There were never really any particularly exciting plans for the three day weekends for me to look forward to or anticipate, but just having that extra little "break" from school was solace enough for me to risk suspicion from the school (all the badly forged "sick" notes handed over to the grouchy lady with the hot pink lipstick) and my parents (all the unevenly distributed (but quite large nonetheless) number of absences recorded on my report cards) due to all the cutting and what-not.
College, on the other hand, has been so much more "chill" that I finally felt freed from that suffocating feeling of being completely overwhelmed by nothing in particular that always resulted in the sudden urge to plop myself down on the floor and curl up into a ball to cry and cry and cry.
Fall quarter was great; for the first time in a really long time, I felt genuinely content and happy with where I was in life. I loved my classes, did amazingly well in all of them, and was enjoying all the newfound freedom that college life afforded.
I don't know what happened, but everything that I thought was so great about college was completely turned on its head when I came back for the start of Winter quarter after having a pretty awesome (despite the getting so sick near the end that I couldn't hang out with my friends at all) winter break.
I have no idea if it was me or if it was something else beyond my control, but something changed. And definitely not for the better.
When I got our of the taxi and stepped onto campus again late on Sunday night, it felt like my eyes were finally opened and I was seeing all the harsh realities of my life on campus for the first time ever.
For example, my relationship with my roommates? Sure, we hang out a lot, but upon entering my dorm room for the first time in three weeks, I suddenly realized that it wasn't because we particularly liked each other. The blaring truth was that we spent (a lot) of time together out of pure necessity because none of us have met any other new people here who have stuck around since college started.
Along with my huge luggage, I came in on that Sunday night bearing two (slightly squashed due to the plane ride) cute Daiso boxes of freshly baked cookies as a belated holiday gift for my roommates.
While they both focused their attention on me for about ten seconds to thank me for the treat, once the politeness protocols a gift recipient must adhere to were taken care of, they immediately returned to their previous, individual pursuits (the computer screen for one and the pillow for the other) as if a commercial break had just ended.
Even though that kind of "we're all sitting in the same room, but I'm just going to do my own thing at my desk and pretend that the two of you do not exist" behavior is pretty much a typical ritual for me and my roommates, I never realized how strange and awkward that kind of pseudo-relationship was before returning for the start of the new quarter.
I knew my both of my roommates loved gingerbread cookies and while I despised them (the cookies, not my roommates) with a passion and the smell of molasses made me a little nauseous, I bought all the spices (and other special ingredients in a well-received recipe I found online), whipped out my set of piping tips for the first time in about a year, and spent a few hours baking and meticulously decorating a large batch of gingerbread men for them.
If they appreciated them, I wouldn't have known. Unless of course, I did some serious extrapolation of the emotions present in ten-second cordial thanks they expressed on that night.
Ever since I became conscious of how awkward it was to be in a room with two people whom I have lived with and spent most of my free time with for three months and constantly pretending to ignore their existence, I haven't been able to shake this nagging feeling of loneliness that has clung on to me like lint on a new sticky sheet of a lint roller.
The fact that my roommates have a class together this quarter and often come back to the room chuckling about something before abruptly ending their conversation once they notice my presence is fueling this paranoid suspicion of mine that they are talking about me behind my back, which is not exactly helping the situation.
I can hear it all now:
"God, she's so damn MESSY!"
(Yes, I am the "messy" one and my third of the room looks especially bad compared to the other two sides of the room which are both governed by a strict "everything is returned to its place after use" principle. I don't mind clutter at all and clean desks actually kind of freak me out.)
"She never empties out the recycling bin!"
(Justification: there were only two bins for three people in the room when we moved in and I graciously decided to share mine with my other roommate who didn't have one when the maintenance folks never brought us a third one. I don't mind a semi-full recyling bin and would empty it eventually if it were left to my discretion. Besides, it's next to her desk, not mine.)
And so on, and so on, and so on.
Of course, I haven't actually heard these complaints coming out of my roommates' mouths, but I'm pretty sure they are thinking them.
The roommate situation is a lot more complicated (for many reasons) than I made it out to be, but I did not intend for this to be a post bitching about living situations, so I'll save it for next time.
My point was that the significance of "three day weekends" in my life has changed a lot since starting college. (And it only took 998 long-winded words to kind of make it clear.)
Both of my roommates went home this weekend, so I have had the room to myself for three nights. Aside from the one night I had alone at the end of finals week, I have never been alone in our room before. With all the tension that I have been feeling in the air since the quarter started, I can honestly say that I couldn't have been more glad to have a little space and time to recoup on my own this weekend.
Once my roommates left for the weekend, I felt a rush of uninhibited freedom reminiscent of the way a tween feels when he or she is left alone in the house alone for the first time (Tom Cruise sliding around in his underwear in Risky Business comes to mind, though I did not strip down and do a little dance in my room).
Although I did not manage to catch up on much of my work this weekend and spent a majority of my time overanalyzing a decision I had to make, nearly driving myself crazy thinking about all the "What if..."s, and not making up my mind until the very last minute, a weekend without the roommates was very welcome. I am a little sad that they will be back tomorrow and that the whole routine will start up again, beginning with the massive amounts of work that I have piled up and all the untouched textbooks crying for my attention.
Here are a few things that made me happy this weekend:
Painting my nails with the awesome Sephora "Rosy Glow" shade that I picked up at the mall on Thursday.
While my roommate was testing eyeliners and mascara on her eyes at Sephora that night, I discovered the display of nail polish and went a little crazy with the testers.
I walked out with a new "professional" emery board that kicks the 99 cent one I had out of this universe, a bottle of "Rosy Glow," and a different shade on each finger of my left hand.
A little backtracking - why was I at the mall on a Thursday night?
Well, I was considering pledging for a Greek organization on the encouragement of a friend, and "Installations," where "business casual" attire was required, were on Sunday and I had a closet full of tees, tanks, jeans, and flip flops.
I could not believe my luck at the mall that night because I found the perfect outfit, at an amazing price, at one store:
EXPRESS.
Red line items were an additional 30% off that night, so the ONE wearable sale shirt that I dug out of the bargain bin and the ONE pair of normal-looking dress pants that I found on the racks ended up costing me just a litle over $30.
That's right.
I paid $33.92 for both.
Crazy, huh?
AND the pants and the shirt matched! And fit me almost-perfectly! (The pants were a little too long for me, but it was nothing a pair of heels couldn't have fixed.)
That's what I call crazy shopping.
The next day, I decided to go to the bank to deposit a check. While the teller was doing my transaction, she told me that I was preapproved for a Bank of America rewards credit card and gave a little spiel trying to convince me to accept the offer. I wasn't really interested and was ready to decline, but then she told me the bank was offering me a $3000 credit limit.
$3000 for a girl who just turned 18 two months ago and had no credit history? Even the teller was shocked.
So I signed the little paper she gave me and my card should be on the way soon.
"Be responsible!" she advised as I walked toward the door.
I will!
After my eventful trip to the bank, I crossed the street and headed toward Marshall's in search of some cheap socks because I didn't bring any with me down to San Diego. While I was there, I checked out their huge shoe selection and fell in love with a pair of $25 heels that I wore around the store for about forty-five minutes while looking at socks:
I had bought a pair of heels at the mall the night before, but the moment I saw these shoes, I knew I wanted them a lot more. I walked around the store in the heels over and over again carrying the shoe box with my flip flops inside, trying to decide if I should get them or not.
I stupidly decided not to buy them.
I should have followed my heart. It would have saved me a lot of grief. (Same lesson applies to the bigger decision of whether to rush or not that I fretted about all weekend.)
Once I got back to my room that night, I regretted the decision.
I was back bright and early the next morning to buy them. The other pair will be going back to the mall.
I missed an awesome concert on Wednesday and felt like a bitch for telling my roommate I would meet her there and then never making it (she even got me an autographed poster and an EP from the band I really wanted to see and refused to let me pay her back for it) because I was at the info night for a Greek organization that my friend wanted me to check out with her.
I had no idea that it was going to take so long, but it did and I felt absolutely horrible for bailing on her.
Since I am not gushing about becoming an official pledge and starting the journey of "Going Greek" this weekend, it's obvious that I didn't go through with it. I had a cute outfit that I was dying to have the occasion to wear all ready to go, I had met some really nice people at the info night who seemed genuinely friendly and awesome, but I decided last minute not to rush this quarter.
I think I made the right decision, but I can't help but feel a little guilty for not rushing with my friend, who also did not rush because I decided I wanted to wait to do it.
Honestly, I never imagined myself being a part of anything Greek-related in college, so a lot of my inhibitions and opinions about "Greek life" fed into my hesitations about rushing, even for a not-really-part-of-the-whole-typical-Greek-scene organization. The mental pros/cons list that kept running through my mind since info night was driving me absolutely crazy; I kept staring at my outfit, walking around the room in my awesome shoes, and changing my mind every few minutes about whether I wanted to do it or not.
My conclusion (made about an hour before the Installation ceremony would have taken place) was that I was not ready to make such a big commitment to the organization and that I would reconsider it next Fall.
Or at least that was what I told my very disappointed-sounding friend on the phone after keeping her hanging and subject to my constant mind-changes for the past few days.
Even though I haven't gotten much sleep lately, I don't feel sleepy at all yet and it is past four in the morning. I think these may have had something to do with it:
I could probably live on these awesome Trader Joe's Espresso Chocolates (that I just discovered last week) and a bag of peanut butter filled pretzels. Throw in a handful of Gummy Vitamins and I am set.
I think I definitely want a single next year. But can I afford the $1000ish premium put on personal space?
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