Falling again

But this time, happily.

For the sweet smell of summer and big brown eyes, for dancing barefoot through the arb and saying "no, I won't be that girl, the one that hopelessly chases that guy," for being banished to my room by the housemates for laughing too loud and stopping to breathe much more often.

A random conversation:
"Do you like flowers?"
"No."
"Too girly?"
"Yes."
"Would you like them if I picked them in the forest for you?"
"Yes."
((pause))
"Because I picked them?"
"Yes."

In other news, I am bad at math

Last week, I resigned myself to the disappointing fact that there was no way to raise my cumulative GPA to a 3.0, and began to ponder what fast food chain I'd most like to work with after I graduate with a degree that is mostly useless without Grad School.

Today, I scratched my head in curiosity as this semester's grades pulled my GPA up to a 3.01.

Then I realized that I'm an idiot, and that my GPA is only calculated using my U of M credits, and doesn't include my 60 credits transferred from Eastern.

.... Which is really, really excellent news.

Shame

I am ashamed of a few things right now:

- I have at least 21 hickeys right now
- I'm not entirely sure where they all came from
- I just wrote the sentence, "I'm much more fun when I'm coherent!" on somebody's facebook wall


.... I guess everybody needs at least a few of these experiences. It could have been worse. I woke up alone in bed. Granted, it wasn't my bed, but that's okay. Ooops...!

Events

Opportunity to do a masters program in Greece after I graduate next year: Scary as hell, but Rockin'
Struggling for a C in a course that is, essentially, my life goals condensed into a class: Shitty.
A's in everything else: Rockin'
Except Greek: Shitty.
Upcoming Texas Trip: Rockin'
Slowly increasing personal debt, realization that I won't have time for a job this summer: Shitty.
Spiritual work: Rockin'
Realizing that my home alter has been consumed by piles of paperwork, books, and other such accouterments: Shitty.
Life overall: Rockin'

My life this week

Consists of...

8am wakeups
too much coffee
emblazoned mental images of my handwriting on index cards
zombie like stares into nothingness in between study bouts
a diet consisting of peanuts and chicken tenders
forcing myself to meditate daily
speaking greek when I'm supposed to be speaking english, and vice versa
power naps

.... And strangely, this organized chaos is kind of comforting and nice, if only for a very short while. More than two weeks like this, I'd go mad.

I hate this time of year

I love the spring, I love the sun, I love the fact that I can sit outside without freezing my arms off, and I love being able to walk and run again.

I hate finals, yes, and I hate the fact that every February/March, I am plagued with mysterious illness, depression, headaches, stomach aches, and my libido dies.

I finally did the math this year, in the doctors office as she noted on my charts, and realized that oh, yes, it was February that I was raped, and March that I terminated. How silly of me to forget the months, and displace them into November for some unknown reason. Every year for the past 7, I have been in and out of doctors offices around this time for the same set of concerns. I've missed classes, feared that I have ulcers, worried about the health of my brain as dizziness plagues me, and wondered if I'll ever feel happy again as the sun starts to shine and my spirit plummets.

I am strengthened by this realization of this association. Spring is coming.

MomQuotes: On Drug Policy & American Spirit

Me: [trying to figure out summer travel plans] okay, so, we can all fly out to Amsterdam, and then from there you'll go to Sweden, and I'll either go to Sweden, or Greece.
Sotiri (my 13 year old brother): Will you have magic brownies?
Me: What? Maybe, since it's legal there.
Mom: Yes, Sotiri, we will leave you and Krock [6 year old autistic brother] in the hotel, and your sister and I are going to go smoke out. Yeaaah! [making crazy faces]
Sotiri: What? I want to come!
Mom: [imitating Sotiri] Yeah, uhm, Amsterdam police, I'm taking care of my 6 year old brother... My mom and big sister are high. They're just coming off a bad buzz. [pause] I wonder what Amsterdam prisons are like? [making phone gesture] Um, yes, hi honey... Yes, I don't know where the boys are. Your daughter and I are in a women's holding facility.. Yes, they sent us to rehab.

.....

Mom: You know the Native Americans used to put the drug on a fire, and put a blanket over themselves to inhale the smoke second hand.
Me: Yes, hotboxing.
Mom: Is that what you kids are doing now adays?
Me: I don't do that!
Mom: Yes, peace pipes and hotboxing, connecting with the American roots.
Sotiri: Smell that? That's the smell of freedom.
Me: No, I just farted, sorry.



As an aside, my father brought my little brother a tee shirt from Holland with a large pot leaf on it. He thought it was the national tree of Holland, and was not aware of the drug association, because my father is generally clueless about these things. I would like to mention that my parents are not drug users, and never have been, which is what makes these series of conversations hilarious.