More to Life

This will be my first full week of classes this school year. Boy, was it off to a wet start. I woke up to the sound of rain and people walking through puddles right outside of my dorm. By the time I got out of bed it had stopped raining, but the sky was still forebodingly gray, and I decided to take an umbrella just in case.

The walk to my first class takes 15 minutes and is completely uphill. The first couple minutes were dry. Then a light drizzle starting coming down. It was so gentle that I thought I could tough it out. Then the drops got bigger, heavier, and much more frequent. By the last five minute stretch to class, there was a down right downpour. I flung my umbrella open, but when it rains this hard, nothing can protect you. I got to class soaked. Even the waterproof pants I was wearing caved to the liquid onslaught.

I had four classes today, and during each passing time the rain was in full force. It got cold, and my shoes and socks got soaked through and through. My new notebooks and textbooks turned into a mush of paper gerber. I just hope that I don't get sick now, and I hope that this rainy, cold start to my first full week of classes doesn't foreshadow anything about this upcoming year.

In other developments of the day... Reason #76,234 I need to transfer to a new room: My bed cannot be de-lofted! Apparently the folks at housing maintenance ran out of "material" to de-loft beds, whatever that means. Maybe if they got around to my request (which I filed over a week ago) a bit earlier, they would have still had "material" to lower my bed. If it's any consolation to me though, they offered to set my bed on the floor. Oh yeah, that's hot. So I guess I'll be living unhappily ever after with my lofted bed. To get a sense of its height, when I stand on the ground, my head barely reaches the top of the mattress. The ceiling is low, and when I wake up in the morning I bang my head against it (ouch). When my pillows fall from my bed in the middle of the night, I can't reach down and grab them. :( All the small things...

Have I complained enough about my housing situation yet? If not, let's do a brief recap:

• I live in a 14' x 12' cell, if not smaller.
• My room is classified as a "super single," which is now a double.
• The screen on my window is offset.
• The curtain is ripped.
• The paint on the walls is peeling.
• The carpets are stained.
• The lighting, well, does not light the room.
• My wardrobe door and drawers are broken.
• The TV lounge on my floor lacks a TV.
• There is one men's bathroom for the whole floor.
• I need to cross two stairways, the common area, the TV lounge, get to the bathroom to do my business or shower.
• The bathrooms are sick and gross.

I can go on, but I think that covers most things. They built a new dorm on West campus (which houses the non-freshmen). This is the first year it's open, and it has its own dining hall, among other amazing features. I dined there tonight with a friend I met in my biology class last year along with her roommate. You know, everyone complains about this new dining hall. Yeah it's smaller, there's less of a selection, but I loved it! It was nice. It was new, and the food was good.

Since they have access to the new dorm, we ventured deep into its halls after our dinner. The halls are air conditioned, but the rooms aren't. But the rooms are each equipped with big ceiling fans. Of course everything is new and beautiful: carpets, paint, furniture, bathrooms. Speaking of bathrooms, they have that great situation like I had last year: each bathroom has one toilet in a separate room, one shower in a separate room, and two sinks. Nothing industrial. This dorm also has guest rooms for visiting faculty and staff. We walked by the room Ms. Janet Reno herself will be living in in a couple weeks!!!

Well, I don't know what to say. It's beautiful, it's gorgeous, I'm jealous. After that, the girls showed me the other (older) dorms in this new cooperative. They're called the gothics, because, well, they're gothic style. You walk through them and you think you're back in the 14th century. It's flippy. But some of them actually have huge rooms. And some of them are really small and "intimate" with only 6 people to a floor.

Before tonight, I felt like I live in a shit-hole and that there was nowhere better go to because everything else resembles a shit-hole, too. Tonight showed me that compared to everyone else I really did get it bad, but that there is also something better to keep my fingers crossed for. The chances of getting a single are slim, but heck, if I can live somewhere a little more humane, I'll happily settle for a double. I lived through it last year. With some improvement, I can probably live through it this year, too.

I wish everyone could have beautiful rooms in beautiful dorms and all that. But since that's not the case, and since there's already a long-term plan to tear down the nasty dorms and rebuild them into mini-palaces, the least I can do now is try to make my situation a little more tolerable. So after my evening of dorm-touring, I rushed over to the office of my Residence Hall Director and snagged a "Room Change Request Form." I filled it out, explained why I'd like to relocate, and got my roommate to sign it. I told him that I hope he takes no offense because it's nothing personal. He then told me that it's cool because he's already on a waiting list for a single! Ahh! He said the Housing Office told him there probably won't be anything till next semester. Oh well, at least I can say that I tried! Better off having tried then not done anything at all. Besides, maybe someone is smiling down upon me benevolently? :) We shall see...

One thing that is high on my list of "don't likes" about my latest living arrangement is the bathroom situation. It's awful! First of all, my RA finally put rest to the problem of what gender uses what bathroom. Unfortunately, he decided that the one that is 20 steps from my room belongs to the women. The men's? The farest it could be from my room. So now whenever I want to take a shower, I need to lug all my clothes and stuff across the hall, past the common area, past the TV lounge, past the stairs. You gotta love the privacy you get around here.

It's far from ideal, but I can sort of deal with that. But speaking of privacy, that's something that kind of bothers me about these industrial-sized bathrooms. When I was undressing in the tiny, crammed shower stall last night, my ears were witnesses to something unpleasant. Well, apparently I wasn't alone in the industrial bathroom. Someone else was making use of a toilet. Ploop, ploop. I heard something splash into the water, then again, and again. A deep, prolonged moan followed each splash of water. Ooooooooh. Much more than I wanted to hear.

Is this the new reality with which I need to deal? People all over tell me that college is about adapting to different situations and sometimes stepping out of your comfort zone. Yeah... But I just wonder if there are any limits to what I need to "get used to." Piss and poop in unflushed toilets, listening to people moan while they take a dump, and other random nasties, yuck. One thing's for sure: this won't help my pysche during final exams.

It's close to a wrap on yet another unexciting day in the life of Amir. Today was the first day of classes. I had two classes, a German section and my lecture to (brace yourselves) Biogeochemistry. It was a pretty decent, light way to kick off the school year. Tomorrow I have five classes, though. *Barf*

My morning class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays starts at 9 a.m. and is close to a 20 minute walk, completely uphill. It's going to be a challenge to exert myself while I'm still half asleep.

I just got back from our floor meeting. It was the first one of the year, where the Resident Advisor gets on his soapbox and yacks the house rules and policies at you. I was disappointed, though. My RA didn't do any justice to it. He was loosey-goosey, he mumbled, he brushed things aside, he made it sound like we could do anything as long as we don't bug him. Nice? Yeah, I guess. But I'm at the opposite end of the hall, so if I'm being bugged (i.e. if it's loud in the vicinity or who knows what else) he'd be the last to know.

Not to be so critical, but I'm not so excited about this RA. It's the small things that count. Every RA is supposed to make little name signs on the door of every resident. It's not a big deal, and it can get really corny, but it sort of creates a sense of community--you know who lives where, and neighbors aren't complete strangers: at least they have names. My RA neglected to put up our names on our doors. My RA also neglected to post signs on the bathrooms (as they're not labeled which are for men or women), which has led to a somewhat chaotic bathroom situation over the past week. I've been living here for close to a week and the RA hasn't bothered to introduce himself to me or any of the other residents. He's pretty much never around, and I wonder why he even bothers to have this job.

Actually, I know a little more about my RA than I'm admitting. He and I go back quite a bit, though I doubt he knows it. When I was a high school senior, he was the student guide for my group tour around campus. I remember him vividly because it was such a lackluster tour. He would have been a great guide if the school were trying to discourage students from attending. At one point in the tour, he admitted that he hates it here! Well, geez. When asked why he goes to school here, he replied backhandedly, "Well maybe you have a father who works here so you get free tuition." Oh. I see. So if he already gets free tuition, then why not just go the full nine yards and become a shitty RA just so you can get free housing, too? Why I have to be his resident and come under his sour spell, however, is totally beyond me. Some things in this world just don't make sense.

I've been flirting with the idea of transferring to a single lately because of a bunch of different reasons (scroll the the last four paragraphs of the post). My Mom just sent me an e-mail where she calculated that a single would cost me an extra $77 per month. Hmm, who knew that the monthly cost for some peace of mind would only be $77? So doable! I thought I'd just get another low-key student job to earn my extra $77/month. Well, tonight my RA managed to squash the little hope I had of improving my housing situation. "And if you want a single, good luck," he scoffed. "Only 4% of applicants get a single. So basically, unless you have a medical reason, forget about it." Thanks for the encouragement.

Things have just been weighing me down a bit more than usual lately. Mix that in with the fact that I have clinical depression (or whatever you want to call it), and you get a bad combination.

Actually, I almost became buoyant today. At 11 a.m. I met with a social worker/psychologist who works for the school. I got referred to her by an academic advising dean last year after I had bawled my eyes out for two hours in his office one day. I had met with the social worker every other week last year. I think she really helped me get through the year. I felt like she was one of the only people who wouldn't judge me, or criticize me, or tell me to go away. She nodded to everything I said. She understood. She rolled her eyes in anger or sneered in disgust when I'd share a bad experience I had. It was empathy at its best. So when I felt like the whole world was against me, she proved to me that at least one person wasn't. And one person can make a world of a difference.

Today she just wanted to check up and see if I'm doing OK since we hadn't touched base all summer. She was wonderful and nice, as usual, but she told me that she can't keep seeing me like she did last year. :-\ She has to free herself up for the new students who might need her. Totally fair enough. I'm going to miss the one hour every other week I got to spend with her. That one hour I could look forward to and be assured that it would be pleasant. I get a bit jittery thinking that I don't have that one hour to look forward to anymore... Maybe this is just a part of growing up and moving on and dealing with things on my own... I don't know.

I got to talk to her about the situation with my friend a little bit. She suggested that I give it some time. I need to let my feelings of hurt and betrayal subside a bit before I can deal with the whole situation in a level-headed way.

After that I met with my new faculty advisor. It's awful to stereotype, but I was a bit apprehensive going into it. He's in the English department. He teaches Shakespeare among other things. He got his B.A. from Harvard and a Masters from Yale. Ugh, you know how some of those ivy-league intellectuals can be. They get all into quoting scholars and talking about theories. Oh ma lawrd... Well I was a bit worried. But I can look back and laugh, and that's good. He was a little "ivy," a little (lot) intellectual, kind of dry and stuffy, but he was nice. He had no problem with the fact that I was taking a bunch of science classes even though I want to pursue a project in the humanities. That was a huge relief to me. The last thing I wanted to deal with was another person telling me what to do. He got really into talking about my academic background and what I want to do in college and all that blah, and at some point (this took some guts) I just sort of cut him off.

"I don't mean to be rude, and I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I actually was kind of hoping just to get to know you and to share a little about myself in this meeting."

He blinked, and sort of smiled.

"I'll have plenty of time to think about my project and my goals, and all that. To be honest, I don't have anything too worked out yet, and I just thought it would be nice if we started by getting to know each other."

Woah. What a relief. He agreed and told me about himself. Most of his story was about where he studied, what he studied, and now what he teaches. I hope that in the future I don't let myself become defined by those things. I told him about my ancestry, where I had lived, my family, and just other random tidbits about my life. It felt so good just to be honest, and upfront. It felt so good just to talk about who I am, rather than what I want to be, or how I want to be, or pretending to kiss up to someone who can get me there. I was me, plain and simple with no strings attached. I don't know. It just went so well. It was my first taste of being comfortable in my skin, for who I am, and for what I am now, nothing else. It was wonderful. I floated out of his office on cloud number nine.

I then met up for lunch with a friend I made last semester. She doesn't have a meal plan, so I bought her lunch. It was nice to finally get to do something good for someone else. We then went to the college bookstore where I dished out $340 for my textbooks, and I still have to go back and buy some more... Ugh. She then gave me a tour of her dorm, which supposedly used to be an insane asylum. Goodness. It was a really nice dorm. New furniture, nice bathrooms, new carpeting (I think?), newly painted walls. It was just a whole lot more decent than mine. Oh well. I had a great time being a little social.

I would have gladly called it a day at that point, it was good, and I wanted a good day for once. But all the while I was having fun, a surprise was awaiting me. When I got back to my dorm, my room was unlocked. Hmm, I could have sworn I had locked it. I opened the door, and the first thing I noticed was that the dresser and bookshelf had been moved. I took a few slow steps into my room, and then I noticed someone sleeping on the other bed. He woke up. Hi new roommate.

Uuugh. I was so bummed. This room was originally intended to be a single, which was made into a double. My original roommate never showed up, and I was really hoping that I'd just get this single-turned-double all to myself. In past four days I've spent here I really got used to living alone. I could stay up as late as I want. I could keep the room well lit at night. I could play music. It was so comfy.

Well, the guy is cool. He's a senior who took a year off, which would make him three years older than me. He's from Boston. He's in engineering. He seems quiet, and pretty polite, but ehhhh. He went to bed at 8:30 p.m. tonight. By comparison, I went to bed at 1:30 a.m. last night. So all the freedom I had grown so accustomed to was stripped away from me just like that. At 8:30 p.m. I had to turn off the lights. I had to put on my ear phones to listen to music. I had to leave the room to talk on the phone. I had to shut the curtains.

The thing is, I did this for a full year last year. I couldn't stand it. I could never read myself to sleep. I could never let the soft sounds of my music fill the room. I had to feel bad if someone called me too late or too early. Someone could look over my shoulder and always see what I was doing. To me, there's just something so comforting about having time and a place to myself, and how crappy is it if I can't feel comfortable in my very own room? Oh the joys of college life.

Today wasn't too exciting either. Actually, the first half of the day was down right miserable. I got up around 10:30 a.m. (happy I got a good night's rest), but I was bummed as hell. I woke up thinking about my friend who decided to abruptly end our five year friendship. If you haven't figured it out yet, it really bothers me. It was like bomb dropping. If someone was so upset with me or offended by me for something I never did or intended to do, then why not communicate? Try to work things out? It just doesn't make sense to me to decide to be mad at someone without letting that person even know.

I told her that I'm very sorry and that I never, ever intended to hurt anyone. On the contrary I care for her family very much and respect them a lot. She told me that she's going to side with her family on this one. Geez. I never asked her to take sides. Why do I feel like I'm being put on trial for some crime I never knew I committed?

You know, if this happened to someone I hadn't known too well, or wasn't a close friend with, I would have let it slide, for the most part. But we're talking about 5 years of a close friendship here. Five years of lots of talking, of volunteering together, of teaching each other, of going to movies and eating out together...

And you know, if I had many friends, maybe this would be easier to stomach. But I don't. I'm not very good at being social and making friends. It's hard for me to maintain shallow friendships. I have a few friends, but they all mean a lot to me. So to loose something so abruptly that I've invested so much time, energy, and emotions in for five years is really hard to stomach.

She told me that I need to talk to her sister and her mom if I ever want to have a chance to be her friend again. I need to apologize. But before I do that, she told me, I need to do some research. I need to go online and google my name and figure out what may have offended them.

I haven't decided if I'm going to do that yet or not. I tried doing my "research." To be honest, I feel really embarrassed by this whole situation. I feel this small and I feel pretty humiliated, too. I just wonder if I really deserve this?

One of my "pillars" in life has been to fight egoism, snobism, elitism, and to empower others to make a difference. To be accused of the very thing I've devoted so much of my life to overcome and fight against is like a slap in the face, a punch in the stomach, and a kick in the balls.

Today was boring as hell (OK, not really, just introspective, which is what this post will be). I woke up thinking about the phone-fallout I had with my friend last night, which got me started on my day feeling crummy. I woke up around 9 a.m. because now that I live closer to campus, I can hear the chimes that go off every hour. Apparently the 9 a.m. chimes were loud, long, and annoying. I had breakfast in the cafeteria. I came back to my room. Charged my Ipod and my cell phone. Wrote (hand-wrote, that is, rare huh?) a letter to a friend. Listened to some music. Talked to my mom on the phone to make sure she had a safe flight home...

Packed with a charged Ipod and cell phone in my pocket, I left my room around noon. First I went to get an unlimited bus pass. I need one of those because I work off campus. But I feel like it's a bit of a rip off. 200 dollars?! After that, I walked from the biology lab building to North campus, where all the freshman live. I used to walk that path every Monday at 10:30 p.m. last year after my late night, 3 hour long, "pre-med" intro biology labs. It felt good to know that I won't have to be doing that walk anymore when it's dark, late, cold, and nobody else is around.

Once I got to North, I walked into the student center, and glanced at my old mailbox. I used to check it with such anticipation. Adjacent to the student center is a hill, one of the highest points on campus. I walked up the hill and stood next to a big rock on the hill. I looked out on the entire campus, and I remembered standing there at dusk last semester, a week before my finals began. I sat on that rock, watched the sunset, and spoke into a hand-held tape recorder. In that voice-log, I reflected upon the year, told myself this was the quiet before the storm (finals), and ended by telling myself that "you'll be all right, kiddo." I've listened to that entry many times since, so looking at the spot where I sat and made that entry a couple months ago was pretty cool.

After that, I continued to walk through North campus all the while listening to my favorite songs courtesy of the Ipod. Then I walked down to my college's office on main campus to pick up a free academic planner. I then ventured down to the library, where I practically lived for my last week on campus last year. I sat down in the library coffee shop, where I used to buy tons of smoothies or chai teas last year, to look at my new academic planner. Once I had enough of that, I walked down stairs, to a quiet, secluded study room in the basement. Glass windows serve as the walls for the small study room, so I stood outside and looked into the room. I looked at the desk where I sat almost 10 hours straight, daily, during the week before finals. I wouldn't leave that desk till I wrote the 25 pages worth of essays that were due in the same 24 hours I had 3 finals.

After those deep moments, I got the bug to head up North again. I walked back up to the dorm I used to live in. I miss that dorm. It's the nicest and second to newest one on campus. I wanted to walk up the same three flights of stairs like I used to every day after class, and I wanted to see my old room again. I was a bit concerned that I'd have trouble getting back in (only residents have access, you need to swipe your ID card twice to get in), but luckily, I blended into a group of freshman and got in with them. I saw my old room, where I had spent so many sleepless nights; where I was so miserable, yet so content. Lucky for Steve and Jared, who now live there.

The last thing I wanted to do was find my old resident advisor (RA). She was the best. She always smiled and said "hi" to me. She never had a problem to stay up with me at 1 a.m. and delve into a deep conversation about Cornell and why can be such hell. She got assigned to be an RA there this year again, so I scouted around for her room. She'd been transferred to the north wing of the second floor. Her door was wide open (always the welcoming one). There were tons of boxes and stuff outside of her room, and her door was decorated with lots of name tags, a NY license plate, a white board, and some other random things. Only she was missing. I sat outside of her room for a while hoping she'd show up. Some freshmen walked by and smiled at me. It was nice to see that some people in this school are still capable of smiling, but then again, they haven't been brainwashed yet. My old RA didn't show up, so I left her a message on her white board. I just hope that was really her room. I haven't heard anything back from her yet. Oh well.

I spent the past couple hours sifting through the hundreds of e-mails in my school account. Don't worry, I deleted some in the process! When I came across e-mails from close acquaintances/friends I made last semester I wrote them a quick note, "Hey I'm back, how was your summer, how are you doing..." that sort of thing. I hope some of them write me back. I'm lonely as heck and bored out of my mind. After a couple hours of walking around campus today, I can hardly say I saw one familiar face.

When I opened the door to my new room for the first time, I was shocked. The room was tiny, easily smaller than some walk-in closets. There were two lofted beds on separate sides of the room, each bed attached at one end to a wardrobe. Two dressers, one small bookcase. A tiny, dinky light shining upwards instead of down. Peeled paint. A stained carpet. A ripped curtain. Dirty windows. A mislocated screen.

I wanted to turn around and drive back home. I could feel my muscles contracting, my blood pressure rising, my heart beating faster. This was a physical manifestation of how I felt the school treated me and the rest of the students here: dirty, crammed, neglected.

I climbed up the lofted bed to check out the mattress. With my head against the ceiling, I took a seat and gave it a little squish. It smelled funny, and it felt flat. The springs in it must have let out a long time ago. I couldn't help but wonder how many horny college students had gotten busy on this mattress in the past. Boing, boing. Oh well, the mattress probably won't be seeing any of that this year.

The initial shock that hit me after stepping into my new room opened a sort of pandora's box. One bad thing brought out all the rest. It was like at that point all of the bad memories I had experienced on this campus last year came rushing back at me 1000mph. I got tired, got weak, and got a little dizzy. I didn't want to unpack anymore (and my roommate hadn't arrived, so that further complicated things a bit). I didn't want to do anything.

Good thing my mom was there with me. She had reserved a hotel room for that night, so we both went back and had a good night's sleep. Good thing. That time away from campus let me digest everything and get used to the reality of going back to live there before settling down for the year.

Today we unpacked more of my stuff. We made my bed. We walked around campus and checked out the bookstore to see the books I'll be needing to buy this year. That was a big help, too. I had been losing sleep all summer about my Fall classes. I didn't like the ones I signed up for, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what else to take: everything seemed to conflict, and what if this, and what if that, and I couldn't find that magical combination. By the end of the day, I realized that maybe what I had all along was the best, and I now feel a little (lot) more comfortable with that.

My mom and I had dinner at the same restaurant where we ate our parting dinner at this exact same time last year. It was nostalgic, and comforting. Unlike last year, when I was looking into a long dark tunnel with no real grasp on what was to come, now this time I was armed with the knowledge and experience of a whole year, so this one doesn't seem as daunting.

I hugged my mom and gave her a letter I wrote to her before we left home. I watched her drive away, and felt a chill run through my body. I stood on the road for a couple more seconds after she had disappeared from sight and then I turned around and headed back to my room, alone. Maybe for a split second I wanted to cry, but I told myself I'd be OK.

Once I got into my room, I went through the contact list on my cell phone. Free calls on the weekend, and with no one around, this was the perfect time to catch up with old buddies. I called a friend whom I had been quite friendly with for the past five years. We had been playing a sort of one-sided game of phone tag for the past summer. She answered the phone, and I was excited to finally get to talk to her. But before we had a chance to delve into any conversation, she told me that the reason she has never called me back was because she had done some thinking, and thinks we shouldn't be friends anymore.

She said it was about something her Mom and Sister reading online something about my volunteer work (which they did with me), which offended them because whatever website that was made it look like I did all the work, and so they were offended. I told her that I never ever meant to hurt anyone, and that whenever I talk about my volunteer work I make a point to state that I didn't do this all alone. I'm sorry and I would like to make amends.

But as far as that friendship goes, at this point it's just 5 years flushed down the drain. Talk about a rotten feeling. Welcome back to college.

At exactly this time last year I was doing the exact same thing: packing up my belongings, packing up my life, and getting ready to move out east for the next nine months. Today I spent a hectic day doing last-minute shopping (soap, toothpaste, deodorant, detergent, etc.), getting all of my hair buzzed off (which was sort of a drastic move for me), and packing my life into dozens of bags and suitcases. It's been an intense day, befitting to end an intense year.

It's funny to notice sometimes how life is set up in these cycles. It's like we're given a second chance, and then a third, and a forth. I have the mother of all headaches right now, as if to symbolize, on the last day of this year, the culmination of how much of a pain this year has been. Tomorrow, I'm kicking off a whole new cycle. I get to start it all over in the exact same way the last one began: a road trip back to school. Even though the resemblance is almost identical, I'm taking this as a license to start over, not to repeat the tragedies of the year past.

Wish me a safe trip, and next time you check in I'll be blogging from 1000 miles away.

This type of post might be a bit more appropriate on Dec. 31st, but since the season is about to change, and since I'm about to embark on yet another life-changing transition, I'm going to write it anyway.

You guys, this year has been weird for me. Does anybody here have any idea what 2004 is all about, because I sure don't. Quite in line with that, this summer has been weird, too. Let's talk about the weather. The weather is notorious for being weird, but this summer has ranked high on the weird scale. We usually get a good two weeks worth of 90 degree weather (Fahrenheit, y'all) or above around here, and the rest of the summer is in the high 80s. That's what it seems like to me.

But this summer has been cold. Today was down right chilly, and we're already dipping down into the mid 40s for lows. Don't believe me, though. Believe the trees. Our lawn is already coated in brown, yellow, golden leaves. Yup, green seems to have gone out of fashion quite early this year. One of trees has already managed to turn all of its leaves to various hues of yellow. Talk about a trend-setter. You just wait and see, the other ones will follow suit in a couple weeks. Just give the old geezers time to catch on.

The fact that the weather has been a bit wacky, makes me feel a little less bad about having a wacky year. It's been confusing, exhilarating, depressing, and whatever else you can toss in between. I've gone from sleeping in five star hotels for free in NYC and LA, to crashing on the couch of complete strangers in Boston. I've gone from watching Ben Affleck in movies and on TV to meeting him in person. I've won awards this year, and I've felt like the most unaccomplished, undeserving person. At times I've fought like I've never fought before, and I continued long after I lost all the energy and will-power I had; and at other times, I've felt like the only thing I can do is sleep. I've cared passionately about things till I wanted to barf, and I've been unusually apathetic. I've wanted to interact with people and make friends, and build connections; and I've wanted to say to hell with it all.

It's like I'm stuck in a limbo. I feel like I've lost touch with any sense of grasp I had on this world. I can't figure out what in the world I want to study, to be, to do. I'm fortunate enough to have seemingly millions of options open to me, and yet I want none. I like the comfort of the familiar, of staying the same, but I know I need to change.

Were y'all watching the Olympics last night or what?! We had guests over for dinner tonight, but once we all finished eating, we happened to notice that the men's gymnastics team competition was airing, and soon enough we were all gazing in astonishment at the T.V. screen. I think there's extra shock value because gymnastics (much less men's) doesn't garner half the attention of any other major sport like basketball, baseball, football, tennis, or even hockey. But once every four years buff, hunky men, who can flip in ways you could never even imagine, burst into you living room wearing tighter outfits than football players.

Watching those guys on the high bar, the parallel bars, the rings, the horse, the vault and doing their ground routine brought back old memories. I used to do gymnastics. I practiced for six years, actually. I started way young, when I was in 1st grade. Starting that young put me on the track to major competitions and maybe even the Olympics. I remember getting into really advanced stuff in my last year. We used to do all sorts of crazy things like back handsprings, crazy flips on the vault, and twists and turns on the rings, parallel, and high bar.

Gymnastics was a love-hate thing for me. I loved to flip around (though I was never too good at it) and do all sorts of funky gymnastics moves. At the same time, I hated the risk it posed. I remember going to practices in my last year. Before I quit, it seemed like someone was getting injured every week. One girl broke her arm right in front of my eyes at a vault jump gone awry. Someone else broke a leg. I felt lucky, but I knew that an injury was just a matter of time for me.

I was practicing on the high bar that day. I hadn't done much on the high bar, so my trainers were pushing me a little to really get stuff down. They had me do all sorts of moves on the high bar where I'd let go, flip or twist and then grab onto the bar again. There were so many places to fly once I let go, but only one small, narrow bar to grab onto. At one point I swayed back and let go to do my little stunt. I was flying in the air like Superman. My hands were stretched out past my head, and my body was totally horizontal. I felt the bar brush past my fingertips, and before I could react, I took a 7-foot dive, landing flat on my stomach.

Ouch. Actually, I was too shocked for an ouch. I tried to move and I couldn't. I felt totally paralyzed, and I thought I was done, a goner. My mouth was wide open, I was trying to breathe, but I couldn't. It was as if the impact completely deflated my lungs. Two of the trainers ran over to me and lifted me up from the shoulders. They asked me if I was okay, but not only was I in pain, I couldn't talk. They had me do this exercise to stretch out and relieve the impact. I rolled onto the mat and did the exercise. It helped, but once they told me to stop I felt like I should keep doing it for a couple hours before I do anything else.

So that's my gymnastics horror story. Not too horrific, but it's not something I'd want to repeat. At the time I also had this nasty case of Achille's heel from all the impacts from the floor exercises After that fall, I did some thinking. I had seen enough broken bones, I had learned many cool things, and maybe it was time to gracefully bow out while my body was still fully functional.

Ever the over-analyzer, watching those guys competing ignites a little sense of remorse in me. If I had stayed, I could have had a shot at being on that Olympic team. I could be the guy representing a nation. I could be the guy with the incredibly buff, toned body wearing a tight suit, being drooled over by millions of people. I could be wooing the world with my roundoffs and back flips. But I'm not. I'm still the guy with the twinky body. I'm still going to college like millions of others my age. I'm still trying to figure out what the hell I want to get out of this life.

She flaked! Well, not really, but it didn't work out. A friend of mine and I have been playing phone-tag for the first half of the summer. We hadn't seen each other all summer long, and before leaving to college I really wanted to get together, spend some time, and say goodbye for the next few months. She called me on Thursday and told me she couldn't meet up on Friday.

Her parents own a little plot of land outside of the suburbs of this burgeoning metropolis where they grow all sorts of vegetables. Every weekend, they set up camp in the Minneapolis Farmer's Market, and sell their goods. She told me she'd be there from 5am till 1pm. So I decided that I'd go visit her there.

I rolled out of bed at 10:30am, which, ladies and gents, is still early for a college student on a weekend on summer break. I brushed my teeth, shaved, cut myself a slice of home-made banana bread, and stormed out of the house with my mom. My mom wanted to buy some fresh veggies, and she (sort of) knew how to get there, so we went together.

The market was huge! I had no idea! People walked up and down the rows of vendors like little ants. Randomly stopping, bumping into each other, looking, touching, and creating traffic-jams. A big sign boasted, "the largest open-air market in the Upper Midwest," to which I wanted to add, "the most crowded, too."

Mom and I walked around a little, but after realizing the immense size of this place, and how nutty-busy it was, we figured it'd be a waste of time to keep wandering around. Giving up my hope to surprise my friend, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed her digits.
"Hey! I'm here!"
"Hey."
"Where are you?"
"What?!"
"I'm at the Farmer's Market looking for you! Where are you?"
"Ahhh no! I left!"
"What?!? You said you'd be here till 1pm!"
"My other job called. I just got there."
"Oh... I see."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, don't worry about it."
"I'm so sorry, are you there alone?"
"I'm here with my mom, too."
"Well, that's good. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay. Well, I guess I'll just talk to you later."

See, plan A was to hang out with my friend at her booth while my mom shopped her heart out. Instead, I had to go with plan B. Tagging along to my mom while she shopped her heart out for fresh veggies. To give my mom some credit, she was pretty efficient this time around. But it was so annoying to have to stop every two seconds, to bump into I-don't-know-how-many people. At least I could help her carry some bags. And at least we got some nice, fresh, home-grown, vegetables.

I feel bad for my friend though. I feel bad that I couldn't get together with her, and that another couple months will have to go by till we meet up again. I also feel bad because she has to work so hard. She's working three jobs plus she's a college student, too. How in the world?

How do you come to grips with the fact that you've spent the last two years of your life wasting your time? How do you reconcile your work for a good cause with the reality that it's taking over your life? What do you do once you've sunk yourself so deep into committments that whenever you're not tending to them you're only living on borrowed time? How do you begin to unravel the knots? How do you bail out on something for the sake of your sanity without becoming "the flakey one"? And once you're done and everything that has taken up your time has suddenly disappeared, what do you do to fill in the void?

Less than fabulous, better than horrible. Aside from one short trip to Monterey, I spent the week at a funky retreat located in a redwoods forest high in the mountains east of Santa Cruz. It was beautiful, and some mornings we could see the fog below us at the foot of the hills. The accommodations weren't exactly five stars. But I had a bed to sleep on and a place to shower and brush my teeth. So I'm not going to complain about that.

It was exciting to finally meet dozens of people I had worked with via e-mail or talked to on conference calls. In a national volunteer organization, it's easy to feel disconnected, so the chance of being together made the unity much more tangible, which was good. Some pretty exciting speakers graced us with their presence throughout the week. Peter Schurman, among others, the Executive Director of Move On spoke. Carl Pope, the Executive Director of the Sierra Club also spoke. Andrew Boyd, one of the founders of Billionaires for Bush, lead a really fun(ny) 3-hour long culture jamming workshop. John Moyers, founder of Tom Paine, gave a compelling keynote address. And there were a bunch of other rock star speakers and workshop leaders.

Aside from all the speakers, the forest, and the clean(?) air, there was a bit of drama too. IDs, wallets, glasses, and cell phones were lost. Lawsuits were threatened. Unfortunately, I think that some underage drinking went down, and some illegal substances were smoked. The coup de grace, though, probably was our National Director giving her two weeks notice towards the end of the week. Considering that she comprises close to 50% of our staff, and we'll now be Directorless for at least a month, that created a bit of an odd situation, to say the least.

And me? Well, I was happy about some things, and still left in the same mess with regard to other things. I managed to turn out some great student leaders to the conference, whom I think can contribute immensely to the organization. At the same time, I'm still burnt out, still lukewarm-angry about the lack of support accorded to student leaders, and still trying to figure out where the heck I go from here--aside from back to school in ten days! :-/

I left the California on a 12:45am flight out of San Francisco. You have to love those red-eye flights going east which do no justice to a good night's sleep. As I boarded the plane, I walked past a man in first class who had the biggest, most bulging, angry eyes I might have ever seen. The chairs were small and cramped, and by far not enough leg space. Once all the passengers boarded, one of the flight attendants turned off all the lights. It was late, and I think almost everyone wanted to sleep. Well, except for a pretentious little blonde woman with intellectual-looking glasses who sat behind me and insisted on turning on her reading light which seemed to shine on my face more than anything else. Once I managed to get over the light on my eyes and was starting to fall asleep, it seemed like everyone sitting around erupted into a mad coughing fit. If it's not one person trying to keep you awake, I guess it's another.

To my right was the aisle, to my left was a fidgety little woman who unapologetically woke me up towards the end of the flight when she tried to climb over me to get to the lavatory. Please, woman. I got up and let her slide out to the aisle. I don't know what the deal was, though. When she finished relieving herself and wanted to get back to her seat, she tried to pull the climb-over-me move again. But I just got up and let her slide back into her seat.

All in all, I did get to sleep for most of the flight, but like I said, those red-eyes don't do any justice! Three hours of sleep and two stolen in a time-zone shift. Well I got back home and slept a little more, but I'm still tired. It's good to be back home and back to my sleepy self :).

Well not quite. More like, in the skies again. I'm flying out in a few hours to California. This is like the zillionth trip I'm taking this summer, but like some of my other "trips" this isn't exactly a trip. I'm going to the Sierra Student Coalition's National Grassroots Conference. It's an annual event that brings together all of the national leaders with all of the local grassroots activists. I've never been to one before, but since I'm now one of the national leaders, I have to show up this time around.

Throw a curveball my way. I thought I'd go, chill out, attend the workshops, and meet all the cool people. Wrong. I got a call from the National Director last week asking me to lead two hour-long media trainings. I've never done a media training before, much less in front of so many people. I know it'll be fine. I'll be fine. This is just a vestige of my past manifesting itself: stressing too much about every little thang.

I'm looking forward to spending a week in the California mountains with a bunch of motivated people around my age. Maybe they'll rub off on my burnt-out, unmotivated self a little bit. At the same time, I'm not looking forward to this trip at all. Two and a half weeks at home (complete with nothing to worry about, nothing to do, and plenty of sleep) finally started to take a good effect on me. But it's just a start. It'd take at least two months of that intense R&R for me to get back to my peppy, energetic, motivated self. Besides all that, there's still this issue kind of weighing down on me...

And then there's facing the scariest fact of them all: once I get back, I will have less than two weeks to pack up my books, my clothes, my stuff, my life and head 20 hours east-ward for college. Time, time, time...

If you happen to be bored at all while I'm gone, let me re-recommend a list quality bloggage to feast your eyes upon. Also, summer is slowly but surely ticking away, so if you haven't yet, I insist that you use this week to make yourself a little mini-vacation. We all deserve one! If you are adamant about working your ass off, then just take care, okay? Don't forget to check back next Tuesday!

I think it's becoming pretty stereotypical of me to post an entry every couple weeks about how I'm "getting better," undoing my burnout, recovering from too much work, stress, and depression. Right in line with that spirit, I spent about the last two hours "literally" (virtually?) getting ride of some of my excess baggage. I went through one of my horrendously overloaded, stuffed inboxes. In that post I had 512 e-mails in the account I went through tonight. Since then the letterage had managed to swell to 598 e-mails. Yikes.

Originally, I was looking for the e-mail address of one of my Junior High teachers. I knew I got a letter from him a couple months ago. So I started scrolling back in time to find that old e-mail he sent me. As I scrolled down memory lane, I couldn't help but notice how cluttered it was with piles of virtual junk. Not the most pleasant of sights... So I clicked and deleted, clicked and deleted, clicked and deleted. Before I knew it I had deleted 118 e-mails! So OK, I still have 480 e-mails, which I need to downsize to a much more manageable amount. But 118 is a start, and a good one at that!

Do you ever get that feeling of overwhelming relief after cleaning your room? If so, you know how I feel right now. I never thought that deleting e-mails could be such a great form of therapy!