You Might Be an English Major If...

~ You like to laugh at whoever made notes in your literature book before you. They had no clue what they were talking about.

~ You get a special thrill when you've already underlined a passage your professor highlights in class.

~ It takes you three times longer than necessary to study for a literature exam, because you keep getting caught up in how beautiful the words are.

~ Your idea of "relaxing" is paraphrasing Paradise Lost in modern English.

~ You're reading a book for pleasure, but keep feeling like you ought to be taking notes.

~ People ask you grammar questions instead of looking up the answers, because you're faster.

~ Some of the truest joy you've ever felt comes from finding a book source that is truly PERFECT for your research paper. (This happened to me about an hour ago and I'm not gonna lie, I'm still coming down from it.)

~ If listening to your favorite song looks like this.

~ You experience gut-wrenching horror, anger, and sorrow when book-burning is mentioned.

~ A fun evening of relaxing can totally include watching a Macbeth adaptation or reading scholarly articles on femininity in "The Birthmark."

~ You are beyond tired of the question, "So do you wanna teach then?" English majors do not have to be teachers any more than math majors have to be calculators.

~ It feels completely normal to spend 80 minutes talking about phallic and yonic symbols. In fact, you don't really even notice.

~ The inappropriate use of "literally" makes you want to walk away from a conversation--LITERALLY.

~ You are the go-to person whenever someone needs his or her paper edited. And you don't mind.

~ You hear the phrase "country matters" and start giggling mischievously, because Hamlet.

~ You check out a book at the library called "Gold-Hall and Earth-Dragon:  Beowulf as a Metaphor" JUST BECAUSE IT SOUNDS INTERESTING.

~ You have turned in over 100 pages of writing this semester.

~ You cringe whenever directly quoting forces you to use controversial punctuation. {I like my Oxford commas, thank you very much.}

~ You actually have an opinion on the Oxford comma.

~ You go out with your friends and end up talking about Hamlet's psychological state, why you're in love with Emily Dickinson, and how Wallace Stevens was a total nihilist.

~ You care enough to compile a list of things called "You Might Be an English Major If..."

Bonus Round:
You might be a SENIOR English major if...

~ You accept the challenge of writing a paper on a text you have not quite finished reading.

~ You email your professor a question about your paper and justify crossing off "work on paper" from your To Do list.

~ You really hope your professor remembers the amazing paper you wrote freshman year and gives you a massive benefit-of-the-doubt about this current one.

~ You write a blog post about your paper and justify crossing off "work on paper" from your To Do list.

~ You do not crumble at the thought of reading 250 pages in a weekend, and another 400 between Monday and Thursday.

~ You start crying when your professor changes a paper requirement from "12-15 pages" to "10-12 pages."

~ You start crying when your professor postpones a paper deadline by a week.

~ You just generally start crying a lot.

You might be a senior English major at Campbell University if...

~ Your professors are some of the most important and amazing people you've ever had in your life, and you are going to miss them every bit as much as you're going to miss your friends. Free pizza.

I'm not even going to make a joke about Just Kidding I'm Gonna Miss Free Pizza More.

I can't believe this part of the journey is almost over.

~ Stephanie

Bitch, I Can Accomplish More Than One Thing

I’m not sure if I’m staying angry so that I can write this, or if I’m really still furious. I was definitely furious half an hour ago though, of that I am certain.

I teach a section of a class at Campbell called the Campbell University Freshman Seminar (CUFS). It’s basically just a required class for freshmen about how to succeed in college. To be a teacher of this class, I attend meetings every other week with all the other student teachers and we learn teaching strategies and styles etc. Tonight was one of those meetings.

Tonight’s meeting was about Stress Management, and Goal Setting. Stress Management was really fun: we did breathing exercises, listened to music, and colored. Then came Goal Setting, which involved The Stoplight "Game."

We were each given fifteen sticky notes (five green, five red, five yellow). On the red, we were to write things we want to stop doing next semester; on the green, things we want to start doing; on the yellow, things we want to keep doing.

At first it was hard to come up with things, but once the juices got flowing, I really enjoyed the activity. Visualizing my goals made me feel more productive and capable.

Then we lay all the sticky notes in front of us.

“All right,” Carrie, the leader, said. “Now, take away five of them. If you had to give up five goals for next semester, which ones would you discard?”

Ugh, that sucked after working so hard to pick really important things. I was annoyed.

“All right,” Carrie said. “Look at these ten things. These are the ten things you most want to be sure to do next semester.” We all nodded. “Okay, now take away five more.”

Now it just wasn’t cool. I stared at my goals, things like “Make Time for Creative Writing,” “Read my Bible Every Day,” and “Work Out More Consistently” and felt genuinely persecuted as I had to strip five more away. Who was this bitch to tell me that I could only accomplish five damn things next semester?

I still had seven when she beamed at the group again. “All right, now that you have five in front of you—” (“I still have seven,” I muttered to my small group as I finally stripped away "Stop Putting Off Getting Started" and "Start Writing Letters Again") “—I want you to take away two more.”

I glared at her. Wow. Now I had to take away “Blogging” and “Getting the Hard Stuff Done First” (an awesome strategy I’ve somehow just recently bought into).

“Now,” she said. “You guessed it. What if you could only have one goal in front of you? Discard two more. What is the most important thing to you?”

“Wow,” I muttered to my small group. “Obviously ‘Send Out My Resume and Get a Real Job” is the one thing that has to stay. I have to get a job.”

I stared at that little green sticky note which—just minutes ago—had held promise and productivity and passion, and I hated it. I hated its dirty fucking soul.

I had watched my colorful and well-rounded array of life goals boil down to “Hey Bitch. Get your ‘real’ life together.” I had watched goals like “Start Writing Letters Again,” “Eat Healthier,” and “Hang Out With My Roommates” get stripped away because they weren’t “as important” as practical or obligatory shit like “Read My Bible Every Day” (sorry, Jesus, I love doing that. I honestly do. Which is why it was fucking stupid to make me discard it) and “Send Out My Resume.”

It’s just not fair. Seriously, who is this bitch who thinks I can only accomplish one damn thing?!

We then had to continue this activity by sharing with the group and making a timeline for achievement, complete with intermediate goals. As people shared, they had fun insights like “My number one ended up being ‘Get Organized,’ and it’s funny because I realized that if I just get organized, I’ll actually achieve my number two and three goals, which were ‘Study More’ and ‘Sleep More.’”

“Great!” Carrie would say. “That’s great! That’s exactly right. Isn’t it cool how you figure out that by achieving your ultimate goal, a lot of the little things fall into place!”

Except that I actually arranged my goals so that they didn’t overlap like that. ALL of my goals were individually important.

“This might be a fun activity to do with your classes,” Carrie said. “We’re happy to provide sticky notes if you want to come by the office and grab some!”

I will set my classroom on fire before I subject my beloved freshmen to this, I thought.

See, I understand the purpose of the activity. It was to help us prioritize, and that part WAS really interesting. (So interesting that I’m actually going to end this post with my goals in order.) It just also depressed me completely.

Why would you make me come up with things I want to do with my life, then direct me to discard everything that adds color and joy and personality, because—sorry—they can’t realistically make the cut because I’d rather “Start Working Out” than “Start Writing Letters Again.” First of all, that makes me feel like a really shitty person when you make me visually depict the fact that I guess I care more about how I look than keeping in touch with people? Except that I don’t think I’m a shitty person (at least not because of that). I think I can do both of those things perfectly well. Back the fuck off and let me keep my goals.

I know I sound like I’m getting way, way, irrationally angry about this. And maybe I am. Maybe I’m just PMSing. But I just think it’s really painful and unhelpful to make a college senior reduce her life to “Get a Job, Bitch.” But maybe that’s just me.

We shoulda done the Stress Management Workshop last.

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

15. Clearing Out My Email Inbox Regularly

14. Meeting Up with My CUFS Kids/Keeping in Touch with Them

13. Wasting So Much Time on Facebook

12. Letting My Room Get So Messy

11. Assuming People Don’t Remember Me

10. Hanging Out with My Roommates

9. Eating So Much Junk Food

8. Making Time for Creative Writing

7. Writing Letters Again

6. Stopping Putting off Getting Started

5. Doing the “Hard” Stuff First

4. Blogging

3. Reading My Bible Every Day

2. Working Out More Consistently

1. Sending Out Job Applications/Resume

 ~Stephanie

What Started As a Fragment, Has Ended in Roommate Sap

It's been a long time since I just talked here, since I didn't wait for a coherent idea or a fun question to wrestle with or a bunch of sappiness about Gem. I don't have any complete thoughts to share with you, just a lot of...well, fragments. At least I think they are fragments. You know how I get when I write: one thought will sometimes keep unfolding before my fingers until it's a real post. Right?

~ In three days, I will move into college for the last time. I know everyone always says this, but seriously, how was it three whole years ago that I moved in as a freshman? I was so...unhappy. I wasn't excited to be going to Campbell at all. I was mad at the perceived failure of not going to Wake Forest. I was jaded by my weird romantic relationship. I was lost in my spiritual life. It was awful. You could not pay me enough money to go back to freshman year.

{Of course, my roommate, Bekah, was actually awesome. We went to bed at the same time, watched the same TV shows, liked the room at the same temperature, listened to the same music, needed the same motivation to go to the gym. She was gorgeous and funny and did not care for drama. I'm convinced it was the most successful random roommate pairing of all time. But other than her, life as a freshman mostly sucked.}

But now? Now I am Happy.

My suite mates are the college girl friends everyone promised I would find. They're the people who will go with me to Walmart at 2 o'clock in the morning because I need frozen pizza. They're the people who will just sit down in the hallway with me and hang out there because I'm too stressed and depressed to make it to the living room. They're the people who I can take stupid BuzzFeed quizzes with for hours. They're the people whose opinions matter to me, whether about my earrings or my dinner decision or my boyfriend.

I hope I will be friends with them for the rest of my life; but if I'm not, if we drift apart and fall out of contact, I will never forget them. I will look back on "college" and hear us laughing and feel us walking across campus and remember us dancing and smile at our late night talks.

Gosh, I'm going to miss them. I'm going to miss congregating in one our rooms to pick out clothes for the next day. I'm going to miss "family dinners" where Harley makes chicken or spaghetti and the rest of us throw together some sides. I'm going to miss movie nights where we talk over most of the dialogue. I'm going to miss messing with each other and memorizing all the weird quirks and habits to make living together as easy as possible.

Harley doesn't let anyone touch her blankets.
Allison wears camis under everything, even T-shirts.
Mary is always cold.
Harley loves Captain America.
Allison loves Ed Sheeran.
Mary loves Baby Groot.

I'm not sure what the point of this post is. Reminiscing, I guess. But it could also serve as a reminder to y'all and to my future self that things get better. Freshman year sucked. But I didn't run away; I stuck it out, and my life is beautiful now.

If I had left Campbell, every single thing about my life would be different. I wouldn't have my suite mates, I probably wouldn't be dating Gem, and I wouldn't have had such amazing professors and therefore an amazing education. I wouldn't have had the same internships or tutoring experience or copy editing position at the paper.

Everything is worth it. My one real regret in life, the one thing I've said I would change (not getting into Wake Forest) has ceased to be a regret. It is hard to say that given a do-over I wouldn't apply to Wake Forest. But it is a no-brainer to say that I am overjoyed to have gone to Campbell.

Senior year, I'm {getting} ready for you.

~Stephanie

 Freshman

 Sophomore

 Junior

 A few weeks ago XD

Thankful. Or "Hashtag Blessed," If You Will

This has been an enigmatic Thanksgiving.

I got home on Monday night with two term papers to write completely. They have made me stressed, irritable, and unable to relax. {I still love being an English major. But really, fml.} As I type this, I have one complete rough draft of one paper {due Monday}. Today I will research and outline for the other {due Tuesday}, and write it tomorrow and Monday.

I really need an A on both papers. Unfortunately, I think I only have the time, energy, and resources to pull out Cs or Bs. But hey. In five days, it'll be over. For better or for worse, in five days there will be nothing I can do and I am pretty damn sure I can live with that.

For the next fifty minutes, I am giving myself a break. I will eat lunch, and I will blog. Because deep down inside, I'm actually perversely happy. This Thanksgiving has kind of sucked, but at the same time, it's been uniquely great. I want to take some time and Be Thankful since I didn't actually do it on Facebook like everyone else on the planet.

Family

Or more specifically, a Mom who's like my best friend, partner in crime, and confidante now {when did she stop judging me and start being my ally?}; a Daddy who always looks for the best in every person and every situation; and a sister who I would CHOOSE to hang out with pretty much any day of the week.

Roommates

Or more specifically, Harley {the redhead with the thumbs up}. Harley is my best friend at school. We get along flawlessly. I think we're the only two in the apartment who haven't gotten on each others' nerves. I help her with her papers; she lets me use her printer. She washes the dishes; I pick up her late-night cravings on my way back from work. There are no conversational boundaries. We laugh til we cry. And we form a Thermostat Team against Mary and Allison who like the apartment to be Hot As Actual Balls.

Internship

Yeah, it totally sucked away all my homework hours and made me have to do these papers over freaking Thanksgiving. BUT it also introduced me to the world's best boss, the world's coolest coworker, the world's greatest coffee, and a lot of unbelievable opportunities for the future. So cheers.

SRMUN

The Southern Regional Model United Nations conference. Like the internship, this conference kind of made my life Hell and contributed to having to do papers over freaking Thanksgiving. BUT AGAIN, I met amazing people, made hilariously awesome and eye-opening memories, and opened excellent future doors. So I am thankful it happened.

Cassidy {on the right}

Who apparently doesn't have any recent pictures of just herself. So I am also thankful for Allison on the left. But Cassidy is the girl I am closest to on the planet. I can't live without Sarah, and Harley is my everyday buddy, but Cassidy knows it all. She supports me, listens to me, advises me, helps me see things more clearly {including myself}. We laugh together, have those eye conversations, discuss makeup, discuss people, discuss futures. She may or may not have a Pinterest board dedicated to MY wedding one day... She's gorgeous, brilliant, loyal, hilarious, and I am so lucky to have her in my life.

No More Wisdom Teeth

Seriously. Having my wisdom teeth removed had been hanging over my head for like a decade.

The Road Trip

After three years of joking around, we took the trip of a lifetime. Those laughs, pains, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and stories will be a highlight of my life until I die. I'm sure. From sharing a tent, to belting out songs in the car, to seeing the St. Louis Arch, to walking around Chicago at night... There are no words. Just trust me when I say this trip easily ranks in the top five Best Experiences of My Life.

Working Out

The place, the ability, the people to do it with. I love feeling strong and healthy.

This Kid

I'm sorry. I'm just really, really, inappropriately, overpoweringly happy that I'm dating him. I'm not even gonna try to be sarcastic and offhand about this. I'm in love with him and I think he's amazing.

He's the kind of guy who would like to spend an evening playing cards, but went out clubbing with me anyway.

He's the kind of guy who gave up forty-five minutes and a lot of convenience to figure out a way to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with me.

He's the kind of guy who buys me books and reads Paradise Lost for me even though he's not an epic poetry fan.

He's the kind of guy who can both make me blush and make me feel genuinely valued.

I've been lost in love before, and it almost destroyed me. But being lost in love with Gem feels an awful lot like being Found.

Runners Up for Most Appreciated In My Life:
1. ChapStick
2. Coffee
3. New windshield wipers
4. That hangnail finally leaving
5. Not having to have braces
6. Chocolate

And also, thank YOU for sticking with me :) I really do love you guys.

~Stephanie

Colors on My Soul

"Teal”

10/27/14

I loved a boy with a teal soul.

He had teal eyes,

Neither blue nor green.

Ambiguous. Enigmatic.

Small and piercing; slicing, sharp.

They were a one-way door.

Sly and sneaking, seeking.

Secretive. Shocking. Stealthy.

They pierced, they sliced,

They sought, they stole.

It was a teal soul.

"Green and Gold"

10/28/14

I love a boy with brown eyes.

He has a soul of green and gold:

Deep with alive; rich with warm.

Gentle and bold.

Present and open; promising, proud.

They brought integrity.

Passionate and polite, perceiving.

Persistent. Pursuing. Purposeful.

They healed, they prodded,

They praised, they protected.

It made me whole,

His green and gold soul.

~Stephanie

A Spirare

I just hit the "Publish" button on the post called "Aspirations." I clicked "View Blog" to proofread it again, and was struck by that word:

Aspiration.

Out of nowhere, its Latin roots assaulted me unbidden:  a meaning "of, from, by, since" and spirare meaning "to breathe."

Aspirations:  Something from which we breathe.

Our aspirations--our goals, our dreams, our desires--are not only what we strive to, but what we breathe from. They aren't just in our futures, they are in us now, motivating us. When we breathe, we breathe because we're working toward something, working to be something.

I got up this morning because I aspire to be an English major. To be an English major, I must get up and read things and write things and study things and drink a lot of coffee (it's in the major requirement. Don't check; it's there)--and breathe. Because I aspire to be an English major.

I'm really starting to love the word "aspire." It is a light word. It's airy and crisp and invigorating--like a breath, I suppose, but a really good one. A breath of cool, sharp air that fills you with energy like electricity and makes you want to jump higher and run faster and smile brighter.

Aspire.

To what do I aspire? From what do I breathe?

I aspire to be a lover of words:  to speak them effectively, read them closely, write them artfully.
I aspire to be a champion of truth, valuing it in people, institutions, and ideas.
I aspire to travel:  to see places that amaze me and meet people who change me.
I aspire to know God and make him known.
I aspire to drink my coffee at a mature pace.

From what do you breathe?

~Stephanie

Aspirations

You know how some people--and maybe you're one of them--can make a cup of coffee or a bag of M&Ms last for like hours? The cup just sits beside them on the desk as they attend to their work with focus and tranquility, largely oblivious to the delicacy at hand. Occasionally they'll take a sip. The steam starts to subside, but they don't seem to mind. They have mastered the arts of moderation and indifference.

I am profoundly jealous of this mastery.

I first noted this kind of detachment when I was eight years old. Matt, a first-grader, would come over to our house after school if his babysitter had some other commitment. Sometimes Mom would give us a snack--chocolate chips or something--to eat as we did our homework.

My chocolate chips were always gone within the first three or four minutes. They were delicious, and after a single chip, I became a temporary chocolate addict. I couldn't resist eating them one after another until they were gone, and my homework barely started.

Matt did his homework with the meandering, selective attention of a little boy who does not want to use a number line to practice subtraction. However, he ate his chocolate chips the same way. Every few minutes, he would blink at his snack as if he'd just remembered it, pick up a couple of chips, and then immediately forget his snack's existence again.

How could he care so little about chocolate chips? How was he not driven crazy by their tempting presence until it was fully relocated into his stomach?

As a third-grader, I chalked it up to the fact that Matt had funner food at his house (which was true). He was used to candy for snack; it wasn't a treat for him. It has lost its novelty. I wondered if the same phenomenon would be true for me if I ever became rich enough to have fun food on hand at all times.

To some extent, that philosophy proved true. My family now has orange juice on a regular basis, and I no longer feel compelled to drink it all the time just because it's there. The same is true of cookies, and Cheez-Its, and flavored yogurt. I have risen above the animalistic urge to consume these relatively mundane foods.

However.

With "treat" foods and beverages, the art of pacing oneself is still lost on me. I buy a smoothie, and it's half gone before I'm even back in my dorm room. I open a 2-serving bag of M&Ms, and within ten minutes, it's empty. I grab an iced coffee on the way to work, and I'm sucking at the ice fifteen minutes later.

Meanwhile, I watch people around me exercise this intensely classy combination of absentminded appreciation and tranquil indifference to their "treats." Large iced coffees go minutes and minutes and MINUTES without even being touched, and people don't even seem to be struggling to resist.

Maybe they're just all rich and have treats all the time and the novelty has been lost, like Matt with his chocolate chips? Or am I totally and abnormally self-control-deficient when it comes to delicious things?

All I know is that I envy the air of maturity embodied by people who can resist their treats. It's a level of maturity to which I genuinely aspire.

And I will get there, even if it means drinking steamless coffee and drooling on my keyboard.

~Stephanie

Double Life

I feel like I'm leading a double life.

On one hand, I am happier than I've ever been in my entire life. I am happier than I ever thought possible--much happier than I deserve.

It's the people:  my suitemates are perfect living companions:  we get along flawlessly, balancing late-night life discussions and sessions of politely ignoring each other while we do homework. We laugh loudly and often and share inappropriate details about our lives. It is truly awesome.

Cassidy is still my best friend. We understand each other, support each other, and share hilarious text messages that make me burst out laughing in moments of silence. Our relationship feels the same, except older. I think it's what growing up is supposed to be for best friends.

And Gem. Things with Gem are amazingly great. He gives direction to my aimless everyday inefficiencies and overwhelming mundane endeavors. I take the best naps with him. He has the best story ideas. He's the best kind of stubborn. He sent me a Batman ice cube tray in the mail the other day, for no reason. He takes me on dates because he likes to. He sends me spontaneous flirting texts in class and I cannot help smiling.

These people light up my life. Sometimes it almost makes me cry. God is so great. He has blessed me more than I thought possible.

I am so happy.

But on the other hand, I have never been this miserable for this long in my entire life.

This entire semester has been depression and struggle and frustration and helplessness. I have not had a single day where I woke up with a smile and thought I can do this. Every morning has been like a punch in the stomach, oppressive and nauseating.

It's a rule that semesters start off rough, you know? It's hard to shake the summer mindset. It's hard to say goodbye to friends and family back home. It's hard to watch the tan leach from your skin. I expected these routine difficulties. But I did not expect them to persist relentlessly into my third month of junior year.

I am DROWNING in homework, internship, tutoring, and copy-editor duties. Drowning isn't even the right word. Suffocating? Flattening? My Model United Nations class consists of "Here's a textbook. Read it, understand it, and be prepared for tests on it. Also, please become intimately familiar with all current events and events pertaining to the UN from the last fifty years."

There's a conference coming up in November, where I will represent Belgium on a UN committee COMPLETELY ALONE. I have no idea how to prepare for that.

In another poli-sci class, I am the only non-political science or criminal justice major. I have a midterm in that class tomorrow. I haven't had time to study for it.

In all my three English classes, which I love, I think I've completed about ten readings. There has been a lot of skimming and SparkNoting and bullshitting. I hate doing that. I love being an English major. If I didn't have all the tedious, impossible work for my political science minor, I might love my life.

But as things are, I honest-to-God do not know how I'm going to keep going. Am I going to start failing classes? Am I going to start getting sick all the time? Am I going to lose myself in this relentless struggle to juggle my life?

I feel so trapped. There aren't classes or jobs that I can drop. I have to keep doing everything, but it's only going to get worse, and I'm barely keeping my head above water as is.

I love school because I love learning. But at the same time, I do not want to do this anymore. I am so over being constantly graded. I am so over living a life that is functionally disconnected from Gem. I am so over the entanglements of busy work and...just academics.

I know that I don't want to quit school, but at the same time, these overwhelming feelings of depression and helplessness are not tapering off as the semester progresses the way they normally do.

I'm just frustrated. I know exactly what I want with my life, I just can't reach it yet, and I can't tell if I'm on the surest, most efficient path toward that goal. Am I somehow causing myself unnecessary pain and stress? Or is this just the way it has to be for now?

No answers, only questions.

The reality of impending adultness continues.

~Stephanie

Giaraffe Emesis

I hope that this will be a brief post. I've been really productive this evening, so I don't want to break my flow, but I was also suddenly seized with the need to say something here.

I've been blowing through pages in my "New United Nations" textbook like nobody's business. Seriously, I think I read like twelve pages in an hour and a half, and that is flat-out UNHEARD OF. I'm even in the basement of the library, a place I usually reserve for literary homework. I have a strict No PolySci Homework policy when it comes to the library:  I don't want to taint these sacred halls with the wrong kind of stress.

But this evening, polysci did not stress me out, so I made an exception.

Since coming to college, I have been listening almost exclusively to Mutemath's self-titled album. When I start getting ready for bed, I turn on Mutemath and hit my iHome's Sleep button until it promises to turn off in 30 minutes. Sometimes I'm asleep by the time the music stops; sometimes Gem keeps me up longer.

At any given time, I have 70+ pages of reading to do. I must read about the evolution of the United Nations; I must read about ethical philosophers and how their views apply to the government; I must read about different literary approaches (Allison:  "So you're literally reading about reading?" Me: "...well, when you say it like THAT..."); I must read "Emma," which is wonderful; and I must read about how to write.

And sometimes I get to read about a girl who plays with fire, but not often enough to maintain continuity or remember my place.

When I'm not reading, sometimes I watch Lost. I am on Season 1, Episode 12, so no spoilers. I really like Sayid. I really hate Sawyer, but you're supposed to.

My school internship is going really, really well. I'm writing letters of inquiry, which means I get to write about Campbell University's projects in ways that appeal to lots of different money-giving foundations. I get to take one project and spin it ten or twelve different ways, exercising my creativity and persuasive skills. It is incredibly fun to me.

My alarm didn't go off yesterday morning. I woke up one minute before my class started. I was still only eleven minutes late.

My suitemates are amazing. We stay up and talk and laugh til we cry. I always have people to do things with, but they also understand my need to be left alone. We have "family dinner" every Monday night, which, so far, has consisted of Harley making spaghetti and us pulling together every table-like surface in the apartment to have room to seat everyone.

This Saturday, Gem and his sister, Abigail, are visiting. Harley's making tacos. We will not have enough table surface, but we've decided not to address that until the problem is staring us in the face. It'll be fine.

I'll be glad to see Gem, although not having any alone time with him will be a little disappointing.

How are you all doing? :)

Road Trip:  the Arch in St. Louis :)

Whatever Campbell's shortcomings, scenery isn't one of them.

Road Trip:  Chicago

 Gem: "Oops, these are too small for me...maybe you want them?"

True love.

Road Trip: the Bean

~Stephanie

But Only a Little Bit

I am lying on my bed with a stomachache. Normally I would write this kind of thing in my journal, but that would require me not to lie on my back with my eyes closed.

I am stressed and I have a lot to do, but I have decided that it is okay for me to lie here for a while until I don't see the world in roiling waves of green nausea. I think that is one of the marks of being an adult:  having to assess whether or not you can afford to ignore your work for a bit. When you're a kid, you can ignore your work all day every day and not think twice about it. No guilt. No stress. That's why there are grown-ups:  to make you do your work.

But now I'm a little bit of a grown-up. I have to buy my own paper towels and toothpaste and chocolate milk. I have to get out of bed and wash my dishes and turn my light off at a decent hour. I have to wear clothes that fit the occasion and compose emails professionally and dedicate enough time to my homework.

{But I'm still in college, living on campus, so there's a lot of adultism that I haven't had to deal with yet. I'm pretty glad.}

Blugh. I just want someone to hand me peppermint tea and make me smile and help me see that the 70+ pages of political ethics and United Nations reading isn't actually going to kill me. I want someone to tell me that they liked my pigtails today and that having a tiny gold Batman ring is pretty much the coolest thing they've ever seen. I want to sit close to someone around whom I don't have to hold my stomach in or keep my shoulders back or try to look pleasant.

I sort of want to come apart real quick, but not in a helpless, emotional way. I just want to unstitch myself, come apart at the seams, and spill out all the stuff inside my heart and mind. I want someone to listen to me mumble aloud my chaotically elegant train of thought and not judge me based on conversational relevance or profundity.

Hmm. I'm starting to feel better--somewhat unfortunately. I can no longer justify lying here on my back with my eyes closed. I guess I have to go do my work now.

Alas, I am a little bit of a grown-up.

~Stephanie

Night at the Library

Texting With Gerard While at the Library...

Me:  "Wanna do dinner at six?"
Gerard:  "Yeah that works"
Me: "There's some freshman asshole loudly running his mouth in the library while sitting next to the sign that says 'This floor is reserved for silent study.'"
Gerard: ":/ Want me to come kick his ass? Or change the sign to 'This floor is reserved for Stephanie Bailey'?"
Me: "XD His girlfriend just left and she was apparently the one he was talking to. But yes, the second option, with an added note that says 'and other guests she deems worthy of using this floor.'"
Gerard: "Go into the sign-making business and do it yourself."
Me: "I'll make expensive-but-bullshit signs and when people are like, 'Wait, couldn't I do this for myself?' I'll be like 'Shhhh...'"
Gerard:  "That's the thing, they COULD do it themselves, but they're too lazy."
Me: "That describes pretty much every service we Americans subscribe to."
Gerard: "Be sure to add 'Made in America' to all your signs."
Me: "Of course. So, the library closes at 5:30, but what does the staff do about it? Do they come around all the floors and make everyone leave?"
Gerard: "I don't know. You can stay and find out. It could be like Night at the Museum. Except in a library."
Me: "WHAT IF THE BOOKS CAME ALIVE?!"
Gerard: "What if they were man-eaters?"
Me: "I can't imagine that ALL the books would be man-eaters any more than all humans are murderers. Or even meat-eaters. The books would probably have little factions of Good and Evil."
Gerard: "Like Transformers."
Me: "Nerd."

~Stephanie

Pollen {warning: graphic}

Are you allergic to pollen? Because I think it might be the worst part about humanity.

It feels like there are a thousand fleas crawling inside my nose and sinuses. Every blink feels like my eyes are rimmed with sand:  a burning sensation crawls across my pupils and tears come in emotionless waves. My nose whistles and rattles, stuffed with crusty debris that will neither clear up nor be blown out, while liquid misery simultaneously pours out, signaling my eyes to water further.

I sneeze. Once, twice, three times, four... The force of the action wracks my body, sending stinging stabs of overwhelming fury and frustration. My throat reacts with weak tingles of protest. A coughing fit seizes for a moment.

My eyes water.

I try to keep them open, both because I need them dry and because I need to do Milton research. I have a 14-16 page paper due in T-minus four days. This professor expects more of me than any I've ever had before. A gentle pounding has begun in the back left corner of my head.

But despite the danger of watering, my eyes scream with the desire to shut.  I can't tell if it's the effects of the ineffective 24-hour Zyrtec I took twelve hours ago, or the lack of good sleep since probably last Monday night.

Last night was the worst. Hot and tangled, the sheets clinging and twisted, ripping me from sleep so my throat could harass me with elusive tickles. Nose crusted over, limbs throbbing from within, mind plagued with near-feverish notions of homework and relationships and moving back home.

Subconscious stress clawed its way to the surface of my mind, refusing to take form for fear of being recognized and properly defeated. Impressionistic swirls of urgency dug into my heart, joining my blood as it circulated around my body to my brain.

Sleep fled, but so did wakefulness, and I tossed and turned with hellish clenches of teeth and grippings of fists.

My alarm went off at 8:45, and though exhausted, I was relieved to be free of the obligation to try to sleep.

I smeared ChapStick over the cracked and bleeding surfaces of my lips. Mouth breathing all night.

Another day. Another day of pollen.

Exams start in three days. I'm not sure how to study when all I can think is "Pollen must be Satan's vomit."

Hope you're doing well :3

~Stephanie

{Just Another Directionless Excerpt}

{I wrote something controversial HERE. *wiggles eyebrows* What's your opinion on "slut-shaming?"}

"What are we talking about?" Jake asked, putting his plate down next to Megan. Megan glanced up and made a shrugging gesture with her hand. Her shoulder stayed still as she opened her mouth to reply:

"Cale--"

Ashley interrupted her. "Caleb likes Meg."

"Ah," Jake said. "Tales of unrequited love at the lunch table. Classic." His voice was smooth with lofty sarcasm.

Megan's eyebrows pinched with concern. "What makes you think it's unrequited?"

Ashley laughed, her own eyebrows arching into her bangs. It was Jake who answered:

"When feelings for you are involved, when is it NOT unrequited?" Megan glared at him. "No, seriously," he prompted. "I'm resubmitting that question as non-rhetorical. When have you ever liked someone?"

"I mean, I did have a boyfriend once," Megan said. "What, you don't think I liked him?" She took a large bite of her hamburger.

Ashley made a high-pitched, non-committal noise. "I mean, you guys weren't really serious."

Pain spiked through Megan's eyes, which dropped to her stomach as if she expected to see a fist planted there. The mush of hamburger and bun in her mouth created a motionless bulge in her right cheek. "We were serious," she said simply. She reached for her water glass.

"Oh." Ashley blinked and gave Jake a look of shallow panic. "Really?"

Jake blinked and gave her the world's most hands-off facial expression imaginable. "It's not like she spills her guts to me in her spare time."

"Well, me neither!" Ashley's voice thrust desperation into their brief aside. "When someone never mentions their boyfriend, you get the feeling it's not a big deal... I mean, right?"

Megan squeezed energy into her eyes until her expression was passable as a smile. "It's fine, Ash. I guess I didn't talk much about him."

"Yeah, I didn't even know you had a boyfriend until weeks after--"

"But so this Caleb guy," Jake interrupted. His fork stabbed straight through his Thai food and made a dignified noise against the plate. "You don't like him?"

Megan rolled her eyes. "Let's not paint with such a broad brush, shall we?" Jake's eyebrows elevated. "Caleb is great. I'm just not interested."

"What's wrong with him?" Ashley asked, in the voice of someone arguing a lost cause. "He's gorgeous. He treats you right. He's smart. He's going places in life."

Megan shrugged. "He doesn't tip at restaurants." She took another hamburger bite. Jake and Ashley stared at her, mouths in varying degrees of openness.

Ashley look personally affronted. "You're not dating a guy because he doesn't tip?"

"Which you discovered, I presume, at an event where he paid for your meal?" Jake pointed out.

"Yep." She looked them both calmly in the eye, in turn. They exchanged glances.

"Is that the only reason?" Ashley asked. "Because you can just ask him to tip. Or you could tip."

"I think it's nice when girls offer to tip," Jake said philosophically. "Guys are expected to pay for meals, and I support that, but I think it shows consideration when the girl takes responsibility for part of the experience." He gave Megan a single nod. "Hey, maybe he was testing you."

"He cheats on tests," Megan offered lightly. Her lips turned up in the corners, but she didn't bother manipulating the look in her eyes this time.

"We've all done that," Ashley said, rolling her eyes.

Jake frowned. "Oooh." He shook his head and twirled his fork around his lo mien. "That is a deal-breaker."

Ashley turned on him. "What do you mean? You've never cheated on a test?"

"Not in college," Jake said. He jutted his chin out for emphasis. "This is real life stuff. Cheating isn't cool." A single chuckle escaped his throat. "What's his major? It's not pre-law, is it? 'Cause that would be ironic."

"I don't know," Megan said. She put her hamburger down and took one of Ashley's French fries. Ashley slid her plate closer to her friend.

"Well," Ashley began, clearly gearing up for an ultimatum.  "All I'm saying is that if you let every great guy go like this, you're literally asking to be forever alone."

"Not literally," Megan said, giving her friend a teasing look.

"Do you correct this Caleb guy's grammar too?" Jake said. "Because if you don't, I would start right away. It's a great way to make people not want to be with you."

"Very funny," Megan grinned.

~Stephanie

Poetry and Party Poopers

No one knows who wrote "Beowulf." But because of "Beowulf," we know a lot about ancient culture, particularly about some of the first literary heroes and villains.

For instance, the villain--the monster named Grendel--hates music. He first attacks the kingdom because he hears singing and it annoys him. He hates the sound; he hates the celebration; he hates the fellowship.

Grendel lives far away from people. {I guess he just has phenomenal hearing.} We later find out that he shares a home with his mother, but it's just the two of them. He hates company.

From the way Grendel is villainized {I choose to believe that's a word}, we modern-day readers can gather that in "Beowulf's" day, silence and solitude were frowned upon. If you didn't like poetry and parties, you were evil.

But then you have the hero, Beowulf, himself. Beowulf doesn't LIVE in solitude, but does insist on going to battle alone. How come the hero can get away with the very actions that make the villain what he is?

I don't know.

I also can't decide if I think today's values have changed or not.

Certainly, today's heroes must be team players or they're labeled "arrogant." If modern heroes demand to work alone, 9 times out of 10 they end up suffering some kind of "humbling" experience that teaches them to value others. This is because today’s issues are increasingly of global rather than regional importance, causing heroes to model teamwork as a subtle lesson for society.

What about poetry and parties? Personally, I support the idea that hating poetry makes you a villain XD But parties?

I think today's society is at least a little more accepting of introverts. We don't rip their arms off or anything. However, there's still the whole wallflower/party pooper stigma, and being "popular" is a timelessly desirable trait.

I dunno. In thirteen hundred years, a lot of things can change. But some things don't change a lot.

~Stephanie