My poor parents: I’ve probably been in their apartment 12 hours since I’ve been in Charlotte, and I was sleeping 10 of those.
I’m currently in Chapel Hill in Michael’s dorm room, chilling while Michael learns some guitar from our buddy Nathan. We got here yesterday afternoon, toured (some of) the campus, ate some good deli-eqsue food, and played some sand volleyball.
Damn UNC is big compared to Rose. It’s ridiculous. We walked for a good mile or so, and didn’t even see the humanities buildings or all the residence halls. I can give a good tour of Rose (seeing labs, residence halls, gym, etc.) in a half hour, even if I run my mouth constantly. Whoo.
The sand volleyball was brutal. I fell once hard enough to bruise my ass, hurt some lower back muscles, and give myself a headache, and caught the ball once with my chin hard enough to send me checking for chipped teeth. I got sand everywhere, and was picking grains out of my mouth for the rest of the evening. The guys we played with were cool, though, and friendly even to me and Nathan, who couldn’t play for shit.
Continue reading Mundane, but lovely, fun.
Obviously, given that I was able to post the last entry, I am home safe. I had to leave some of my stuff with Nikolai, who’s going back to school sooner than I am and will hold my stuff there for me.
I had barely gotten my stuff in the apartment when the phone rang and Michael was asking if I was going to go over to the shindig at Jenny’s house. I grabbed my mother’s car keys and was gone, no shower, no change of clothing. Yuck, but I was anxious and excited.
Details of the shindig would be inane and odd, but one of the highlights was when all twelve of us climbed into Michael’s van in the Krispy Kreme line. Actually, the highlight was watching the people’s faces in the line as all of us got out of the van, one by one. We must have looked like some psychos.
I wanted to get an idea of everyone’s mental state, and while I did manage to get an inkling, I’m worried about some folks. It’s hard to name names, since most of them read this. I don’t feel like toeing the line between between being frank and being hella rude tonight, and I doubt I could do so successfully as tired as I am. Suffice it to say that one friend paid a little too much attention to me (maybe I’m the only one willing to listen to him at this point), one friend seemed a little too uncomfortable with herself, and about three folks are sitting on some dark shit that two of them are for sure going to spit out before this week is up. Or arms will be twisted.
Continue reading Home safe and partying.
(Written Friday, May 28, 19:38 Rose-Hulman time)
You ever lay in bed at the end of a day and as you look back, wonder if everything that happened actually happened to you?
I told Nikolai last night [the night before we left] that I suspected something bad would happen on this trip with Johnny.
Nikolai and I departed the Haute around 10:00 this morning, cars loaded, everything set. Things went well until I almost got sideswipped off the road by a semi just past Indianapolis.
I stopped to take a piss break and calm my nerves just after that.
Continue reading Off the road
I would have thought these would be obvious, but given the ridiculous crap I’ve seen going on on my floor this week, apparently not.
If you don’t want to make the trips, don’t pack all that shit. Packrats need not bitch about the 25 trips they’ve had to make to their car. It is okay to throw some things out. Yes, you accumulate things through the year–hell, I’ve probably got twice as much stuff as I had coming in–but either suck it up and hit those three flights of stairs 15 times, hire a pack mule, or throw shit out. Your room was probably a junk-filled pig-sty all year anyway, so the last may be a good option for you. (Actually, if you could hire the pack mule for the sheer hilarity of attempting to convince it to go down the turning stairs with your stuff, it’d certainly make my year…)
- Pack as though you are the only one moving your shit out. If you can’t lift it or comfortably drag it, pack it lighter or get a dolly. Don’t assume Joe Blow Brawn is going to come along and carry that 5 feet by 5 feet by 5 feet box filled solid with books for you. Seriously, don’t inflict your packing troubles on others.
Continue reading 3 tips to moving out of a dorm without getting a "Look" from Lissa
I felt very, very sad as we packed up the Thorn office yesterday. Despite my growing disillusionment and worry, what we had this year was a good thing. I’ve learned a lot about people and power-wielding and social dynamics that was only theoretical for me before. Very eye-opening. Very tiring, as well, even though it wasn’t quite tiring enough to send me scurrying back to only the technical aspects of the paper.
And it’s not just the Thorn that was being packed up yesterday. It was, in many respects, my freshman year. I’ve put a lot of energy into the Thorn this year, much to the pleasure of the higher-ups. After I moved my stuff back into my room, I found myself just sort of sitting here, wondering what to do now, as if I did something odd and different in the Thorn office when I was by myself that didn’t involve just surfing the Internet and reading news. As though I couldn’t just sit in my room and do the same thing.
It’s the typical separation issues of someone that tends to obsess. I do this everytime I fixate and am forced to take a break.
I’ve been able to skim through this year with (roughly) a 3.75 GPA (well, depending on how the chemistry grade comes out this term), and spend most of my time on the Thorn. I certainly didn’t obsess over NSBE this way–hell, they couldn’t have come up with enough work for me to do had I latched on similarly, and I don’t have the mental energy to do both with the same vigor.
Continue reading A rock and a hard place.