Leaving Edinboro

My life is constantly in motion. It never ceases, always pushing towards the next unachievable goal. My college career has been condensed to the max, in three short years I have earned my degree as well as experiencing life like I never have before. It is difficult sometimes to look back on these last three years and remember all that has occurred. Every day I have been here is weighted with experiences and adventures that I will never be able to recall. Of the hundreds of “worst days of my life” and “best days ever” only a select few will be remembered enough to repeat them. Not that anyone is willing or wanting to sit and listen while I ramble on about these past three captivating years. The average life of a college student is four years, at which point we then morph into adults and move on. I am still a child. I can not even visit to a bar legally yet people are going to trust me to teach their children who are only a year younger than I am? How the hell does that seem logical? It doesn’t.

I remember vividly my first day here at Edinboro University. My mother and father dropped me off rather quickly since my sister had to be 6 hours away in Ohio by that evening. In approximately 2 hours I was moved in and left on my own. I slumped in my faded grey desk chair, staring out my third story window, wondering what the hell I was suppose to do now. I must have sat there for at least an hour before my mother called me on my Verizon Razor cell phone and asked how unpacking was going. I sprung up and began unpacking, apologizing for not doing so yet. She yelled and I apologized, end of conversation.

As time moved on I started to treat my parents differently. I began to lie more to them, not for the reason of wanting to hurt them, but just to help them realize that I could solve problems without them. That I could be on my own and make decisions with my own opinion in mind. My tattoo is one of these decisions. I hold a different belief about tattoos than my family. I have an opinion that does not match theirs. I have an independent thought about it. It feels good to know now that I can think independently, I can express this, and I can do it whenever, however I want. I have been through much since that first day of freshman year, sitting bewildered in my not yet unpacked dorm room. I still sit sometimes and wonder what I should do, but it is different now. I am not sure how, it just is.

Graduation still scares the hell out of me, as I am sure it does to everyone in my position, but I feel that I can deal with it. Maybe. There is really no need for remembering or forgetting, for in about two months I will be able to condense these past three years into one sentence. I went to Edinboro University.

Pride and teaching

Pride is an amazing thing. It can be considered a negative aspect of a personality yet we operate off of it in every day life. Had we no pride we would not conceive of keeping ourselves presentable or striving to go anywhere in life. A certain amount of pride, an amount that I do not know, is needed to not only succeed but simply to maintain every day life. I have had very few people tell me that they are proud of me in my life, and as unfortunate as that seems, just think about it for a while; how many times has someone said the exact phrase “I am proud of you” to you during your years? My guess is not as many as most deserve. Teaching has taught me the amazing things that people, especially young people, are capable of. Children are so wonderfully bright and engaging, they are absorbent, almost to a fault and never cease to stun me with their abilities and thoughts. Observing a seventh grade art class is something I believe everyone should experience at least once in life. A 13-year-old goes about everything with such gusto and pride, such fervor and passion; it leaves me quite exhausted just watching them. Even the way in which they interact is fascinating, every movement is so carefree, they never think about where their body is or where their hands and feet are placed. Always it is movement on impulse, action out of habit and inclination. I am starting to think that this is why young teenagers eat so much and are so clumsy. The amount of movement that the average 13 year old performs in a single minute can exceed many adults action for a whole hour. I suppose all children are like this though, movement without thought and impulsive limb motion with no thought involved. I am starting to love teaching the younger grades, seventh especially, for they are marvelously talented and intelligent, I feel that my mentality fits with them much better than any other grade and I am keen on finding out how well I will like elementary school.

Timothy Hortans

I am one of seven patronizing the long awaited Tim Hortans in Edinboro, PA. It is a clean, modern sort of shop, designed well and intriguing, it draws customers in with ease. The sandy brick lining the walls behind the counter vary in size, emitting a dynamic and active look. A strategically placed wall blocks off all the messy business in the back, that is essential for running a business, while supporting seven large black flat-screen televisions. The TV's sport advertisements for both Tim Hortans immaculate baked goods and Cold Stone's heavenly ice cream. The front counter itself stretches almost the entire length of the shop with two large display cases exhibiting the previously described delicacies.

As for the people, two have left since I arrived, leaving me one of four. A young couple sits two tables away from me flanking a Compaq computer. Neither one has emitted a single word since my arrival. Both stare at the shinny black machine , that he is operating so intently, I am certain it might run away. While the man supports his chin on a rough looking open palm, the girl leans on manicured knuckles. One finger, I notice, hosts a large silver diamond engagement ring. The stone's crystal clear faucets reflect the yellow light protruding from cone shaped fabric lights hanging from the ceiling. It is indeed a beautiful piece of jewelry. Her right hand, equally manicured but lacking the equivalent decoration, making her seem strangely lopsided, poises holding a white and blue bank pen on an empty sheet of white lined paper.

2-2

It is strange being back on campus, watching the students I once knew so well as they move about their day, consumed by their petty problems, which to them control their lives. Being on the outside of this, I seem to have grown a hard shell against these annoyances, such as classes, significant others and beverage choices. One such male entered the shop in his brown Carhart jacket; his swagger marked him as confident and in control of the simple existence he was leading. He stood at the counter, staring at the board of options for at least 3 minutes before making his profound decision. I admit, that even I have been guilty of this menial crime from time to time, but of course that does not come into considerations when I am judging others for my own entertainment. That male, I decided in my own head, was a poor semblance of a life form, that was hard pressed to make something of himself.

Many others after him approach the counter and gaze, bewildered at the wall of text. They had most likely seen this board many times before, but always seem to have difficulty interpreting meaning from it. Why is this, you may ask? The words are written plainly, even for a diluted college student, so what is the problem? I believe it is the French words that get people sometimes. Why can they not just say “This drink contains an obscene amount of chocolate!” Or “Drink this if you want an abhorrent dose of caffeine!” But then again, most 18-22 year olds do not know the definition of obscene or abhorrent, so that plan wouldn’t work. In short, I do not know how to solve this troubling problem and will tire myself over it no longer.

Story, pt One

Here is a little excerpt from the story I am writing. The main characters are Kam and Trust. Both are about 200 years old, with the looks of an 18 year olds, because of abilities that will be explained later. Hope you enjoy, it is one of the more slow, close contact parts of the plot. More exciting ones to come!

“Closer” Kam whispered “Just a little closer”

“I… don’t think I can” Trust whispered back “I am way past an arms length already"

“I just can’t do it… I’m sorry Kam” at that Trust backed several steps, to exactly Kam’s arm length away, and ran. They had been practicing approaching people, like they normally do at midday break. Trust had been about 13 inches away from Kam, the same place she gets on every other day. Had Kam wanted to hurt her in any way, he could have easily reached out with both lean arms and pulled her slight form towards him. She couldn’t take that risk, just being that close to him threw her mind into overdrive, reeling and rearing, trying to get away, screaming the danger she was in. Kam always exclaimed, when she came back from running, that she had appeared so calm and placid, why had she run? Trust had learned, over hundreds of years of torture, the skill of keeping her emotions cloaked by a serene facial expression.

Trust returned to camp after dark that night. Kam had set up their bedrolls and prepared a dinner of raw fish and berries by the time she came through the shadows. Trust walked slowly into the camp, behind Kam, silently as a doe. It wasn’t until she sat and slurped down the first piece of fish that Kam stood, turned and drew his sword; his feet automatically assuming an on guard position.

“Who is jumpy now?” Trust asked, reaching for out and pinching another strip of fish between her gnarled hands.

“Yes, well I was snuck up on.” Kam stated, joining her for the meal “At least I don’t run for hours, away from those that are right in front of me, and are trusted. “ he did not look at her as he said this, just selected a plump berry out of the bowl and popped it into his grinning mouth.

Trust frowned and slowly returned the fish to the bowl. She folded her hands in her lap and gazed at the ground, Kam was right, she admitted silently to herself. She had no reason to run from him, or anyone, unless they gave her reason to. It had been 31 years since she had touched another person on purpose. 31 years since she had felt someone else’s skin, leaned against them, held their hand. She looked back up at Kam; he was so kind to her, always taking care of her and protecting her. She had known him for so long.

She fluidly stood and took a step around their little picnic towards him. He stopped eating and looked up at her, turning his head to one side, much as a dog does when confused. Trust continued to look at the ground. She took another step, smaller than the last. Then another. She stood right next to him now, he bare toes only inches from his outstretched leg. Trust sunk to the ground, keeping several inches away from his body. Kam turned very slowly to face her, tucking his legs underneath him, watching her closely. She continued to look at the ground, also sitting cross-legged. This was the closest they had ever been, in all the time they traveled together, since they had been children some hundred years ago. Kam lifted his hand and slowly, very cautiously, reached out to her down turned face. He paused an inch from her, wondering what would happen if he continued, but only for a second, then, lightly as he could, he touched his fingers to her scared cheek. She immediately closed her eyes and leaned into his open palm. She started to cry silent tears; they rolled down her face gathering along his hand. Without opening her eyes she reached out and placed her right hand on his knee, Kam smiled in return and lifted his other hand to lift her chin. Her eyes met his; their gaze held for several seconds, both breathing in unison. Kam leaned forward, a breaths width away from her, wondering if she was going to flee. Trust didn’t run, she held his gaze, waiting to see what he would do next. Before she had a chance to consider more, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to hers.

Trust held there for a split second, then quickly stood turned and walked back to the other side of the dinner, sitting down exactly where she had been before. Kam blinked, mouth open, still poised from their fleeting kiss, wondering what had just happened. Trust on the other hand, was back to her calm controlled self. The piece of fish she had set down was already in her mouth, as she ate it slowly she smiled.

Snow Day Number two

Today is another snow day. Remember back to when you were a kid and how you loved snow days? Yeah well, there nice for a while, until you have absolutely nothing left to do. I am going to be so bored today! Hopefully one of my friends will save me from boredom!

I re-read my post from last night, and realize now that it is quite ridiculous. But no matter, I will leave it up, for the simple matter of that being my thoughts at the time. I really don't know what got into me. It was like someone had just woken up a piece of me that desired that sort of thing. I have always had a problem with the concept of love. Last night I even looked it up in several online dictionaries to see other peoples definition of it.

Now the kind of love you have for friends, I have no problem with. I tell my friends all the time that I dearly love them. It is the romantic love that I seem to be incapable of; all I have is infatuation. I wish I had some one to practice this sort of love on. I need a test. A practice run. A trial. I have to know if I am capable of it. You see, I have only dated one person, and I told this person that I love them, but I am not so sure I actually did. Right now I go through these fazes, in which I become abnormally obsessed with a guy. Actually I have one right now that has been going for about 7 months. I can't seem to get him out of my head. I would rather hang out with him, and 2 others, more than anyone else in the world. I don't think he understands this at all. Of course I cannot tell him about this ridiculous 'love" for it would most likely get us nowhere. I was always told that if a guy liked you he would do something about it. He would make it happen. During my online search last night, I found a peculiar article about sucessful women, women with a brain, scaring men away. I know in stature I am not very ferocious, but in mental state and statement, I am a force to be reckoned with. I will have to work on being normal so that I won't frighten people away anymore.

thoughts.

On average I get depressed at least once a day. Something hits me and sparks feelings that run rampant until I can find something to distract myself with. On occasion it is more like 2 or 3 times a day. Today, for the simple reason of the day starting off on the wrong foot, was one of the more extreme days. I have considered quite a bit within the span of today and I had a very engaging conversation with a good friend of mine. This conversation consisted mainly of discussion of the topic surrounding my endless need for physical comfort. I crave it so badly it hurts. To prove a point, during our discussion, I reached over and put my hand on his knee. I felt instantly more calm. It was like someone had given me a sedative, except this little jolt I experienced in my upper chest, near my neck. I don't know why physical touch does this to me, I don't even know if anyone else has this problem, but I consistently run into problems when attempting to manage it. My friend said that I will go crazy the first time I sleep with someone, and I believe him.

But enough of this now, I must get to bed.