Time Flies When You Get to Sleep In

It's been a week and a half since I moved out of the apartment. Since then, I've been wonderfully sort-of busy. I went to the library and checked out my first decompression book: Kristen Britain's new novel, Blackveil. It's the fourth book in her Green Rider series. It was nice to finally get back to my fantasy roots, and there's nothing like the crisp rustling of the plastic protecting a library book. No, I'm not joking. I've also gone clothes shopping, the fun kind of preparation for traveling.

I've also done the not-so-fun kind of preparation. Unsure of my need for a student visa, I spent yesterday waist-deep in bureaucracy. Certificates of coverage, bank statements, plane tickets, and sundry proofs of existence were all gathered into a folder, awaiting a trip to the Italian Consulate in Detroit. Rewarded for my early rising with a sweet tea from McDonald's, I managed to stay awake during the 2 1/2 hour drive and the short wait before the visa officer came out to answer my question. And no, no I don't need a visa.

It might seem like a bit much to travel that far to confirm something on their website, but I needed to put my paranoia to rest. I have heard one too many visa horror stories (that is, I've heard one) to risk my trip.

My youngest cousins also came up for a visit. Jordan is 6 and Riley is 3. They ran us all ragged, as children of that age are wont to do, but it was fun. And, continuing one of my childhood traditions with their mom, my Aunt Laura, we went to "Putt-Putt." While my mini-golf skills leave a lot to be desired, I discovered a hidden talent for Skee-Ball, helping my cousins get some cool prizes.

I still won, though. By one point.

A victor's spoils.

In a few days, I'm packing up again and we're driving down to North Carolina. But so far, it's been a good start to the summer.

Emptying the Freezer

I had ice cream for breakfast today. Actually, it was Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie frozen yogurt, but I quibble. My excuse was my need to empty the freezer of my leftover foodstuffs. What a delicious, delicious excuse.

My mom came yesterday. It was the first time I'd seen her in four months, but don't worry-- I managed not to cry. We lugged some boxes and suitcases into the trusty station wagon, using the highly-developed technique I like to call "strategically cramming." We still have a few boxes and bags to go, but it's almost done. I am almost moved out of my apartment. I am almost done with my junior year. I am almost ready to start my summer.

I have to admit, it's a more than slightly terrifying prospect. This summer is going to be crazy. My parents are moving. I'm going to Italy and Sweden. I'm turning 21. I'm one step closer to being an actual adult, and a huge step away from my childhood as a Navy brat. (Insert jokes about my bratty temperament here.) I can picture (ha!) the Lifetime movie now, some trite bildungsroman about a girl trying to find herself in a single summer.

Summer's not long enough for that, but it's still going to be an adventure. And I'm excited/terrified to jump right into it. It may not involve swords, sorcery, spaceships, or Nathan Fillion (except for Castle and Firefly reruns), but it will definitely be full of escapades and exploits and some ordinary fun.

The Beginning of the End, and Other Unintentional Morose Stuff

It is, I intone in my mind, the beginning of the end. It sounds very gloomy-- appropriately, it reminds me of the only Smashing Pumpkins song I own (The Beginning is the End is the Beginning). It also fits the...well, fits of melancholy I've been subject to over the past few days.

But there is so much to do. I've already begun packing; my books, knick-knacks, and winter clothes have been tucked away in my various plastic Super-bins. I've emptied some of my drawers into my long-neglected (for once) suitcases. I've shoved a miniature mountain of paperwork into our hapless recycle container.

And there are exams to study for!!! Haha...no. I have started a study guide for Statistics, but then I got distracted. Not only did I do some packing, I've also ensured that all of my iTunes albums have the correct album art, made lunch, did some work, and am now writing this entry. And I'm still nursing the cup of coffee I made at 9:30 this morning. Gross.

I have to return to studying. But, because I need a bit of color and sunshine to warm this entry up, I will leave you with some tulips:

A Slow Convergence

For the past few days, I've been talking to my mother on my cell phone. Now, this may seem like a commonplace (even annoying) experience to others, but for me, this marks a significant change. Because, for the past three years, I have been separated from my parents by a little pond, popularly known as the Atlantic Ocean. Skype and email has been the go-to method of communication, sparing my parents exorbitant phone bills. As amazing as they are, though, they aren't perfect.

Over the past three years, I have had my car break down, gotten pertussis, crashed my computer, figured out three years of financial aid, been stuck in four airports and a train station, and broken my nose. I have also gotten four jobs, traveled in seven countries without them (with two more coming this summer), maintained a high GPA, and, most importantly, made many friends. In the highs and lows of these times, near-instantaneous communication is a luxury I've been without.

But today, my father finally arrives in the States. It's been almost a year in the making, beginning with my brother's return to study in Georgia and ending tonight. My family, the stable core that has been my only continuity for over twenty years, is going to be not only on the same continent but also in the same time zone. Today, I can pick up my cell phone and call them past 4 PM.

So I am excited about it. At least for now.

A Study of Gray Matter, or The Oatmeal that is my Brain

It's that time of year again. The sun is shining, but my face is still more often bathed in the luminescent glow of my computer screen. The paper is (pretty much) done, yes, but my trials are not yet over. This morning, yours truly took two tests, all the while lacking both caffeine and motivation.

And this is the result:

I think I need a nap. Or some brown sugar.

A Meditation on Word Counts

This past weekend, I curled up on various comfortable surfaces to write my last major assignment of the semester. The required word count was 2,000-2,500 words, or around 8-10 pages, double-spaced, Times New Roman size 12. I try not to think about length when I write, because I only procrastinate when I am intimidated by the apparent size and difficulty of the task before me. So, in order to prevent the hysteria that ensues when I am down to the (barbed) wire of a due date, I am forced to trick my own brain. Somehow, this is much easier than it sounds.

First, I type my name, the course title, and the date. "Haha, I have words on the page," I tell myself. "Good job, Alicia. Jolly good show." And then I come up with a suitably impressive-sounding title. This title must include a colon. For example:

Small Stories and the Postcolonial State: The Portrayal of Liminality and Identity in Midnight's Children and Between the Assassinations

Classy, isn't it? It helps when you read "postcolonial" with a snobby British accent. I never fail to do so.

Now that I've wasted all of my creative energy on the title, I save the document and close it. The real writing comes a day or two later. Armed with coffee, baggy sweatpants, and a couch, I do battle with my short attention span. Because I am far more wily than accident-plagued Wile E. Coyote, I have learned how to trick my mind into thinking that I am not working nearly as hard as I actually am. And it involves TV.

I wouldn't recommend multitasking to the faint of heart; many people have spouted facts about the detriments of multitasking, but I have twenty years of anecdotal evidence that it works for me. This habit led to my being dubbed "The Homework Ninja" by the girls of First Timmer my freshman year. The real trick is not the multitasking itself, but the choice of TV show. Usually, I choose action shows. The dialogue isn't fascinating enough to thoroughly distract me from the task at hand, but there's usually a nice explosion or two to lighten the mood.

For my Postcolonial Literature paper, I continued my marathon of 24 with my across-the-hall neighbors. I watched Jack Bauer save Washington D.C. whilst I pounded out 2,497 words of a paper exploring the role of multiplicity in the identity of both individuals and postcolonial nations in Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children and Aravind Adiga's Between the Assassinations. (Both are fantastic books, by the way. Consider them recommended.) 

There was also much hat-wearing in honor of Queen's Day, or Koninginnedag

Normally, I find myself comfortably in the center of the necessary word/page count-- just enough length to satisfy the assignment description (with some wiggle room), but not too close to the upper limit to repel stressed-out and possibly vindictive professors. This time, however, I found myself abridging my conclusion immensely (and I am the queen of lengthly conclusions, as well as the great land of Denial) in order to fall within a reasonable interval around 2,500. Maybe it's the topic I chose, or maybe it's because I actually enjoyed the books I had to write about, but it was especially difficult to leave my paper with such an anticlimactic farewell. But sacrifices must be made for the sanity of all involved, so I saved my work (for the 200th time) and closed Microsoft Word with a sigh of contentment and relief.

And then cheered as Jack Bauer saved a metro station from a biological attack.