Awkward laundry post

So I’m sitting awkwardly in the basement of Eastman right now, waiting for my laundry to dry. I guess this can be a good exercise in seeing whether or not I’m capable of cranking out a halfway decent blog in eleven minutes (approximately).

I think that, overall, laundry time is a bad experience (unless you have someone to do laundry with). I don’t like the wait, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving my clothing unattended. It’s not like I believe someone will take it; but I don’t like to leave things to chance. So I sit down here and wait.

The lonely vending machine in the laundry room...

It’s not as if it’s unproductive. No, I finished all of my homework and now I don’t have anything mandatory to finish except for the Laitz reading, which I can do in about five minutes when I get back to my room. (It’s a big book, I didn’t want to have to lug it down with my bag and my laundry.) But other than that? Successful finish of the work for me today… and the homework for tomorrow and Wednesday? Totally out of the way.

So why is laundry awkward?

It is awkward in that the people who walk in, stare. And don’t speak. And then do their own laundry processes and leave. It’s like, what? Where would I go? Where else do I have to go that’s not the weird little room full of interruptions off from the kitchen, or my dorm?

So I sit here. And wait until my laundry’s done and I can shuffle over to fill my bag, then leave.

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Thoughts on academia

I don’t know what I think of college yet.

Today is my first “official” day here, and I don’t know what I think.

On one hand, I am excited for classes to begin. I try to relish the independence when I can. Sometimes I get light-headed. No exaggeration.

But on the other, I’d seriously love to be sitting on the couch right now with a giant bowl of popcorn and Lord of the Rings or Criminal Minds in front of me. It’s lame, but (a) they are the only two things on TV I really adore and (b) although I told Lucy I’d introduce her to Criminal Minds (she doesn’t have cable at home), it just won’t be the same.

I miss having my own space. I miss having someone there physically all the time for me to rely on. Although I’ve waited and waited and yearned for this time of my life, now that it’s here I am still pumped but there’s a streak of sad in it. A swath of strong blue that’s sensitive to the touch. I think it’s my childhood. Yeah, that fits.

Because to be honest it feels like, without me knowing it, even though I prepared for it to happen… my childhood, my whole past at home? It’s gone, it’s done. Yeah, I was aware it would happen, but perhaps I just didn’t see it as something so emotional. Something so deeply rending it just kind of sits there on your heart, shaking a little and whimpering softly to itself.

Earlier today I talked to a sophomore transfer student named Narissa (I think that was it. If not, my bad and I’m sorry). She was extremely friendly and is dual majoring here and at the River Campus (for some brain science insane major I didn’t entirely catch because it was noisy and I was still digesting caffeine). She was enthusiastic about everything, we share a taste in books, and observations regarding awkward situations. She told me one of the most reassuring things I’ve heard: “I love school.”

I’m counting on that obsessive, nerdy academic in me to grab that, too. I’m treating this right now as an extended vacation where I’m learning a shitload. That’s my outlook right now. I don’t want to dwell on the theory that I don’t belong at my house anymore. I don’t want to think stupid things, like, “that’s no longer my home.”

Where the heck else would I go? I don’t live here permanently, despite the chaotically organized debris scattered tastefully around me. For God’s sake, I only have two books here!

I could have made this prettier, but it is what it is