Dear Walt Whitman,

Thank you for taking me away this week.

[I celebrate myself, and sing myself]
By Walt Whitman

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loaf and invite my soul,
I lean and loaf at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, formed from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back awhile sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

I appreciate the the escape and am glad we are friends now.
Love,
Jordan

"The sign says Stu West, but my heart says jail"

This weekend was:

• Duty.
• Bodily Fluids in the stairwell (nasty).
• Travis time (nice guy).
• Alexander (Cowboy, boyfriend)
• My foray into matchmaking (Lauren and Abe).
• Excellent.
• "Let me lend a machete to your intellectual thicket" (great line).
• Long
• Challenging.
• A visit from my Mumsy (I am loved).
• Quesadilla (vegetarian).
• Underage drinkers.

~

The RA job is getting harder as my duties don’t mesh well with the expectations I have for myself as a student.

Friends make it easier.

Attitudes make it harder.

The basic necessities of life are starting to become a hindrance that I don’t have time for (eating, sleeping, breathing).

But I’m really starting to love it. “It” being where I’m at and what I’m doing.

I’m learning something new every day and I feel like I’m being prepared for future challenges.

I can’t wait for real life, but for now, this is a decent substitute.

Aspen's Grizzly

Do it.

Personify.

“Read. Read Read. And then Write. “

Chew it up and spit out metaphorically.

"I want to hear a poem where ideas kiss similes so deeply that
metaphors get jealous,

Where the subject matters so much that adjectives start
holdin' pronoun rallies at city hall.”

I want to hear a story..

…with two bickering languages, only one of which I speak.

Telling me what I already know

On the Resident life website the number three mistake first year RAs make is underestimating the time commitment.

I really thought I knew how it would be, but I was completely caught off guard by the time, emotional, and energy investment this job requires.

Even when I take off the nametag and polo, I’m still an RA. They told me this in training but I was skeptical. However, tonight when I ventured to the Village with friends and a resident asked me a question, I knew I was wrong. This is a 24 hour a day job.

Am I being overly dramatic? Probably.

Thank heavens for the wonderful staff I work with. Like with any job, major or subculture, no one can really understand or relate except those who are involved in it. I wish I could make my friends understand that.

Quotes of the day:

We are icons.

I live in a fishbowl. And I don’t know how to swim.

My life is a program.

I’m sorry to my family and friends, but I just can’t explain. And I’m sorry that it’s all I talk about, but it really is all my life consists of right now.

In other, non-related news, I finally took the Myers Briggs personality test.

I’m INFJ: Intoverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Judging.

The recommended careers for this are librarian (check) and teacher (yes!)

Other notable INFJ’s: Gandhi, Eleanor Roosevelt, Jane Goodall, Emily Bronte, Dumbledore, and Carl Jung himself.

Not bad company.

: ) that brightened my day a little.

At the end of the day, like usual I am happy with life and madly in love with the world.

Adios Summer.

My to-do list is ever growing as it usually is when life whips into a new direction. This RA gig is interesting to say the least. Lots of responsibilities and lots of things that can go wrong. But it’s a job that promises to provide many “we’ll laugh at these later” kinds of stories.

I’ve already faced key issues, roommate issues, and angry parents. Now I feel like there’s nothing I can’t face!

My residents have started to move in. I’ll have sixty of them. I’m already overwhelmed with the responsibility of learning their names and guiding them into a new year.

But I’m excited in the way that I’m excited about being a teacher some day.

I miss summer. I miss the days when I spend more time outside than in. I woke up with my dog curled up next to me. When I’d hang clothes on the line moments before I’d start to pour, so I’d just leave them there.

I miss the trees and the people who filled my days with wonderfulness.

But they’ve been replaced with a lovable bunch of eclectic personalities and smiling faces. I’m surprised to discover that I’m excited about my first opportunity to venture back to Darke County.

Nontoxic with a built in sharpener

I hate how confining the construct of time is.  When the clock chimes midnight, my day is technically all abruptly over.  Well, not really, but I’ve recently developed this huge pet peeve: when people start referring to it as the next day at exactly 12:00 a.m. It’s so unnecessary to complicate things like that.  The conversational “yesterdays,” “todays,” and “tomorrows” are suddenly very confusing.

I’ve always assumed that a day ends when you go to sleep and the new one begins when you wake up.  Yes, this does leave a small window of inactivity in undetermined territory.  But why do we have to compartmentalize time so rigidly? 

I appreciate routine and I can go a little bonkers without structure, but I don’t like the idea of living by a clock, life by numbers.

It just seems cold.  There’s no room for frivolity. 

This summer has been a unique one for me.  With my first year of college under my belt, returning home could have been a painfully regressive and prickly transition; luckily my mom’s awesomeness prevented that.

But going from frolicking with my college buddies to a nine-to-five job where the majority of my coworkers were over forty was a bit of a culture shock.

I spent the bulk of my time at the Dayton Daily hating every second of it.  I loathed my cubical, my deadlines, and I was terrified of my editor.  I counted down the days and minutes until I’d be free.

And then during the last week, I got comfortable.  I bonded with my boss, started to love the crotchety old men in the surrounding cubicles, and I realized that I had a knack for what I was doing.

I wish I would have had a better attitude and tried harder for the first seven weeks and I’m lucky the internship will continue next summer. I’m also extremely grateful that my negativity wasn’t reflected in the work I did. 

I snagged some assignments that hadn’t been handed to interns before and am even doing some post-internship freelancing. I was even told on my last day that my name “came up in some important meetings.”

Words cannot express my relief and gratitude for this!  Now if only I actually wanted to be a journalist…

I miss these women every second of every day. 

Have you ever asked the grinning bobcat why he grins?

There are about ten songs, scattered randomly throughout my favorite playlists and albums that will never cease to transport me back to my freshman year of college. This soundtrack will always elicit the indescribable feelings of being on my own for the first time and getting to know the most incredible people.
Memories play like an expertly crafted movie montage. It simultaneously makes me smile and breaks my heart. Such a good archive of stories to recall and tell to my children one day in an attempt to convince them that I was young once too, but also a doleful reminder that times may never be that happy, carefree, and new ever again.
A lot of times, that’s why I like certain music. Because it reminds me of a time when I was listening to it, when it was the background music to my life. But then I wonder, where does my taste fit into that?
I have the same problem with all of art. I can’t listen to a song, see a painting, or watch a play and tell you definitively if I like it or not. I have to mull it over, talk about it, analyze it.
This drives me crazy. Myself and others are often annoyed by my indecisiveness. I used to think it was a people pleasing thing, but more recently I’m believing more that it’s something all it’s own.
I don’t know what I like. I don’t know what I dislike. And I certainly don’t know how to go about figuring it out.
Will I ever be able to definitively say how I feel about anything. Or will I continue to be a fickle bandwagoner?
…The saga shall continue.