The Good, the Bad, the End

Well, I guess it's nearly the end. I feel like I'm army-crawling over the finish line of this summer, but I made it. I had some awesome times, and got some awesome laughs and pictures out of it, but I'd be lying if I said it was the best.

Many people who know me are aware of my opinions about returning to Stafford every summer, due largely to the fact that the few close friends I had in high school here have moved away, and I've never been able to find a job that didn't make me miserable (except for pet-sitting- I will never stop taking care of my neighbor's big dogs whenever they ask me... and loving it). So to be frank, with some specific exceptions, this summer was lonely, tired, and sometimes downright depressing. There it is. I can't pretend it was anything otherwise. I was forced to reach out to God day by day for strength and joy, and He showed up in cool ways and (as He does) provided me with exactly what I needed, right when I needed it.

But as I'm not Him, I still don't get His methods. I don't understand why every good job opportunity I had before or during this summer fell through or didn't pan out. I don't understand why every single friend I've had here has left at one point or another, leaving only me behind. I know that suffering produces endurance, and character, and hope, and that He knows my way when I don't...but that's about as far as I've got. Maybe that's as far as I'll ever get.

Either way, I'd rather recap some of the good that did happen.

I read the entire Harry Potter series for the first time, as well as a couple other great books.

I visited my family in California, and my older brother-like cousin Anthony took me to see the giant sequoias. It was a day packed full of so many things that I love: big trees, making fun of tourists, low-level hiking, trees, ice cream, reveling in nature, amazing photography opportunities, giant trees, spending time with Anthony, and did I mention the trees?

My dear friend Madison got married, and as a result I was in my first ever wedding. It was the bomb. I met some insanely amazing girls that were easy to befriend in a weekend, and watched Madison and her beloved exchange some seriously beautiful vows at a ceremony that made me cry with joy.

I finally achieved mermaid-length hair, you guys. I did it. It's been a long and tangly road. But we made it. 

I also went to the beach a couple times, and swam in my neighbor's pool enough times to get a decent tan (which I know I will appreciate when every day in London is rainy). Madi swam with me sometimes, and we pretended to play pool basketball and laughed until we almost drowned. Then we'd go to a fair, or a Korean spa, and live it up. She is the best person to be a kid with.

My roommate and I visited a couple times, and it was so, so sweet to get some one-on-one time with her at our respective houses before we both go abroad at separate times this next year. I realized just how much I love being a girl with her, and how wonderful it is that she is so unashamed about wanting to be a couch potato. I need that in my life.

And last and best of all, I hung out with Josh. A lot. We had countless adventures(I learned croquet! We rode 15 roller coasters in one day, all in the front row!), a couple epic road trips(using no GPS, only manual mapping), and awesome, awesome talks. He became my best friend even more than he already was.

I mean, come ON

But more than anything else, the bright spot of this summer was being able to look ahead. And that's what I want to talk about now. I'm studying at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art this fall semester (I leave in 12 days!), getting my certificate in Classical Acting, and I want to properly document my experiences living in one of the coolest cities in the world. So I'm taking this as my opportunity to officially close the door on this blog, and start a new one based around my travels this fall.

It's bittersweet. This blog has seen me through some of the best and absolute worst times in my life, and it's not exaggerating to say that writing here helped heal me many times. I've cultivated my love of writing, kept myself accountable to growth, measured important milestones, and processed deep sorrows and incredible joys on here. It will always be dear to me. But despite my deep resistance, I'm growing up, and it's time to start a new chapter. (I'm cringing just typing that.) 

If you have been reading this for most or all of these past 5 years, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Being able to hear people say that anything I wrote affected them positively was always such an encouragement, as was the knowledge that I may have been responsible for the genesis of several other blogs out there. I feel confident this little Blogspot is leaving a nice legacy behind. I will never forget the imprint this page, or you few precious readers, had on my life. 

*raises glass*

To the longest diary I ever kept. May its turmoil of emotional, heartwarming, sometimes-genuinely-mortifying ramblings always inspire me to write-and speak- the truth.

Signing off,

The Erdelatz Kid

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you'd like to read my new blog, by all means, do (or don't- I'm never one for self-promotion). Here it is:

https://talesfrompaddenswickroad.wordpress.com 

Tuesday/Thursdays At 3pm

Yesterday in Playwriting class (our last official one of the semester), we were supposed to spend a good chunk of time reading each other's one-act scripts aloud and giving feedback. What happened instead was much more riveting. I wish I had a video, but I was too drawn in by the moment and didn't want to break the spell.
Our professor, the gently formidable and whimsical Mark Stevick (or just Mark, as he insists we call him), got swept up recounting the time he saw the play that changed the course of his entire life- Orphans, by Samuel French. I've seen this play (on Broadway with Alec Baldwin and Tom Sturrige, no less) , and it's indeed phenomenal. But I've never loved it more than I did yesterday. In some sort of dramatic illustration of the power of throwing your audience right into the middle of the action (or something- I don't fully remember what brought it on, and frankly, who cares?), he launched straight into the first scene of the play:
"'Come on out, Phillip! I ain't in the mood for no games. Where are ya, Phillip?' Phillip's crouched in the corner. 'Don't tag me.' 'I ain't gonna tag you.' 'I'm tired of bein' it, Treat.'" He switched from the growling older brother Treat to the wide-eyed, huddling Phillip in a fraction of a second, spitting out the lines word for word. There was this moment of confusion, then delight between all of us at our desks as we exchanged wondering glances, realizing he knew the script by heart. His entire body language and mannerisms changed instantly from character to character. It seemed of the utmost importance that we grasp the dramatic power of the words. "And then Harold clamps his arm around poor Phillip! *makes a thumping sound of an arm hitting a shoulder* 'Do you feel encouraged?' 'Yeah.' I mean it's-" 
He painted his entire evening in that West End theater, right down to the Coke he drank at intermission and the British accents of the theatergoers around him. "'Whatta ya think?' *British drawl* 'It's quite good, yea.'" When he got to the end, he was crouched down on the floor, acting out the final scene of the weeping brothers. Then he was himself again, miming the tears streaming down the face of his former, theater-going self. "My whole body turned into a clap. 'BRAV-F&*#!-NG-O!'" He lept into the air, clapping with his whole arms. As long as I live, I will never forget Mark Stevick's whole body turning into a clap. My hands were pressed over my mouth, surpassing my joyous giggling. I think I was crying a little. He was, too. He came down from his theatrical high, waxing nostalgia about the power of great theater and what it had meant to him that night, tears in his eyes. It was incredible. We all applauded raucously when he finished.

It's moments like this when I think- how can I leave? How can the year be over? How can I spend an entire fall away from these people, and from English classes? How dare I? Not that Mark Stevick holds it against me. When I responded to his email inviting me into his 400-level Literary Journal class saying that I'd be abroad in London, he was nothing but thrilled for me. "London!" he kept saying in the email. That's how it ended:
"All the best,
Mark

London!"

I can't do justice to him or the class. But I had to at least write it down. Here's a video of him I did manage to take one day. It's horrible, but I was having too much fun to focus the lens of my iPhone camera.

Anyways. Hope that is a partially-fun snapshot of my college career thus far. I'm almost halfway done! (No need to remind me of that, by the way. I'd like to remain in denial.)

May's Euphoric Flowers

Every spring, I question if fall really is my favorite season. Especially here. After the dreary, heavy, endless New England winter that exhausted even my love of the crisp cold, there's something about the world regaining it's color that is nothing short of magical. It's as if I'd forgotten what certain colors looked like, and all of a sudden seeing gold and cream and magenta and emerald painting the trees gets my head spinning and my eyes popping out of my head with glee.

Even the tiniest taste of warmth is intoxicating. The northern chill still hangs in the air in the form of a sudden breeze or in dim patches of shade, but there are patches of sunlight where even the slightest shadow of cold is banished, and there's nothing but beautiful warmth. My skin is a sponge, soaking up every bit of it that my being can hold.

Soon I will be in bright, humid Virginia where the heat will hang around me like a blanket and lull me into constant drowsiness, but right now it is a gentle pair of arms, lifting me out of my winter slumber, shaking my shoulders and nudging my walk into a skip everywhere I go. It's wondrous.

Things I Love With All My Heart

My hair the morning after a good shower: deliciously soft, mussed up, wavy, still damp in the back.

The sound of a man shaving with a non-electric razor: the scrape of blade against stubble, like light sandpaper.

Similarly, the sound of long hair being cut with scissors and the crispness of each snip.

When I am burrowed deep into my comforter in the early hours of the morning, before the "get out of bed" guilt has set in, and it is wrapped snugly and folded up around and against my back, the perfect amount of cushion, and somehow the extra padding against my spine makes me feel utterly safe and calm.

When I am trying to massage my own neck and I press on just the right knot and it sends delicious goosebumps down every inch of my skin.

The way I can listen to Future of Forestry and hear the nights in the fall of 2012, walking the lonely streets of suburban Stafford, or hear Jukebox the Ghost and be transported to wintery car rides with Grace senior year, or hear the acoustic version of Painting Roses and see the sunny back roads through a windshield when I go home on breaks and realize I missed being alone almost more than I did being with people.

The smell of cinnamon, anywhere, anytime, especially on top of coffee.

Picking up things with my toes

The way I can go for a walk and take the person that I am around every other person in the world and shed her like a jacket. There's a whole other Self hidden underneath that comes out to play, and I'm the only person she's met and we like it that way.

Poetry about air travel (as someone who's probably spent more of her life in airports than out of them, it feels like home)

When the little strand on the left side of my head curls by itself

Having the realization that an embarrassing love for something is actually just some adorably quirky part of me that I can be proud of instead

The sound of water boiling and the knowledge that my macaroni will be done soon

Concocting incredibly elaborate unrealistic movie scenes (starring myself) to the music of another film score and pretending that if that movie was made it would still have that exact music

Being in wide-open or high places during a storm that involves heavy rain without wind, accompanied by thunder and lighting, while listening to dramatic instrumental music

Surprising people I haven't seen in ages by being somewhere they don't expect me and the look on their face and the endless hugging that ensues

The little butt-wiggle that cats do before they pounce on something

Being carried without having to ask

The White Masterpiece

When you have to shed 3 layers just to sit down in class without spontaneously combusting, or you've  run out of warm-enough socks long before laundry day, or you've trudged through the millionth snowdrift just to get to your dorm, it's easy to complain with everyone else that winter will never end and why can't it just be warm again and so on and so forth.

But tonight, as I gaped at pristine, untouched, massive drifts and took a bite from one (yes, I ate snow- it was perfectly face-level, can you blame me?) and watched the sparkly, cold white fairy dust swirl and dance around itself in corners and under streetlights and across the snowplowed pathways that quickly filled up again, I couldn't help but feel a little magical about it.

Yes, I have moments where I hope I never have to tug on these mediocre-quality, clunky, gaping-open-at-the-top snow boots. Yes, I feel like a marshmallow every time I pass girls wearing nothing but leggings, a North Face and those cute, hand-knit ear warmer/headband things (that I will never wear) while I'm wearing 3 pairs of pants and 2 sweaters and a huge coat and a giant scarf(yes, the leggings/Uggs/fleece jacket trend never actually goes away just because it's 12 degrees and windy at 3pm). Yes, it might be nice to be able to do something with my hair besides stuff it inside my coat and pull it out, snarling at me and frizzy with static, hours later.

But come on:

You can't help but be wistful whilst walking through this every day and night.

I'm also sort of glad it's been so windy today and yesterday. It means that no matter how diligently Snow Crew plows the walkways through campus (and to be honest, it's not incredibly effective to begin with), there will always be a few inches to walk through at all times, and I like the excuse to walk through snow. It makes keeping my head down against the freezing wind not so bad when I can watch my toes kick through fresh powder. I'm still dying to wade all the way across the quad at least once, but I should probably do some leg workouts first. (Some of the unplowed areas are almost chest deep at this point. Not kidding.) 

Never take the glory of nature for granted. It's majestic and creative and is practically screaming at us to look up and acknowledge the coolness of the God who imagined it. 

The branches have traded their leaves for white sleeves,
all warm-blooded creatures make ghosts as they breathe 

Home Again, Finally

There was the moment I stood up in the Boston airport to board my flight, realizing I was actually going home. I thought about my mom and brother eating dinner or watching TV at that moment, with no clue I was on my way to them. I thought about all the people around me, and how I was probably one of many in the airport making that last leg of a journey to people they loved. This overwhelming adrenaline rush hit me like a wave, and I had to swallow the tears that welled up in my eyes so the airport guy I handed my boarding pass to didn't think I was scared of air travel.

There was the moment I finally made it off the plane, down the long hallway to exit 7, across the street and into my dad's waiting arms, suitcase skidding into us both, and clung to him for a lot longer than I expected, trying not to cry as I climbed into the passenger seat so we could excitedly discuss surprise logistics on the drive home.

There was the moment my mom sat bolt upright in bed and gasped when she saw me standing in her room, before I tackled her and we hugged about seven times because each time we realized it wasn't enough. Eventually we realized we were a level of excited that only a 1:00 a.m. bowl of cereal would satisfy.

There was the moment this morning when I scooped up my cat and brought him back to my bed, and he immediately curled up under my arm and started purring, as if to say, it's about time. 

There was the moment I entered the school via the chorus room back door and four or five of my friends lost their minds with shock, hugging me until their indignant teacher straight up told me to leave, so I scurried down the hallway, grinning from ear to ear because all the cool college kids in the world just don't have that effect.

There was the wordlessly perfect moment of surprising Timmy at school.
The office lady and I waited for 20 agonizing minutes with my phone camera poised, my entire insides buzzing. Finally he came casually striding down the hallway with his backpack, and nothing will ever take away the perfect moment when he saw me and came running forward, his cool mask falling away as we bear hugged around the hallway for a full minute.
I was expecting him to vocalize some exclamation of surprise, but all that came out were joyfully dumbfounded chuckles... because he was literally too happy to speak.
Once he'd signed himself out and I'd gotten my phone back from the office aide, we started walking towards the side doors, but we couldn't stop hugging each other, and finally we had to stop in the middle of the hallway for a good long one. When we came apart, we were both wiping away tears, and suddenly he said what we were both feeling: "I didn't realize how much I missed you until I saw you."

----------------------------------------

And then there was the moment at dinnertime. We all filled our plates with the last of the Coco's curry rice and sat down. We held out our hands to each other to pray- and just like that, the circle was whole again, all four of us. And suddenly my mom and I looked up at each other across the table, and our eyes filled with tears because we were both thinking the same thing.

The Latest in Musical Discoveries

It's been a while since I've posted my latest favorite songs, mostly because it's rarely ever one song. But in this case, it's an artist: Andrew Bird.

I was sitting in Chester's the other night, partaking in warm chai and invigorating conversation with a couple friends, and suddenly the room was flooded with this magical music that perfectly echoed the fullness of my heart at that moment. (We were talking about God's amazing provision, manifested in the coolness of astronomy and my getting a role in the play, among other things, and I was overwhelmed with how blessed I was in that moment). I leapt up from my seat, ran over to the counter and requested the name of the song and artist. To my delight, Andrew Bird is one of those rare artists whose every song (not just one or two) hits some part of my soul in a unique way.

Friends, partake in my delight:


(the song playing at Chester's that night)



(a lovely instrumental I've taken to listening to in the mornings)

Not-So-Distant Horizons

I'm still not sure if the whole "done with grade school forever" thing actually hit me, but I did feel this awesome adrenaline rush when I walked across the stage and looked out at all the people at graduation. And when they officially pronounced us graduates, I felt this huge, wild joy rising up inside me and I felt like screaming and throwing confetti and hugging everyone... so I did. It was amazing. It was over in a flash.

And you know something hilarious? Up until then, I felt so unprepared and terrified for the idea of leaving home for good and being in charge of my very own self. Choosing classes, managing free time, shopping for my own groceries... it all seemed so foreign and scary.

But yesterday morning, I woke up and went online to Gordon College's website. I completed the Pre-Orientation online class and was not overwhelmed by the boatload of information it provided. I picked my first semester classes and felt... excited.

Today, I'm going to put on my new Fighting Scots t-shirt from my school (so fun to say that), scan all the papers that include the packing lists for the La Vida trip (I leave in barely more than a week! 12 days, no showers, here I come), and write down the exact number of athletic shirts and track shorts I have to shop for. I will be excited and not intimidated about the fact that I'm going to Dick's Sporting Goods and REI to look for clothes and appropriate shoes for running 8 miles. (Okay, still terrified about the whole 8 miles part, but whatever.)

I don't know what it was, but guys. I'm ready.

Maybe graduation really did it. Maybe at that moment, I was simultaneously filled with happiness for all my high school friends and teachers and rapturous excitement for all the incredible possibilities ahead. Isn't that how it's supposed to be?

Eeeeeee!!!!!
Here we go.


You sure must be strong,
when you feel like an ocean made warmed by the sun...

Dear Prom,

Your day is charged with a tingly anticipatory excitement from the moment my eyes squint awake. It's hectic, and the new curlers are frustrating, and there's always some last minute important thing that was forgotten. But I love it.

There's something exhilarating about being a girl on days like this. The oh-so-important scent of hairspray hanging in the air, the warmth of steaming curls next to your ears, the glitter of your rarely-painted nails, the sticky shine of mascara and lipstick. There's something strangely satisfying about sliding a zipper up your side to enclose yourself in silk and satin and beads. Suddenly, you're slipping painted toenails into the perfectly matching pair of shoes and the dress-transformation scene from Cinderella flashes through your head in brilliant color and you look in the mirror.

The angel-soft curls cascade around your face - which for once looks magazine-cover worthy, your dress snuggles around all the curves you want it to, you smell like sunshine and the Botanical Gardens, your eyes sparkle, and without realizing it, the word princess floats to the surface of your mind. Wait a second. This is the same person who looked in the mirror this morning and saw messiness and tired eyes, right? The transformation is nothing short of magical.

And then, as you finish a dreamy sigh, the doorbell rings, and your breath catches. The pumpkin carriage and the prince have arrived.

The night is young, and so are you.

Dear American Dream,

I couldn't care less about you.

I have no desire to attend an almost-Ivy-League college if it becomes my answer to whether countless hours of staying up and running my brain ragged were worth it. Nowhere inside my being is there an urge to climb the corporate ladder only to sit in a cubicle and kill trees with a printer all day.

I want adventure. I want to get my shoes muddy every time I do something new, to desperately scrape up money to take flights to southern France, to pack a suitcase in ten minutes for an impromptu drive out to amusement parks on the Canadian border, to take a roadtrip in my pajamas once every month or two.

Today, I hardly thought once about my less-than-passing grade in AP Calculus, nor did I set aside a proper amount of time to finish my AP Lit paper that's due next class... and you know what.
I can't remember the last time I was so happy to be alive...

Dear Prom Date,

I just want to keep saying that. :}

Thanks for making me blush in front of a crowd of people and then taking me out for a milkshake to cool down my face. It didn't work.

Thanks for always opening the car door, no matter how many times I try to dart in it by myself.

Thanks for making me think something was about to happen every time I went to the bathroom, or you left the room, or I turned around. You are a punk.

Thanks for not waiting until the morning of April 5th to show up at my doorstep with a dress. I would have hated you.

Thanks for inviting my whole family to the improv show and thinking I wouldn't notice them all in the back.

But seriously. Thanks for telling my dad. He likes stuff like that.

Thanks for being the first of those three guys to ask, and consequently being the guy that got all the "Awwwww"s from every girl in the audience.

Thanks for planning cool stuff like this.

Today was pretty cool thanks to you.

Guess now it's official,

can't back out :}

Green Plastic Disc

There is something so childlike and freeing about flying down a slope of white powder, not caring about how the freezing spray is making your face look, not caring about how girly your shriek sounds, not caring about what awkward body parts are going to hit the drifts in what kind of pile with those around you.

You can't just not love sledding. The most dignified of people look like complete fools when they're sledding. It's the best.

And there's a moment at the bottom of the hill, before you make the thigh-aching trek back up the hill, before you even wobble to your feet to brush the powder from your coat, where you're just laying there after the limb-flailing landing. You give your breath a minute to settle and just enjoy the childlike exhilaration. Maybe you stare at the newly forming constellations, or your frosty ghost of a breath in the air, or at your friend's pink-nosed and grinning face. But in that breathlessly blissful moment, there's just nothing to worry about.

It's just perfect.

That's why I jump up and down in front of the windows and beg everyone around me to go outside in the snow. You can't just not go sledding.

So Um Yeah Ack I Can't Geee

Right now, I'm kinda, just... *rambles giggled, unintelligible gibberish*

um....

*exhales quickly*

Basically, if I were to try and speak right now, words wouldn't come out. It would be pure, undiluted rays of sunshine.
And maybe even a rainbow.

So, essentially just...

this.

Every word of it. 

Dear Prince of Peace,

As You often do, You decided to totally surprise me, and because one good day wasn't enough, let's make it a double!

-I wore a t-shirt and old jeans all day, and I felt just as attractive as the girls who'd worn dresses and curled their hair for Club Picture Day. That's the definition of a win.

-The afternoon consisted of freezing wind, woodland paths, a bench overlooking water, and successful sunglasses conditions.

-It also consisted of some uplifting affirmation, some spiritual guidance, some well-thought-out strategy, and basically just encouragement. All over the place.

-There were also gingerbread cookies in there somewhere.

-What was supposed to be a boring and brain-draining evening became a surprise visit to an Italian restaurant and friendly conversation with (almost) total strangers.

-There was letter writing, and with it came the sweet remembrance of my old mentors, and joy at the possibility of following in their footsteps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So basically, um, You're even more amazing than I realized, and that shouldn't even be a surprise.

Just look at what happens when I take the time to give you a grateful glance!

Dear King of Kings,

You were so awesome today.

Well, You are every day, I suppose. But today I could see it all over the place! Let's start with 9:30am. I interviewed with a guy in a brown checkered jacket in a booth at the 610 Panera Bread.

He was a representative from Stanford University admissions. And....wow. Everything that I was worried about? Yeah, You took over the spirit of that interviewer, and suddenly it was You sitting across from me in that booth, telling me not to worry because You had it covered.

The best part, though(aside from the part where he said money would never be an obstacle I needed to worry about with Stanford, which was a huge burden lifted), was when he looked at me towards the end of our conversation and told me about how he felt like the "mistake" when he was accepted. And then he said,

"If you are fortunate enough to get into Stanford, consider yourself very lucky. And if you don't, consider yourself simply unlucky. It has nothing to do with your worth, or whether or not you "deserve" to be there. Because let me just tell you, and you tell your parents this as well. You are worthy. To be there. You deserve to be there, and whether or not you get in won't affect that. It's simply the luck of the draw."

I almost burst into tears. You were right there in that booth. I could feel it. It was amazing.

The rest of the day involved surprisingly easy homework, amazing worship at church, a delicious lunch, a letter, and wonderful fellowship in cars and restaurants and other such venues.

But to hear You tell me through the man in the brown checkered jacket, that I was worthy...
...was simply the most incredible and unexpected gift.

So I need to take a minute to thank You for it.

Wow, You're so wonderful. I can't even fathom it sometimes.

Continuing to praise,
Abby

Goodmornings

Waking up while buried deep in the white comforter is a conundrum sometimes. There's bluish, snow-softened light seeping through the blinds, and the coolest friend in the world is dreaming quietly under her purple eye mask next to me, and my hair is clean and nice-smelling and cuddling around my neck. But after those few seconds of dreamy, half-conscious bliss, the noisy, worried part of my brain wakes up and starts running around, fretting about its complaints.

Do I listen to the sunlight and the comforter and the teddy bears? Or the little worries?

I'm not sure.

But it's nice to wake up and for a moment, with all these tiny kisses from the sun showering me with little delights,
the other things don't matter.

Hello, world... we meet again.

 

Dear Thursday,

Way to exceed my greatest expectations!

Just when I thought the week was nothing more than mediocre, you decided to show up with a bag of awesome and knock my socks off. It's been too long since Thursdays lived up to my love.

To recount some of your joyous surprises:

-Spontaneous and shameless dancing in Creative Writing (in my desk, no less), followed by an outburst of fist pumps and ninja kicks down the hallway because I just couldn't contain the happiness that Olly Murs and La Roux and New Politics had jazzed into my brain through my earbuds.

-Successful wearing of a headband for the first time in, well, ever.

-The incredibly unextraordinary yet thrilling exchange that passed between an attractive boy in AP Calc and I this morning that went something like this:
Me: "How was the weekend?"
Him: "It was really great."
Me: "Good."

-Being informed that at least one of my writings is almost certainly being included in the six pieces that our school submits to a literary magazine for publishing.

-My first semi-professional audition for a play outside of school (for a lead, no less!) in which a charming and wonderfully intelligent old director man named Fred said I had a "lovely" British accent during my read.

-A long-overdue mint chocolate chip milkshake from Wawa.

-My first college acceptance letter, which just happened to be accompanied by a $16,000 scholarship.... y'know, just 'cause.

All in all, you were a beautiful and unexpected gift! Feel free to take it easy 'till you roll around again....you deserve it, grand friend. :)

Delayed December Reaction

Every year, it feels like Christmas later and later. The whole festive, Christmas-y spirit doesn't hit me until it's almost the big day, and by this year I was wondering if it would even hit me at all until midway through present-opening. That kills me. My favorite part of Christmas has never been the songs, decorations, peppermint mochas, or any of that crap. It's always been the feeling... the weeks leading up to the 25th, where everywhere you go, there's red and green and lights and scarves and Nat King Cole or Michael Buble on the radio.

And if growing up means every year I get less of that, well then it's Reason #576 why I'd rather not grow up.

But last night, as I was musing over the surprisingly happy ending to the day (consisting of a lovely Skype call, a successful English paper, and reuniting with an old friend over, yes, a peppermint mocha), suddenly, it hit me. I honestly think it may have been in the shower. Or when I was making my "Holiday Box" for calculus.

When I woke up this morning, Christmastime had struck. I was festive.

I fully enjoyed the Christmas music as I was getting ready, despite it being the same songs I listen to every year. I loved the fact that I accidentally got glitter all over my jeans, and that I was wearing snow boots, and I blasted Michael Buble in my kitchen at 7:00am. And loved it.

And literally, it hasn't stopped all day. I've been unnaturally bubbly and excited, all because the Christmas spirit finally hit me. I gave a friend their Christmas present and watched them freak out (because let's face it, I'm the best gift-giver of anyone I know), and I couldn't wait for tomorrow, which will be my Annual Day of Gift-Giving To All My Friends.

In a nutshell: it's officially Christmastime, guys. It happened overnight. I'm in the spirit as of this morning.

Let it snow.

Dear Penelope, Charlie, and Willow,

Watching you bat your little paws against the smeary glass at Petsmart and mew at my fingertips grazing the walls of your habitat, wishing I could hold you, yes, made me cry and wish I could take 3 kittens home for no reason, but you also brightened my day considerably.

You small animals are so incredibly therapeutic. All you need is to look at them. Sit on the dirty floor of Petsmart and let them melt you with their soul-penatrating gazes. Watch them chase each other's tails one minute and curl up in furry, sleeping bundles the next.

Suddenly you're sitting there squealing at the glass windows, making a fool of yourself, and you think, "Wait, didn't I have problems a minute ago? I can't fathom where they went."

And did you guys see the other girl? The one with the green and gray scarf, who was taking Snapchat videos of your antics. Keep an eye out if she comes back for you. Well, Willow at least. She's a good one, that chick. She'll take great care of you, and let you romp on her flowery bedspread and read you stories about Peter Pan and you'll have great fun chasing her scarves across the floor. And I'll come over and visit you, and we can all play together.

Sorry I had to leave, and know that it did in fact break my heart. But her and I were so full of peppermint mochas and happy energy that we couldn't stay forever.

I'll tell you guys a secret. That girl's my new favorite buddy. I could share steamy drinks and gleeful car rides with her any day, and I always come home with my heart fuller than it was that morning.
Kittens included or not.

So if she shows up again, feel lucky. Very lucky.

My Twin, Coree

Coree: A note to Abigail

When I need to be picked up, I just read this.

For anyone that doesn't really know what my life was like before I was here, this was it.

I miss it.

I miss my friend.

I love you too, dear.