Back to when the earth, the sun, the stars all aliiiiiigned.
Nothing wrong with starting a Friday off with some classic Hilary Duff, right friends? Right?!
Bringing this party to the here and now, I'm writing to you live from my frameless mattress on the floor (Amazon mixup, Amazon how could you), laptop perched on a beat up, duct-taped plastic bin serving as a makeshift desk. My clothes, fresh from storage and smelling like cardboard boxes, are finding their places in my closet and dresser. I have yet to make a grocery run. The walls are bare. I need a lamp and some cute bins big enough for all the miscellaneous, I-really-don't-need-these-Ethernet-cords-what-even-is-Ethernet, can't-bear-to-toss-out-this-ratty-wall-fixture, where-did-you-even-come-from junk that have piled up.
You know what I've always found to be unfair? How, when you're a fifth-grader, you're the hotshots of elementary school. Like, bow down b...rethren, bow down. Then, bam. Back to being squirmy little sixth graders in the pimply, string bean-y, awkward obstacle course known as middle school. Two years later, back on top as devil-may-care eighth graders who own the back of the bus. Aaaaand, nope just kidding, you're a bitty high school freshman. Three years later, you're livin' life like you're living inside Long Live by TayTay Swift. THEN SHUCKS, FRESHMAN AGAIN. On and on.
Well, just now it occurred to me that I'm at my final freshman year: that of the real world. It does seem like it, as my muscles ache from all the boxes I hauled and lugged up the stairs to my room *ahem the box that I hauled and lugged as my dad bless his heart hauled and lugged the other... 12...* and everything's new and different and weird and a little intimidating.
But I know I'll be there soon. Not quite cool senior level, but I'll be a second-semester freshman in no time. It'll be like I've always imagined. Kicking off my boots and shrugging off a coat amidst the briskness of fall, as I change into an oversized college sweatshirt and head towards the kitchen to throw together some dinner. I'll be excited by fitness classes (lol... so ambitious), and finding a good tailor, and fresh produce from the farmers' market, and an efficient salad spinner.
But first, it's time to be that scared shitless but fakin' a this? This ain't no thang! smile freshie. Just one more time.
PS. If I take the grad school route, I just know I'll re-read this post, muttering "bite me" under my breath the whole way through.