The Ever-Looming Week Of Scrambling Like Chickens With Our Heads Cut Off (Or Better Yet, Week Of Temporary Insanity)

Finals Week is hovering like an over-protective mother and I don't like it. I've never been fond of (nor ever really experienced) the over-protection and/or hovering of parents, hence the comparison.

This week of grade-sloshing, head-hitting, energy drink-slamming, binge eating (or starving because meal plan points have long ago vanished)... this week of giving speeches, cramming for multiple choice tests (Which am I lacking most? A. Sleep B. Food C. Sanity D. A working immune system), 10-page essays, group projects, workshop revisions.. the list does, inevitably, go on.

The major difference, however, in this finals week (as compared to last semester's finals week) is the fact that summer is a beat away. We not only have to worry about taking an armful of clothes home for 3 weeks around Christmas, we have to worry about taking everything, packing everything. This time around, I'm not going home. I'm heading straight for Sandusky, Ohio with my pillow and sheets in one hand and my birth certificate and license in the other.

My (only) final (aside from four daunting essays) ends around 3pm on Friday the 7th, and then I'll be making my way to work for the summer.

I can't say I'm super excited to start this thing. There are still a few decisions to be made, a few worries to let go of, a few hugs to give. As much as I'm ready to be done with this semester's classes, I don't know if I'm ready to experience what I'm about to experience. Look, I can barely even write it. It hasn't yet rolled off my tongue with ease, or at all, really.

So, finals. My sixth semester at Behrend is quickly coming to a close. I'll be a senior, a senior (!!!) when the summer is over, and even contemplating that word brings on a near panic attack. I'm almost there. I'm almost done (with this chapter of my life, at least).

It's frightening.

Now to get reallly off topic with post - You know how you dream of high school when you are in elementary? You dream of college when you're in high school? Well, now that this Bachelors degree is almost in my hands, I have no idea what I'm dreaming about. Grad school was only a recent thing... it seems as if my plans have always been set somehow, and now I'm getting to this point in my life that is actually, strikingly, blank. I can do anything. I can go anywhere.

It's just...weird, this freedom, this unplanned future. Weird.

The Scientist.

"Don't you just want to drive across the country to tell someone you love him?"

Moni laughed. "You want to do that?"

"Well, no. But the idea is absurd and I would certainly consider it."

We bantered like this for a almost an hour. I walked myself in circles around the patio of my apartment and listened to the birds hum a love song to each other. It is spring and I suppose that's what birds do - hum love songs to each other just because they can.

"I don't want to miss my chance," I told Moni as I made my fifth circle.

"I know what you mean. I still had things I wanted to tell my mother before she passed."

"You never got to say them?"

"No. And I regret it, I do. So I can see where you are coming from."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

This here, this is for you.

Freeeeedom is the greatest thing, next to under-cooked white macademia cookies, that is.

but does his hair make up for it? that is the question.

Robby Tackac has the most creepy masochistic stare. I shuddered more last night than I have in the last six months.

"In Country"

{{I really appreciate that you haven't given up on my keeping-in-touch abilities}}

Conversation from Erie to Pittsburgh:

"I'll call more often."

"No, you won't."

"You're right, I probably won't."

"But it's okay. The hardest part is calling...once you're on the phone, the talking isn't so bad."

"Yeah. I'll try to call more often. But don't hold me to it."

"I won't. I know you too well to believe that, anyway."

Time Wastin'.

Time spent not studying for two tests tomorrow, beginning at 3pm:

1. Read excerpts from The Quotable Moose.
2. Washed, dried, and put away everyone's dishes.
3. Made a very sloppy dinner (think pancake batter and lots of eggsss), which resulted in washing, drying, and putting away more dishes.
4. Watched two episodes of Gilmore Girls.
5. Talked on the phone for 45 minutes.
6. Sat outside staring blankly at theories that I'm supposed to know.
7. Talked on the phone some more.
8. Wrote a two-page letter to a friend.
9. Found a gorgeous spot on the hill outside of my apartment to watch the sunset and play my ukulele. This resulted in several odd stares and a few flirty winks.
10. Read Farrington's "Kissing" and took extremely careful notes.
11. Straightened my hair.
12. Typed this blog.

Dare I consider my grades tomorrow? I'd rather not.

Buffalo.

"And scars are souvenirs you never lose
The past is never far
Did you lose yourself somewhere out there
Did you get to be a star
And don't it make you sad to know that life
Is more than who you are"

Seeing the Goo Goo Dolls Saturday night :) Oh, Johnny, take our breath away.

Double Datin'

Not sure how we got onto this conversation, but this is how most of our conversations work:

Michelle: I've only ever been on double dates.

Me: Well..I've only ever been on single dates! We should double date!

Michelle: We should!

Silence.

Michelle: We need dates. I haven't been on a date in forever.

Silence.

Me: I haven't been on a date in forever with someone I actually like.

just a little something

It lingers through open windows, unnoticed, until you point out what my face can't hide. Isn't this the way things are until they aren't anymore? Go cry about it, why don't you - he sings, and we sway, but our eyes never meet.

Your shoulder, the spot where I let myself fall, fall. This heat fills up the silence, but that's never been enough. Water, you say, or whiskey. Crickets, gasoline dripping through empty tanks, stars that are within reaching distance - this is what it feels like.

Hazel is the color of this rug we're tangled up in. It's the ring of cold coffee in your mug. It's a blank stare that says what we're both afraid to admit aloud. Don't you think we should have learned somehow, he sings.

It's a summer breath, a breath of summer, a night of unattainable whispers and magic that won't happen. Consuming much, fingers wrap around mugs and the rickety legs of old tables. It's not a silly little moment, it's not the storm before the calm, he says as you reach for the radio.

Words can't save us, anyway. You reach for your jacket, I put on my watch, and the hazel drifts off onto the porch. I let go of the mug and switch the station. Gravel yelps from beneath sore tires and remnants of a shared something haunts a muzzled candor.

"Take a knee, boys."

I miss us and everything we
used to

be. do. share.

Oh, Oh, Oh.

Welcome Home.

A neighbor across the street came over last week and apparently shot and killed a skunk that was inhabiting the window well beside my room. It sprayed. My entire room smells like skunk.

But there's a silver lining. My twin-sized bed was replaced with a queen, and big fluffy pillows adorn the headboard. I'm in love with all the space.

I also walked in my room today to find a really old journal sitting smack in the middle of my desk, so I handed it to Aaron.

"Did you read my journal?"

"Well, yeah. A little."

"You read this journal? Really?"

"Well. Yeah. You really, and I mean reallllly, liked soandso back then."

Silence.

"Don't get mad."

Swiping the journal from his hands, I flipped through it myself. It was the journal I kept between 10th and 11th grade.

"Where did you find this?"

"Between your mattresses. It fell out when we were moving your twin upstairs."


It figures. Of all the journals I kept lying around my room, lounging along my bookshelves, he would find my most private one and decidedly get a kick out of reading it. To be fair, I didn't even remember hiding it there. Maybe it wasn't so private and important after all.

So you, too, can get a kick out of my private scribblings. I feel the need to share a little something that made me laugh for at least five minutes. I was such a dork (well...maybe I still am, a little).

From the journal of Aeriale A. Cooksey-Kramer, who will never again share another piece from her journals after this, so feel honored:

"At lunch I was buying baked goods from the special ed. kids (two cupcakes!) and soandso came up behind me. He was like, 'I don't know what to buy. Are those good?', pointing to my cupcakes. Then he takes his finger (!) and swipes the side of my cupcake with chocolate icing and then licked his finger! Man, was that sexy!"

...Ahem. Well, Aaron got a kick out of it and so did I.

SPIDER! (fiasco)

Picture it:

An apartment full of girls and a spider in the kitchen. Can you visualize the situation?

Jenna: *Squeals*

Me: What? What is it?

Jenna: *SQUEALS*

Me, racing for the kitchen: What is-- Oh! Ohhhh! OH! KILL IT!

Jenna: I can't!

Me: KILL IT!

Jenna: I can't! *Squeal* Grab me something!

Me, throwing Ellie's shoe at Jenna: Here's a shoe! SMASH IT!

Jenna: No! Not a shoe! Grab some tissues! Hurrrrry!

Me, running for the tissues: You're gonna smash it with your hand? Are you kidding me?

Jenna: No! Not tissues, I mean the box! Quick!

Me: You can't smash it with the box!

Michelle, dazedly confused, walks into the kitchen: What is it?

Jenna and I: SPIDER! KILL IT! KILL IT!

Me, pushing Michelle toward it: Hurry, it's crawling up the cabinet!

Jenna: *Squeal*

Michelle, taking a tissue and nonchalantly pushing said spider into the floor: There. All done.

Jenna and I, out of breath, hearts racing: PHEW.


Five minutes later

Jenna: Now I'm paranoid. I'm going to call someone tomorrow to have them check everything out.

earning finals week

Maybe I've gone completely nuts. Utterly crazy.

I've done some crazy things during finals week (well, let's be honest here - I've done crazy things during every finals week), but this...this is the cherry. This completely takes 1st place on my list of absurd and completely insane acts during the last week before every break.

I must, however, let you in on the fact that although I do crazy things and drive to crazy places all during the school year, finals week is king. Finals week, ever since I've come to Behrend, holds tradition and is indeed rooted in ventures that serve as nothing but pure entertainment.

I'm studious all through the year, let's remember this, shall we? I make the grades. I earn my finals week fiascos.

We're headed to Ontario for king week this semester, and so reign the craziness will, yes?

Conversations on Continental.

People don't like to toy when they are sitting, claustrophobic, on a puddle-jumper. But boredom is not the answer. So I started up some conversation with the boy next to me who was so close we were touching elbows the entire way to Cleveland.

"Where you headed?"

I asked this and noticed for the first time what the kid looked like. He had those sweeping bangs so that in order to see with both eyes, he had to flick his head every 6.8 seconds.

"To see my dad in South Carolina. You?"

"To see my dad in Chicago."

He smirked. I smirked. Maybe we had something in common.

The boy on my left side had stashed under his seat a really sweet rasta bag. I imagined that maybe I wasn't going to the Cleveland airport, but rather to Jamaica, or the Bahamas, or what the hell, somewhere in Africa.

"Was I snoring?" He asked me as the plane took it's rough and tumble landing.

"What?" I asked.

"Snoring? Was I snoring?"

What a way to meet someone, I thought. "Uh. I don't think so."

On my way off the plane, I told him nonchalantly that I liked his bag. This was probably a mistake.

He caught up with me as soon as I stepped off. "A friend of mine gave it to me."

"Oh?"

"So, where you going?"

"Chicago," I told him.

"Chicago. I'll be going to school there in the fall. Ever heard of Aurora?"

"Nope. But that's cool. I'll be applying to Northwestern for grad school."

After that our conversation lulled. Maybe he realized I'm not as young as I look. I was thankful for the break anyhow. I mumbled my farewells and turned into the nearest ladies' room.

* * *

On my way back from Chicago, my flight to Erie was delayed two hours and I sat "reading" Sarte and Hunter S. Thompson, once again, in the Cleveland airport. I watched as dazed flyers moved about either zombie-like or anxiously. I took a bite of my sandwich (Subway!) and pretended to not people watch. Of course, that's all anyone ever does in an airport - they pretend to read trashy novels or doze off to ipods, but let's be honest - everyone watches everyone.

I watched a girl with red hair walk back and forth on a cell phone several times, glancing up at our "delayed" status and plopping herself hopelessly next to me.

"Erie has the most stupid airport system." (This is honestly the most intelligent thing I could think to muster up, I was so exhausted)

She smiled at me with a mouthful of braces. "I know. I go to college in Meadville and almost every flight through Erie is delayed. I keep calling my friend who is supposed to pick me up and updating her on our new delayed status."

Her name is Andie (Andy?) and she apparently is from Chicago, and is a Sophomore English major at whatever school is near Meadville. We chatted about summer jobs and spring break as if we were friends bantering back and forth.

That's the cool thing about airports - you are allowed to act like best friends or spout out whatever sorry excuse for coherent sentences you may wish because you will never see the person again. I attribute this theory as to the reason why there are so many plane hook-ups. What are the odds you'll even receive a last name or number? Exactly.

I left, I returned, and I feel I have earned the title of "airplane/port conversationalist". Now everyday is another matter, but who needs small talk in everyday life? It's who you converse with along the way, coming, going, what have you, that leaves you the most surprised, the most wary, befuddled, exhilarated indeed.

It's Official.

We finally have a day that constitutes official skirt weather! This is so exciting.

..

Who knew I could be this much of a girly-girl? Wow.