Ah. I feel like Jake Sully.
So I’m sitting here, in another borrowed bed, surrounded by as much organized dissonance as my slight OCD will permit. It’s the third time in two weeks that I have had to either pack crap, move crap, and/or shove said crap into garbage bags, laundry bags, and into the arms of family, contrary to their persistent complaints. The physical remnants of my life are dispersed between too many places and, quite frankly, I’m starting to feel like an orphan. Or on a less philosophical note, a bag lady. All joking aside, living out of bags is not so difficult. All that I really miss is that “home” feeling…not the place necessarily, but the type of love that it incites. But if I’ve learned anything at college (and I’ve learned more than 18-year-old me could have possibly fathomed),
it’s that that sort of love comes with you wherever you go.
And its followed me to A-comp! Besides the baseball team and their dip/sunflower seed-coated shenanigans, I can honestly say that I love the perfectly imperfect, individual quirks that fit together to form where we live. As for class, I don’t think I could be going on midnight snake quests and giving my mother mini-heart attacks with a better group of people.
-- Amanda Ramcharran