keep for all of a few days and "liked him a lot" and I'm pretty sure I remember the word "special" being thrown in there somewhere... but I'm pretty sure we never even held hands. Ahh, such an awkward age. After this boyfriend that I'm about to talk about, I was kinda, sorta, maybe seeing someone last year, but I was still adjusting to being new at "the college thing" and I really ended up just not having time for him. We went on a few dates and got along really well, but I think we were just both in very different places in our lives. There were other boys who asked, but who I just wasn't as interested in and tried hard to be nice to about it. In some ways, it really wasn't them - it was me, and my enjoyment of my own independence.
Anyway, WH and I actually go pretty far back. We went to the same elementary school, but because we were a year apart, I didn't really notice him much until about 7th grade, when another boy, JF (note: different "J" than in previous posts) and he and I sat together in math class. Our school had a program in which it moved "advanced" students up a year in math. Don't ask me why it did this - for children like me who actually never showed an aptitude for math in particular it made no sense. JF and I were the first to qualify, (I have no idea how I did, honestly) when we were in 1st grade, but others were added later. I actually remember being given these tests and not knowing why I was taking them. Even when I found out, I remember thinking "but I like English?" But, I suppose it kept me out of trouble, because I really had to work hard to make up for my lost 2nd grade year. Oh, and then I skipped Algebra 1 when I transferred schools... This is probably why I have such a complete and total loathing of ANYthing with numbers now.
Anyway, we all sat together in math when JF and I were in 7th grade, WH in 8th, and were probably kind of delinquents sometimes. I seem to recall a fair bit of goofing around. They'd gang up on me and put balled up papers in the hood of my sweatshirt, I'd swear at them; it was great fun. On April Fool's day, we snuck into open classrooms and turned all of the desks facing the back of the classroom. I think we even got clever and asked the gym teacher, with his set of master keys to assist us. Somehow, our social studies teacher suspected us... I'm pretty sure I failed at looking innocent.
The next year, coincidentally, WH and I both transferred to H-field. As I think I might've mentioned, our town doesn't have a high school, so it makes sense on some level. For him, it was convenient because his parents are divorced and his dad lives in the town. For mine, I just needed to get the hell out of M-ville and my parents wanted me to have a year to get to know people before high school. (They knew that it could go either really badly, or really amazingly, because 8th grade is a tough year. Luckily, I ended up completely in love with it.)
While I was making friends over at the middle school, WH was having a harder time. I remember talking to him on AIM a lot (remember when people used to do that!?) and him talking about not quite being sure if he fit in there. He's kind of quiet, until you actually get to know him, and since high school is a big adjustment for all of the freshmen, I can see how he would have gotten overlooked at first. It also didn't help that my loathing of M-ville was probably proportional to his loving of it - his class was about 100 times better than mine, in terms of fewer behavioral issues, more really nice people, etc. So he wasn't as keen to be uprooted as I was. I reassured him that I'd be there to hang out with the next year, and in the mean time, invited him out with my "cool" 8th grade friends. (No, really. We went to this coffee shop in town - that our parents had to drive us to - and thought we were really awesome.)
By the time I came to the high school, I thought he was crazy for insisting that he didn't have friends. For his part, he seemed stunned that he did - he kept insisting that he didn't really know how it happened. (Um, because he's really awesome. Duh.) He still hung out with my friends and I sometimes, and since we lived in the same town, we were still in close proximity. Since we were in a bigger school and in different years (and, unfortunately, different math classes, until the year we stopped dating), we didn't see each other as often - but we did have the same lunch period. He ate with a bunch of goofy guys (for some reason, they would always call over to me from across the cafeteria and try to get me to date their friends... I was nonplussed about the whole thing... the other girls at my table were kind of jealous, even though none of them were very good-looking) and I ate with some girls in my year, but he and I would always detacthc ourselves from our aforementioned contingents and take the same route up to our classes together and give each other a brief summary of our days. As silly as it sounds, I always looked forward to our 2 minute walks. (I was probably tired of hearing the girls constantly talk about boys. I liked them well enough, and thought a few were attractive, but on the whole, didn't understand what the big fuss was about.)
As we moved into the end of the year, WH and I started spending more time together. We had wanted to hang out one weekend and see a movie, but it was my mom's birthday and I ended up not being able to. He asked me to come with him to Starbucks after school the following Monday, and of course I wanted to. (Not nearly as cool as "our" coffee shop, but it would have to do.) I remember having this vague suspicion that there was something different about this "get together," but not really knowing what it was.
We met up and walked into town together. I remember being nervous and not knowing why. Seriously, I hung out with this kid all the time - what was my deal? We got to the shop, ordered drinks and sat down near the window together. We made small talk - I have a distinct memory of telling him about how my parents bought me a new lawn mower (I decided it was "mine" because I was the one who mowed all of our grass - a fact, of which I was very proud). Then, he looked down at the table, cleared his throat and looked up at me again, and something about the way he looked at me triggered something, and it hit me: Oh my god, he's going to ask me out. And just as quickly as that lightening bolt struck, a second: Oh my god, I really like him. I really want to date him! (Or, such were the deep thoughts of my 15-year-old self, approximately.)
"So, uh, we've been friends for a while..."
He was hesitant and, quite frankly, adorable about it. I remember waiting for him to get it out, and wishing that I could just hurry up the process (and make him less nervous) and yell "YES!" but realizing that I should really let him finish. Our only hesitation was our friendship, which we agreed we would maintain, even when we eventually broke up (we were pragmatic high schoolers). As he walked me out to my dad's car when he came to pick me up, we awkwardly hugged and said good-bye. I was ecstatic.
When I blurted out the news to my parents, my dad couldn't suppress a grin, and my mom gave a small knowing smile, then raised her eyebrows at me. "Well, it's about time!" were the first words out of her mouth. I gaped at them in shock. "Yeah, we were wondering when you two would finally get around to it." I spluttered at them some more "But - wait - I didn't even... hold on - seriously!?" They continued to exchange looks and smirk at me some more. It was maddening. "Yeah, it's been a while. You guys really took your time. A few months ago when we dropped you off at that movie with that other guy who asked you on a date, we looked at each other in the car and said 'When is she going to get around to dating him?'"
Moral of this story: My own parents know me better than I know myself.
As a 15-year-old, I was flabbergasted at this revelation.
Anyway, WH and I spent the next 15 months together - we dated from the very last day of May, my freshman year, to the very beginning of my junior year, somewhere in the middle of September, I think. We had a really good time. To be honest, we had a pretty low-key relationship. We still did our 2-minute "day debriefing" every day... although now we held hands, and everyone suddenly thought we were a-d-o-r-a-b-l-e. (I remember being distinctly uncomfortable with all the attention given to a new couple, and wishing everyone would just leave us the hell alone about it.) We still played video games and watched movies together... although now we cuddled in between. We spent time walking around town and thinking up novel ideas for dates that didn't rely on our parents driving us around too much. He put up with my quirks, such as the need to meticulously plan everything and the "no-kissing-at-school-because-I-don't-like-couples-who-excessively-PDA-in-the-hallways" rule and brought me flowers and Spaghettios (my favorite childhood throwback food EVER) when I was sick; I made an effort to be more feminine and actually purchased some skirts (whaat!? It turned out, halfway through our relationship, that he still thought I looked "cute" with messed up "after softball practice hair" and wearing a sweatshirt and jeans) and wore them and tried really hard to be spontaneous when his friends came up with crazy last minute plans, and bought him clothing sometimes, because that's what I thought girlfriends did for boyfriends.
Our official line is that it was a mutual breakup, but, really, I know that I'm the one who instigated it. It was the beginning of my junior, his senior year and I realized two important things: 1) I didn't have enough time for him, and wasn't able to make it and 2) He wasn't entirely happy in the relationship, but was too nice to ever say anything about it. I really believe that it was the right decision. For my part, I really was way too busy - that was the year I spent most of my lunch times in the chemistry teacher's room, stressing about not understanding any of the material, and also the year that my tonsils became permanently infected and I spent most of my time extremely ill. (Think of how much money he saved on Spaghettios and flowers by getting out of that relationship!) I'm also a really independent person, and am easily scared off by the fact that someone else's happiness is dependent upon me. It was good for me to have a break from that, especially with the chaos that ended up being that year.
For his part, he started dating another girl a few months after me, and while I had a vague feeling of loss, I knew it was right for him. I just sensed that he wanted more from the relationship than I was willing to give. He never would have pushed me, and maybe he didn't even know exactly what he wanted, or how to express it - but I just couldn't stand the idea that things weren't quite what he wanted. Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to let them go. I cared about his happiness so much that I really wanted it for him, even if it wasn't with me. We ended our relationship with an awkward hug outside, as my dad pulled up to pick me up, a bittersweet echo of how we had begun.
We spent my junior year, his senior year on very awkward terms. (Of course, that was the year that we finally had a class together. Thanks, Universe.) We were polite, but I knew that, despite my best efforts, I had hurt him. It also didn't help things that shortly after we broke up, his best friend committed suicide. Having gone through it with my aunt about a year and a half before, I knew (on some level) what he was going through, but I didn't know how to help him. I tried to be there for him, but I also didn't want to upset him by seemingly too clingy after we'd just broken up and were on weird terms. Sometimes, I wished we had still been dating, just so that I could better comfort him.
After he went away to college, we got back on track. He called me up on one of his breaks and asked me to have dinner with him at the new vegetarian place in our town. (Oh, yeah - we are both vegetarians, although I started eating fish again some time during my junior year as I desperate attempt to "get more protein" and be healthy again, before I knew that my tonsils where I why I was sick all the time.) I was relieved that he had initiated the contact, and that he was no longer cold and distant toward me. We avoided the subject of the year we had spent apart until the very end of the night, as I was walking him out, after hanging out in my kitchen for a while. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that," he began, and I told him that, really, it was ok - that I was sorrier, since I knew that I'd hurt him and didn't know how to make it better. "I just needed time... but I realized that I was being stupid, because, you remember how we promised we'd stay friends?" I smiled, because I had been hoping that he had remembered, too. We ended the evening, as is our pattern, with a hug, and promises to talk more often and keep our friendship. Since then, we've both been really busy, and away at our respective schools - especially when he went to India last spring semester for study abroad. Still, we've managed to have a few adventures, among them, some more vegetarian food, and an epically failed, although hilarious and enjoyable attempt at making a "Tofurkey," something we've been talking about since before we started dating, but never got around to. (We still, apparently, have yet to make a successful one. Maybe this Thanksgiving?)
Even though our feelings for each other have changed, WH will always have a special place in my heart. He was truly an excellent boyfriend, and there is no doubt in my mind that he will one day make an amazing husband, for a very lucky woman. I can't express how thankful I am that we were able to remain friends, and that we still talk, because as much as I like him, I also admire him as a person and am proud to be able to call him one of my friends.
I talked to him recently, and we plan to have lunch when we're both back home, at what is now "our" vegetarian place and catch up about my sophomore, his junior year of college.
My, how time flies!
Monday, April 26, 2010
DOUBLE MAJOR DECLARATION!
Yes, I am obnoxious as hell and that title is in all caps because OH MY GOD I HAVE FINALLY WRITTEN MY MAJOR(S) DECLARATION!
...It has only taken me about, oh, I don't know... SEVEN WEEKS to get my shit together and do this. But, ah, it feels SO GLORIOUS to be done.
It's funny, because I've known I've had to do this. I've been planning to do it. It's been in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS on every "To-Do" list I've made in the last seven weeks. Somehow... it just hasn't gotten done. As I told one of my advisors, LSB, I'm just being a commitment-phobe about things, as I tend to be in the rest of my life, too. (I would liken it to my ex-boyfriend, but I think he deserves his own post, if only for putting up with my bs for so long!)
Weirdly, the actual act of writing it was not the hard part. It was the stress leading up to it and the anxiety of "Aaahh, what do I even write!?" I'm not one of those awesome people that has it all figured out. I used to be, but I wrecked so many of those plans, that I've just decided to stop making them.
I'm posting what I wrote, because I actually am really pleased with it. I sound like I know what I'm talking about, I think! (Key word being "sound"... hope my dean & advisors buy it!)
My motivations for pursuing a double major might not be as fleshed out as others’ detailed career ambitions, but I still believe that this path will help me achieve what I eventually want out of my life – even if I haven’t fully solidified what that is. I enjoy classes in both disciplines for very different reasons, and I can’t imagine my college career continuing without a strong presence of either of them. English classes have always consistently been among my favorites, for as long as I can remember. If anything, college has made me realize the depth of the study and what advantages there are to pursuing it. I am often asked, when I declare my intent to have English as one of my majors, “But what will you do with that?” Quite simply, being able to write well, clearly express ideas and analyze material critically are crucial components to success in any field. No matter how much brilliance an individual possesses in a certain area, the coherence of the expression of the material is vital in any field. Even someone working alone in a lab must be able to produce a clear, concise account that explains the data he or she has produced and what it actually means, why it is significant. While English has always come more naturally to me than other subjects, and probably has an effect on my affinity for it, I believe that I am still far from any mastery of the subject as a whole – there is so much that I still want to improve on, and I believe that majoring in the subject will bring my closer to satisfaction with my own skill set. Although I am still unsure what I might use it for, I am confident that the skills I acquire in this major will carry over into every aspect of any later career I choose – and probably also other areas of my life.
Psychology, on the other hand, is something that I have always been attracted to, but did not have a chance to fully pursue until college. It does not come as naturally to me as English, but that is part of its appeal – I like the chance to think differently from the humanities mindset that I am used to, and that comes more naturally to me. Sciences in general have never come easily to me, despite my avid interest in them, so Psychology, as a social science, seems to be a good compromise. Although I see English helping me on a broader level, my narrower ambitions (at least for now) lie more within the realm of Psychology. To be honest, people fascinate me. I have always been interested in how they work, what motivates them, why things sometimes go wrong on something deeper than a physical level. What motivates me most about the study of human beings is the opportunity it gives to potentially help them. For a while, I had dreams of going to medical school, and while I have changed courses for a number of different reasons, my underlying desire to help heal people remains the same; my ambitions have not really changed, rather, the way I plan to go about achieving them has. I believe that an undergraduate degree in Psychology, and plans for a graduate degree soon after, will lead me to that. Although I am just getting started in this field, my classes in it excite me, and the idea of spending another two years focused on this material is truly an exciting prospect.
Double majoring is also more feasible (in a practical sense) for me because of two factors: 1) I am not going abroad junior year, and 2) only English has a required thesis. These two things are important, for they are often the major roadblocks standing in the way of a double major. I have planned it out with my advisors, and have a solid plan to complete both degrees in the remaining two years – the semester that I will spend here instead of elsewhere is crucial to getting all of the required credits in each subject in. As for a thesis, although writing two theses has been done, it is not advisable for everyone and I feel that the required English thesis will be enough to keep me occupied during my last year here. This is not to say that Psychology will be short-changed in my attention – I will still be taking the senior seminar, as well as potentially pursuing research opportunities, possibly during the summer, so as to be able to split my attention between both subjects in a way that will allow me to give both my best work.
Yeeeeah, I hope this is good. Especially since it has been so long in coming. I really need to stop being such a paperwork delinquent...
...It has only taken me about, oh, I don't know... SEVEN WEEKS to get my shit together and do this. But, ah, it feels SO GLORIOUS to be done.
It's funny, because I've known I've had to do this. I've been planning to do it. It's been in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS on every "To-Do" list I've made in the last seven weeks. Somehow... it just hasn't gotten done. As I told one of my advisors, LSB, I'm just being a commitment-phobe about things, as I tend to be in the rest of my life, too. (I would liken it to my ex-boyfriend, but I think he deserves his own post, if only for putting up with my bs for so long!)
Weirdly, the actual act of writing it was not the hard part. It was the stress leading up to it and the anxiety of "Aaahh, what do I even write!?" I'm not one of those awesome people that has it all figured out. I used to be, but I wrecked so many of those plans, that I've just decided to stop making them.
I'm posting what I wrote, because I actually am really pleased with it. I sound like I know what I'm talking about, I think! (Key word being "sound"... hope my dean & advisors buy it!)
My motivations for pursuing a double major might not be as fleshed out as others’ detailed career ambitions, but I still believe that this path will help me achieve what I eventually want out of my life – even if I haven’t fully solidified what that is. I enjoy classes in both disciplines for very different reasons, and I can’t imagine my college career continuing without a strong presence of either of them. English classes have always consistently been among my favorites, for as long as I can remember. If anything, college has made me realize the depth of the study and what advantages there are to pursuing it. I am often asked, when I declare my intent to have English as one of my majors, “But what will you do with that?” Quite simply, being able to write well, clearly express ideas and analyze material critically are crucial components to success in any field. No matter how much brilliance an individual possesses in a certain area, the coherence of the expression of the material is vital in any field. Even someone working alone in a lab must be able to produce a clear, concise account that explains the data he or she has produced and what it actually means, why it is significant. While English has always come more naturally to me than other subjects, and probably has an effect on my affinity for it, I believe that I am still far from any mastery of the subject as a whole – there is so much that I still want to improve on, and I believe that majoring in the subject will bring my closer to satisfaction with my own skill set. Although I am still unsure what I might use it for, I am confident that the skills I acquire in this major will carry over into every aspect of any later career I choose – and probably also other areas of my life.
Psychology, on the other hand, is something that I have always been attracted to, but did not have a chance to fully pursue until college. It does not come as naturally to me as English, but that is part of its appeal – I like the chance to think differently from the humanities mindset that I am used to, and that comes more naturally to me. Sciences in general have never come easily to me, despite my avid interest in them, so Psychology, as a social science, seems to be a good compromise. Although I see English helping me on a broader level, my narrower ambitions (at least for now) lie more within the realm of Psychology. To be honest, people fascinate me. I have always been interested in how they work, what motivates them, why things sometimes go wrong on something deeper than a physical level. What motivates me most about the study of human beings is the opportunity it gives to potentially help them. For a while, I had dreams of going to medical school, and while I have changed courses for a number of different reasons, my underlying desire to help heal people remains the same; my ambitions have not really changed, rather, the way I plan to go about achieving them has. I believe that an undergraduate degree in Psychology, and plans for a graduate degree soon after, will lead me to that. Although I am just getting started in this field, my classes in it excite me, and the idea of spending another two years focused on this material is truly an exciting prospect.
Double majoring is also more feasible (in a practical sense) for me because of two factors: 1) I am not going abroad junior year, and 2) only English has a required thesis. These two things are important, for they are often the major roadblocks standing in the way of a double major. I have planned it out with my advisors, and have a solid plan to complete both degrees in the remaining two years – the semester that I will spend here instead of elsewhere is crucial to getting all of the required credits in each subject in. As for a thesis, although writing two theses has been done, it is not advisable for everyone and I feel that the required English thesis will be enough to keep me occupied during my last year here. This is not to say that Psychology will be short-changed in my attention – I will still be taking the senior seminar, as well as potentially pursuing research opportunities, possibly during the summer, so as to be able to split my attention between both subjects in a way that will allow me to give both my best work.
Yeeeeah, I hope this is good. Especially since it has been so long in coming. I really need to stop being such a paperwork delinquent...
Friday, April 23, 2010
my car accident
When I was 17, my uncle got me a car for Christmas. It's actually kind of a funny story, because he neglected to tell my parents that he did it, until the week before:
"Oh, yeah, do you want to see your daughter's car?"
"Wait, WHAT!?"
Eric is hilarious, because he's really brilliant, but really absent minded and distracted sometimes. He's basically the most adorable man, ever. We started getting really close when I was 15 and his wife committed suicide. He always loved me, I know - but we started spending a lot more time together, and I think he started to see me as old enough to really talk to.
Anyway, (to go back to the topic at hand) I loved that car. It was a 2000 Ford Focus, 2-door hatch back, dark blue. I was SO SURPRISED. Like, literally, I lost power of speech and simply stared at the keys that were in the box he gave me to unwrap. He took me outside, and there it was - with the token, red ribbon on top. As spoiled as I felt, for getting a car as a gift, it was actually really necessary. I didn't go to school in my town, because my town didn't have a high school. My parents drove me to and from school every day, because there was no way to walk there. I was pretty involved in high school, and all of my friends, of course, lived in the town we went to school in - so as I got older, I ended up having to drive myself (and everyone else, as I was one of the first with a license and a car) around all the time. I really liked that I could use it to drive to my volunteer job at the pediatric facility (a live-in medical facility for medically fragile children) every Friday - and go afterward sometimes to meet up with Eric for dinner.
I have to now admit, I wasn't the best driver. I didn't think so, at the time, of course, but I now know this to be true. I got careless, I got cocky. I mean, I was an 18/19 year old - nothing was going to happen to me, right? I often drove too fast, was distracted while I drove, occasionally talked on my cell phone... ate while I drove. (I kind of got to be a pro at that last one, since I often didn't have time to eat lunch during normal-person hours during my job in the summers.)
Actually, the day I totaled the car, I wasn't doing anything stupid. My music wasn't too loud, I wasn't on the phone, I was paying attention - I was getting gas on the way home from work. My last day for the summer. The gas station was right near an intersection, and I needed to make a left turn (and cross an additional left-turn lane) to be heading in the direction I wanted. The light was red and the person stopped in front of the gas station held up to make space for me to pull out. I started to pull out, looked left and right, glanced at the light and saw that it had just turned green, and thought to myself "I need to make this turn quickly, because that light is short and people are going to want to make the turn." And then there was a minivan, practically in my front seat.
The rest of it is kind of a blur. I got out of the car, shaking. A woman across the street at the Rite Aid saw the whole thing and called the police for us. The other driver hit his head on the steering wheel. I started crying, because the thought of having done something to hurt another person was so horrific. I called my dad to come take me home, the man called his wife. The woman from the Rite Aid said something nice to me, like "It's ok. Accidents just happen sometimes." I got a $54 ticked for making an inappropriate left turn. (I strongly suspect that the police officer could have hit me with a lot of ancillary charges if he had wanted to. I sometimes wonder why that was. Did he feel badly for me? Usually, they hit young drivers who make mistakes hard, to teach them a lesson so that they'll really understand. Did he think that the accident was at least not 100% my fault?)
The accident itself was my fault, but I have a suspicion that the other driver was speeding, because of the force of the impact - I was only going a few miles an hour, having just started to move from a stop. Even if he hadn't been, the accident still would have happened - although our cars might not have been totaled. This doesn't make it any better, though, because I still think about it every day. I go through the "What ifs:" What if I hadn't agreed to work that extra week, when my boss begged me? What if I'd taken the other route home from work, when I'd thought about it? What if I'd thought "I have enough gas to get home, I'll get some tomorrow?" What if there hadn't been cars lined up along my side of the road that prevented me from seeing the man coming? What if I'd been less impatient, realized that I shouldn't make such an inconvenient left turn and gone a different way instead? What if...
This happened at the end of August, right before I went back to school for this year. I felt so awful about the whole thing, I basically didn't leave my room for an entire week. The guilt was tearing me up. Even as I write this, some of it comes back - dulled with time and distance, but not to the point that I'm ok with it at all. Luckily, I found out that the man in the other car is ok. He went to the hospital to get checked out, because with any kind of head injury, you can never be too careful. I still feel awful when I think of him, and the accident that I caused and the pain, inconvenience and frustration I must have caused him. It's a small consolation, at least, that there wasn't any permanent damage.
The only positive thing about all of this, is that I actually am a good driver now. Like I said, I didn't realize that I wasn't before until all of this happened, but now I've learned to think more about the potential far-reaching consequences of my actions. I drive the speed-limit, I don't make hasty decisions, and I'm careful not to be impatient, like I was that night when I made that left turn.
I miss my car a lot, not just because it was so convenient to have, but because it was a gift from Eric, and that made it one of the most special things I could own. I could tell that he purchased it carefully, looking for a good starter car for me, something that I could like, and it makes me sad not to see it every morning when I look outside.
In some ways, I do feel like I deserved this - I screwed up, I have to pay the consequences. My parents they could get me another car, but financially, it's just not feasible right now, and I'm ok with that. I broke it, I should replace it. I'm working a lot this summer, and hopefully I can pay for my own car and insurance (which I have caused to drastically go up) at some point within the next year.
"Oh, yeah, do you want to see your daughter's car?"
"Wait, WHAT!?"
Eric is hilarious, because he's really brilliant, but really absent minded and distracted sometimes. He's basically the most adorable man, ever. We started getting really close when I was 15 and his wife committed suicide. He always loved me, I know - but we started spending a lot more time together, and I think he started to see me as old enough to really talk to.
Anyway, (to go back to the topic at hand) I loved that car. It was a 2000 Ford Focus, 2-door hatch back, dark blue. I was SO SURPRISED. Like, literally, I lost power of speech and simply stared at the keys that were in the box he gave me to unwrap. He took me outside, and there it was - with the token, red ribbon on top. As spoiled as I felt, for getting a car as a gift, it was actually really necessary. I didn't go to school in my town, because my town didn't have a high school. My parents drove me to and from school every day, because there was no way to walk there. I was pretty involved in high school, and all of my friends, of course, lived in the town we went to school in - so as I got older, I ended up having to drive myself (and everyone else, as I was one of the first with a license and a car) around all the time. I really liked that I could use it to drive to my volunteer job at the pediatric facility (a live-in medical facility for medically fragile children) every Friday - and go afterward sometimes to meet up with Eric for dinner.
I have to now admit, I wasn't the best driver. I didn't think so, at the time, of course, but I now know this to be true. I got careless, I got cocky. I mean, I was an 18/19 year old - nothing was going to happen to me, right? I often drove too fast, was distracted while I drove, occasionally talked on my cell phone... ate while I drove. (I kind of got to be a pro at that last one, since I often didn't have time to eat lunch during normal-person hours during my job in the summers.)
Actually, the day I totaled the car, I wasn't doing anything stupid. My music wasn't too loud, I wasn't on the phone, I was paying attention - I was getting gas on the way home from work. My last day for the summer. The gas station was right near an intersection, and I needed to make a left turn (and cross an additional left-turn lane) to be heading in the direction I wanted. The light was red and the person stopped in front of the gas station held up to make space for me to pull out. I started to pull out, looked left and right, glanced at the light and saw that it had just turned green, and thought to myself "I need to make this turn quickly, because that light is short and people are going to want to make the turn." And then there was a minivan, practically in my front seat.
The rest of it is kind of a blur. I got out of the car, shaking. A woman across the street at the Rite Aid saw the whole thing and called the police for us. The other driver hit his head on the steering wheel. I started crying, because the thought of having done something to hurt another person was so horrific. I called my dad to come take me home, the man called his wife. The woman from the Rite Aid said something nice to me, like "It's ok. Accidents just happen sometimes." I got a $54 ticked for making an inappropriate left turn. (I strongly suspect that the police officer could have hit me with a lot of ancillary charges if he had wanted to. I sometimes wonder why that was. Did he feel badly for me? Usually, they hit young drivers who make mistakes hard, to teach them a lesson so that they'll really understand. Did he think that the accident was at least not 100% my fault?)
The accident itself was my fault, but I have a suspicion that the other driver was speeding, because of the force of the impact - I was only going a few miles an hour, having just started to move from a stop. Even if he hadn't been, the accident still would have happened - although our cars might not have been totaled. This doesn't make it any better, though, because I still think about it every day. I go through the "What ifs:" What if I hadn't agreed to work that extra week, when my boss begged me? What if I'd taken the other route home from work, when I'd thought about it? What if I'd thought "I have enough gas to get home, I'll get some tomorrow?" What if there hadn't been cars lined up along my side of the road that prevented me from seeing the man coming? What if I'd been less impatient, realized that I shouldn't make such an inconvenient left turn and gone a different way instead? What if...
This happened at the end of August, right before I went back to school for this year. I felt so awful about the whole thing, I basically didn't leave my room for an entire week. The guilt was tearing me up. Even as I write this, some of it comes back - dulled with time and distance, but not to the point that I'm ok with it at all. Luckily, I found out that the man in the other car is ok. He went to the hospital to get checked out, because with any kind of head injury, you can never be too careful. I still feel awful when I think of him, and the accident that I caused and the pain, inconvenience and frustration I must have caused him. It's a small consolation, at least, that there wasn't any permanent damage.
The only positive thing about all of this, is that I actually am a good driver now. Like I said, I didn't realize that I wasn't before until all of this happened, but now I've learned to think more about the potential far-reaching consequences of my actions. I drive the speed-limit, I don't make hasty decisions, and I'm careful not to be impatient, like I was that night when I made that left turn.
I miss my car a lot, not just because it was so convenient to have, but because it was a gift from Eric, and that made it one of the most special things I could own. I could tell that he purchased it carefully, looking for a good starter car for me, something that I could like, and it makes me sad not to see it every morning when I look outside.
In some ways, I do feel like I deserved this - I screwed up, I have to pay the consequences. My parents they could get me another car, but financially, it's just not feasible right now, and I'm ok with that. I broke it, I should replace it. I'm working a lot this summer, and hopefully I can pay for my own car and insurance (which I have caused to drastically go up) at some point within the next year.
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