7:54 am. 5/15/10


after refusing to acknowledge my own alarms snooze for the last 3 7-minute intervals, the acceptance that my roommate would not soon be turning hers off finally roused me from my escape. tumbling out of my bed, i turn the curling iron on before crawling into the shower. before i can dampen my hair, all of my roommates are running around the house, shouting, panicking. we are 22 years old, and this is our graduation day.


i don't know how it got here so quickly, to be honest. i remember the saturday morning, now nearly four years ago, when i led the way to Wright Hall in my rusted out navy pathfinder, affectionately called "basil" until it finally croaked one summer break. mom and dad followed closely behind, and within minutes both our cars had been emptied and all my possessions were in a 12x10 room that i would share with the coldest natured human being i have ever met for the next 9 months.


but that was in the past. now, i was focused on ironing the belt for my dress, having a quick "graduation morning shot" with hailey, and running out the door to embrace the slogan of our soon-to-be-alma mater: FROM HERE TO ANYWHERE!


--
9:32 pm 8/31/10


As it turns out, "ANYWHERE," happened to be two miles down the road from my college house. Graduation came and went, and took with it four of my closest friends to remote corners of the U.S. Over a recent dinner, I explained this unnatural situation as your home being picked up and moved away from you, even though you're in the same place.

a bowl full of nerves.

I know people tend to use the word 'basket' when referring to what they store their antsy feelings in - i too have used the phrase for years, but it just didn't feel right when i said it earlier today. When I imagine what nerves must look like, I confess that my first visual is of a rather small version of ground beef. And of course the idea of ground beef in a basket is simply absurd. Swap the basket for a bowl though, and you're cooking - perhaps literally.

* For the record, I don't have a basket or a bowl of nerves at the moment. 

Taking the long way to Monday.

It wasn't until I entered the workforce that I came to admire the long weekend. Flying north for the weekend, I'm terribly excited to have Friday off! I've never been to Michigan before, so I'm looking forward to a few adventures. Namely sightseeing in Ann Arbor (and going to the H&M!).

Rain, Rain: Nashville drivers, you suck.


Well, it's official! I got into my first out-the-car-window verbal argument yesterday on my evening commute! I'll spare you the name-calling details, but suffice to say, I am ruthless when it comes to letting in those drivers who think they can skip to the front of a line via the turn lane, then sneak in at the very front. Regardless, my ultra-lengthy commute yesterday caused my roommate to hear my 30 minute rant on the horrors of Nashville drivers and their inability to maneuver a vehicle in poor weather conditions. I mulled over the same thoughts this morning, before ultimately deciding that the entire motorway probably was thinking the same thing. This was evidenced once I got into work and our clients began trickling in, all with horror stories of why they were late. We all like to think that we are the exception when in these situations, but truth be told, we're all pretty bad. I might have triumphed in the Battle of Last Minute Merging, but failed in the simple role of not blocking the intersection five minutes later.

I always thought I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. While they changed throughout the years, I always had a definite vision for my future. While my childhood dreams of becoming either a nun or Mary Tyler Moore didn't fit my decision to be a music business executive, both were there when I needed to find direction in where I was going.

For the first time in my life, I find myself with no direction. Having sworn off the business world for good, a recent NY times article caught my attention, boasting of historical preservationists fighting for a Russian monument. In the same 24 hours, I also seriously considered becoming a fashion designer, writer, anthropologist, or possibly an Eastern European scholar.

They say when you graduate from college, the world is yours for the taking. No longer hampered by the "college degree required" tag on most job listings, you are free to roam the classified in search of your dreams. Isn't life crazy though? For the first time in our lives, we experience the "true freedom," that inspired countless fights with our parents, and yet when obtained, it paralyzes us. Setting to the monumental task of answering "What do you want to be when you grow up?" definitively feels like tying yourself up with chains. Closing the door on all the other dreams we've dreamt in our life brings on a new feeling of sadness, unlike those experienced when graduating high school, moving away from home, or breaking up with your sweetheart. It, like so many current experiences, are alien to us.

What is life but a series of shuffling up and down the ladder of importance?

I still remember the first day of college. My family dropped me off at a shoddy brick dorm known as Wright Hall. As freshmen that semester, we huddled closely and didn't dare invade the space of revered seniors. Years later as a senior myself, I felt complete freedom and ownership of my soon-to-be alma mater. As a recent college graduate, I find myself once again at the bottom of the food chain, groveling at potential employer's feet for a chance to work a shitty entry-level job. And this feeling will no doubt surface again as my years progress: a newlywed, a new parent, a new mid-career worker. At some point, though, a strange reversal takes place. When you might think we would be finished with all the new kid on the block syndrome, we become out of place because of our experience, often intimidated by those younger than us who are quicker, smarter, and easily adaptable.

all i want to do right now is make
a summer dress from scratch.
instead, i'm left with spreadsheets
for a business plan.

Today i purchased old wooden frames from the local goodwill for 50c each. Attached was a small box of ancient photos. Aren't they fun?? Perhaps it is a little strange to look at pictures of passed lives - lives you have no connection with. For myself, i am more interested in their expressions; the adults never smile but the children can't help themselves!

For my purposes, i am repainting one to put photos of Pepaw Reid (grandpapa). Hopefully the second can house a blown up picture of the beech girls. Perhaps this one:


Song for the day: a girl from Denmark, adopting the name of CallmeKAT. Listen to "Sweet You."

will the world's worst blogger please stand up?

oh, right...that would be me.

so here it is, almost a year and a half since my last post, attempting to resurrect the old writings. you see, i always have grand ambitions that i will have one of those nifty blogs you see online. you know the ones - they look like pages out of a scrapbook. tales of thrifting adventures, tag sale galavanting, musical expeditions, city park jaunts...well, you get the point. so i set out to write said blog of odysseys, only to remember that life, or my life in particular, does not bear such frenzied trips.

but, with my third spring semester about to begin at Belmont University, there are stories to be told, memories to be jotted down. life at the beloved Beech House will no doubt produce a few stories. Life in the 8x10 Orientation Office at the Beaman will continue to usher in favorite friends and new faces, and interning at Youth Villages fifteen hours a week will hopefully be an experience i will never forget, whether i remember to write about it or not.

so with this in mind, here is my silly attempt to chart the progress of my journeys of 2009....fingers crossed!

harold and gloria.

harold and gloria held out their hands for me as i reached the top of the nine stairs
leading into the yellowed-brownstone. i know there were nine
(seven with cracks, four missing paint) because i always count
things when i am nervous, and this icy morning was no
exception. i have no idea why harold was wearing a long,
heavy overcoat nor why gloria had a thick sweater on. i only
knew these articles were needed and i somehow didn't get the
memo until after i stepped off the train at 9:34 on May 19th.
Too late. I clenched my thinly covered arms and tried to pretend
this 40-something windy weather was nothing out of the ordinary
for a mississippi native. this charade must have been half-believable,
for in a moment, gloria had accepted my decline for a jacket out of
her station-wagon and was carrying on with harold about the latest
city news. a lot of the first week in this city was a blur, but i remember
these few moments clearly. Here they were before me. Harold and
Gloria were real, live city-dwellers - the people I always envied.
Harold's chattering was filtered through an accent which could only
be pulled off by a native of the city. Terribly legit. Gloria didn't have
quite the credentials Harold was packing - she had lived in a country
town until she was seven. But that didn't matter to me. There was
something about this semi-retired photographer and school teacher
that i liked. They were nothing out of the ordinary and yet everything
about them was extraordinary. As Harold was getting off the 55
Express yesterday and I was walking away from my evening train,
he smiled and tipped the same old brown hat he wore the day
I met them both.
"How you doin, kid?"

whenever i fly, i always make a note to look into the sky while driving to the airport to see if there are a few clouds looming
over. my hope is that there are always a few because i know it means i'll get to escape into a different land once a few
thousand feet above my normal habitat. it is hard to be in a place that seems different from your world. that doesn't
have some element to remind you that it is indeed the same place. but above the clouds is one of those few places. take
off bounding across the airy stepping stones toward the most beautiful thing your eyes can hold, but oh, there's life again.
water or coffee, miss?