As the first week of classes, I sort of thought it was going to go better than this.
Turns out because of budget cuts, I have to do my internship this fall instead of in the spring. Which means I’m taking 20 units instead of 18, and next spring have to magically find 5 units to make me a full time student, instead of 3. Also, it means I have less time to actually learn how to design, as I must turn in a book layout before I actually do a book layout in my print design class. Brilliant.
Worse still is that my father had a minor stroke on Monday. And no one told me about it until Wednesday.
Course, part of it is because my dad is a huge jerk. He had the stroke Monday morning, and didn’t even go to the doctor. The whole family is there for Monday Night Dinner, and to celebrate K’s boyfriend’s birthday, when my brother mentions that my dad must have gone to the dentist that day, because his face was numb and was drooling.
“No. I just had a stroke this morning, but I’m better now.”
Of course the family flips out and makes him go to the doctor—my mom’s mom died from complications arising from multiple strokes when I was 14—but he doesn’t go until Tuesday, and they don’t finish running tests on him until Wednesday, when he finally gets admitted and they think he’s going to have surgery.
So of course I’m having a minor flip-out all Wednesday. I found out about the whole situation with two classes left to go. And I can’t go home until Saturday, because I have to go to class, and my dad wouldn’t see his being in the hospital as a valid reason for me to miss.
My dad isn’t the only problem I can’t fix, either. I don’t know what is going on with me and E, only that everything feels different—like I’m invading his space and that it’s not the same. And I’m stressed and worried about You, because he only has the most dangerous job ever and I haven’t heard from him since my birthday.
So I decide, emotional wreck that I am, that I’m going to solve the only one I can right now, which is me and E. So yesterday, I pony up the courage to finally talk to him about the dreaded us.
(And I think I should be commended for this, since it took me three years to work up the courage for the last talk with a guy I had to have, and here I’m only three months late.)
And of course it’s awkward. We walked in a loop around the creek and a few buildings, because in no way can I have this conversation sitting on the couch in the BMU, surrounded by people and having to look at him.
Eventually, once we get past the small talk, I finally blurt out “you know I like you, right?”
“Yeah.”
And I lose my train of thought. I know I have to go forward, but I don’t know how to phrase the next question without sounding needy, without assuming anything. Finally, after what seems like forever in my head, and in reality only a few seconds, “so, are we just friends or what.”
This is essentially me out on the line, asking a question that I’ve been putting off because I was afraid of the answer, and even more so, because today I do know what that answer is going to be, because I need to hear it or I can’t function in this friendship without screwing up even more.
“Just friends for now.” Course, I can’t even be sure that he said for now because maybe I just wanted to hear it, and so think I did. I am assuming, and basing our entire future friendship, as if that part never happened, since there are pretty good odds that it didn’t.
I can do just friends. This frees me up to be the loud, obnoxious, honest friend that I am, and that I was afraid to be because I didn’t want to mess up a different sort of relationship. Since that’s off the table, I can finally be frightfully honest about how as a friend, he totally fails in the communication area. Which I told him not half an hour later.
But there’s still this heartache, how I know that even though we are friends, I’m not going to be able to stop liking him the way that I do. That until he dates another girl, there is always going to be the small voice in the back of my head reminding me just how awesome he really is.
Thank god for my friends, who’ve rallied around me, pulling me up when I’m so ready to fall down, keeping me from staring at my bedroom ceiling for hours and instead making me laugh and go out.
I didn’t realize it would feel like this, this heartache I feel for the men in my life. You for being out of reach and in a danger that wasn’t real until now, my dad for being frustrating and not taking care of himself, and E, for losing the one thing I really wanted more than anything.
Things are going to get better. My dad will heal. You will write me an email and let me know he’s still alive.
And I am not going to regret opening my heart up to E, even if I didn’t plan it, even if he didn’t want it. I said I wanted to be heartbroken by the end of summer, if just to remind myself that I knew how to feel, and I knew E would be the one to do it. It’s not broken, but bruised a bit. And in time, the pain will lessen.
And with a heart bruised by E, it gives me something else to worry over than the events I have no control over. Which, odd as it sounds, is probably the best thing for me. Because he is immediate and here and I can run into him randomly throughout my day, which renews the pain afresh, to overshadow the dull ache that is my worry for my dad and You.
I know I’m a weirdo. And I hope next week is better than this.
It’s that time of year again.
Searching the used bookstore, the campus bookstore and Amazon for the cheapest books. Hoping books and people arrive on time and undamaged. Traffic jams and pedestrian jams and freshman looking lost. Friend reunions and comparisons of class schedules and summer travels.
Class starts on Monday.
I don’t know if I’m ready. I mean, I’ve ordered my books, I’ve organized my schedule, I’ve got all of my ducks lined up in pretty rows, but part of me doesn’t want to start this school year.
It’s one step away from the real world. I’m nine months, nine classes away from leaving Chico and my friends. The moment the school year starts, it’s almost over.
And the problem is that I already know what will happen. A repeat of two years ago, when I was eight classes away from my AA degree. The moment the semester started, it felt like it was over. I was more concerned with ensuring my spring schedule and my transfer to Chico. My grades didn’t suffer, but I didn’t pay attention like I should have. I let myself get sucked into the future without enjoying the present.
I’m afraid that’s going to happen this year, too. ME, who among all my friends is the only one graduating with me, is already looking up available jobs at the publishing companies we would love to work at. She’s filling in the gaps on her resumé, making sure that she’ll have everything future employers will be looking for. And I’ll start that soon too. Nine months to forge a resumé that is as inclusive as possible, that makes me sound like the second coming and that failing to hire me would be a sin.
I have six classes this semester, and so much to do outside, it’s scary. I have to help ME in running Sigma Tau and attempt to make it less snobby. We have to make sure there is at least one person who wants to run for office next year. I have to organize our greek week offering—and convince the others that we need to do it, because the others don’t think an honor society should mingle with the commoners. There’s a booksale fundraiser to be put together, and open mic night, fliers and emails and websites. I have to learn InDesign more, find a mentor in the Communications Design department so that when I have issues while in the middle of my internship, I’ll have someone to turn to.
I also need to make time to write. I need to get in the habit again, get words flowing. Now is the perfect time to write a book. To write multiple books, and hope to get one published by graduation. Not only would that seriously add to the resumé, it would probably back all of my student loans.
But while I get enmeshed into all of this, I don’t want to forget to make time for my friends. Because I need them. We need to laugh and make fun of movies and complain about tests and texts and teachers. I need to figure out what’s going on with E or move on.
I need to not forget how awesome it is to be in this place at this time with these people.
The definition of awesome is “extremely impressive or daunting; inspiring great admiration, apprehension, or fear.”1 In other words: Josh.
There are lots of ways I could demonstrate the awesomeness of Josh. His favorite way to enumerate anything is by list. I’m a huge fan of lists too. So obviously, there is a list. An awesome list.
- Josh is awesome because he makes awesome play lists. He always comes up with music that is new to me, but is exactly perfect for the moment I’m in.
- Josh is awesome because he’s a great listener. Whenever I need someone to listen to me ramble and rant about what’s going on, Josh knows exactly what I mean and exactly what to say.
- Josh is awesome because he’s a google god. If I need research done, I don’t google Google. I google Josh. He can find anything, whether it actually exists or not. I think his speciality is finding things that don’t exist.
- Josh is awesome because he has an inside joke with my sister. That I don’t know. And they’ve only talked once. How awesome is that?
- Josh is awesome because he’s himself. It’s hard to explain how awesome a person is if you think that all of them is awesome. There is not a single part of Josh that I would say “meh, that’s not so hot.”
I heart Josh. I think everyone should heart him. Read his stuff, follow his tweets, stalk him in IRC. You won’t be sorry. He is super-mega-meta-awesome.
And in my part of the world, that’s high praise indeed.
- Definition from the Apple dictionary. [back]
