After seven years on LJ, could it be that I'm moving on??
http://mozlin.tumblr.com/

I feel like I'm cheating on LJ, but I love tumblr. :x

Over the weekend, I made a gmail account for my six-year-old little sister, and she sends me emails now! And sometimes, I find that a conversation with her is better than one with anyone else. :) 

This semester is the first one that I'll have to move around one of my finals. I have three scheduled for May 8th, two at the same time.

Winter break has been a lot of MarioKart, malls, and eating! We whirled around Bridgewater Mall on the 26th, only to go to Jersey Garden Outlet two days later. We also went to IKEA, and I might get these really skinny shelves for my room.

But now that vacation is "officially" over, it's time to get down to January's business. I'm still really disappointed in fall semester though-- Cindy Meekins gave me a B for the class that I had As in all semester and refuses to answer emails about it. How can I move onto 2009 when I'm still caught up by 2008?

Winter projects: 

1. Fix things
2. Make things
3. Sell things
4. Lots of bio
5. Apply for internships

For my birthday, Laurie took me to see the Cirque du Soleil in NYC. It's funny that we aren't city people at all-- after finding each other amongst the throngs of people vomit, taking a quick spin of Rockefeller, and then getting our sketches done [I ended up looking like Cher], we collapsed at Barnes and Noble and spent the rest of the afternoon reading. We braved the congested streets to journey to WaMu Theater at Madison Square Garden to indulge in Wintuk, cotton candy, and funny hats. We were impressed by the contortionist rag doll, the tightrope walker, and the air ballerinas. The actual story was about Jamie, a young boy, who goes on a journey to a magical land to find snow for long, cold winter nights. Someone wrote a summary that I really liked: 
( summary ) 

Afterwards, we stumbled into the chilly night to race for trains. We hopped onto the wrong train [typical]. While waiting for the right train, we tangoed in the empty train station, our hair filled with smoke and our tired eyes beaming at each other. We decided that each time we go into the city, we would get a sketch and form a collection to grace our future basement.

The sisters [the whole bunch of us] and family braved the cold to go to Pennsylvania's Great Wolf Lodge, an indoors water park. We had a surprisingly fun time shrieking down blue and yellow water tubes, splashing in tide pools, and soaking in hot tubs. The lodge itself was geared towards children under the age of ten; Lucy, Jen, and I were the oldest ones there, which really entertained the lifeguards. We brought Lena's friend Jodie and her sister Coco. Coco really amused us-- early one morning, she trots off for the water park only to come back two minutes later, extremely confused.

"I don't know how to get to the water park," she complains. The older girls exchange looks; we had been there for more than four hours at this point, and had walked to and from the water park multiple times.
"You take the elevator!" We are very encouraging.
"I can't!" 
"Why not?" 
"Because it says IN CASE OF FIRE, USE STAIRS!!!" 

HAHAHAH.

I looked up into my nose this morning to find that my nostrils have changed shape. They used to be small Hershey kisses, but they have since grown more cartilage and lengthened to become more lima bean-esque, more Caucasian. Sometimes, I feel like I have the face of a stranger.

It takes time to learn sacrifice. To learn what it means, how to do it, why to do it, and what to do afterwards. In fact, it will probably take a lifetime.

Don't you still feel that twinge when someone asks for an m&m? 

Every college student, or student in general, has a superstitious habit when it comes to exams. It could be anything from that t-shirt you wore to an exam that you got an A on to the lingerie that you put on to feel more confident to repeating the exact same cycle of events prior to a big test. Mine is the First Paper. I have a theory that the First Paper pretty much determines how the rest of the semester is going to go. Now, if you refer to a few posts back in my Bad Luck Week, you'll remember that I got a B+ on this semester’s first paper. It might not be bad for you, but writing is something that I implicitly know how to do. To get a B+ on a paper is a blow to my fragile and overdramatic ego. I was crushed.

Now, three weeks later, after Paper Two in the same class, I have broken the curse of the First Paper. I should explain that there is a window of opportunity to lift the effects of the First Paper—the second paper in the same class must be an A, thus proving that the first paper was just a bad indicator. That class was pure torture. Papers are handed out at the last possible minute, in alphabetical order [which does me no good]. The professor also does this thing where she gives advice about the major errors found in the papers. This is a form of psychological torture. I remember this paper-- it was a painstaking, fighting effort at 3am that had a risky argument that proved difficult to support. I was vexed now, fidgeting in my seat. Finally, my paper was passed back to me. Flipflipflip through five pages and HA! An A!! The October air, brisker than normal, felt good on my lips as I walked outside.

So hello to you, fall semester, junior year. I'm ready to play now.

When I am older, I will teach my children to call each other by the first letters of their names. Laurie and I will adorn them with plaid and stockings, and send them to manipulate the world; we both love watching Gossip Girl.

Do you ever go back in livejournal time and reread your old entries? I never realized the changes that I've made since this journal began in 2003. In 2008, on October 5th, I was sitting at Laurie's kitchen table, staring thoughtfully at the fading afternoon, listening to our laundry being done. There is a flood of papers in front of me (which is very common) and scattered water bottles. This is a "hello" to future me-- are you still the same? Does October still make you feel like pumpkin pie and crisp blue skies? 

It's a nice feeling, I have to admit, of knowing that tomorrow morning, someone will be there to kiss you tenderly on your forehead and welcome the day with you. It's nice to know that on autumn days, someone will be there to cover your cold fingers with his own, to rub nipped noses together. We could've been completely different people without each other; we both admit that. Walking with each other, hand in hand, down the sun-streaked lanes of College Avenue-- we smile at each other, deep in contentment.

So as the leaves blush with autumn's caress, we keep walking, dreaming with each other. We dream of two falls past when we were still tenderlings, and the dream was as fragile as a soap bubble. We dream of future Things, of more places to go together and more things to see.

I love him still, very much.

This week, I've...

1. Tripped down stairs,
2. Was told I couldn't work as a tutor due to the little words "NOT VALID FOR EMPLOYMENT" on my social,
3. Lost my id card, and very nearly lost my book,
4. Completely thought a meeting was today [it's really Thursday. And I set it up.]
5. Received a random message from a stranger who is supposedly very angry at his son for reading my blog. If you are reading, please stop.

And to top it off, I got a B+ on a paper. Psh, that hasn't happened since Swenson's class, freshman year.

Before Summer fully retreats into her cocoon, Laurie and I ventured into the sallow warmth of College Ave for a taste of I's bubble tea. The air nipped at our bare arms and clasped hands as we meandered down the cracked sidewalk. We got lucky at I's today-- it's always chancy because they have so many combinations and flavors to choose from. I got the vanilla mocha and Laurie had green apple + mango + strawberries on top. Delicious. We slurped and sipped all the way back to the bus stop, where he hopped on to go to class.

Recently, a friend introduced us as the exemplification of love. "If they don't make it," she laughed, "No one will!" We looked at each other and smiled. I'm glad that we have each other.

We went to the zoo on Saturday, keeping our spirits high despite the muggy air, heavy with the threat of rain. The girls sat in the back, all three of our heads buried in our individual books. We looked up every once in a while to check where we were or if the roads were particularly bumpy, detaching ourselves carefully from our fictional worlds.

The zoo was wonderful. Cherri liked the sea lions, shrieking when their playful faces peered out the water. We went through the Butterfly Gardens, where one butterfly, attracted perhaps by Lena's sparkly sandals, attached itself quite adoringly to her foot. It flapped there patiently while it probed her foot for nectar [says Lena]. We were all very excited by the monkeys, whose little faces and fingers and nimble movements always entrance us. The zoo had recently acquired another snow leopard, and the two of them made quite a pair. My favorite was the polar bear. He always looks so majestic, sprawled there in his great white body.

Someone confused Lena for my daughter, which was quite disheartening. It hasn't happened before, and I didn't think it would happen on that day-- I was dressed in leggings and Converses, hardly maternal wear.

We went to Flushing afterwards. I can't think of any place I dislike more than Flushing when I'm there-- it just seems like a human cesspool, quite like its name. The grime that hangs in the air, the noise and confusion, and the dingy buildings all serve to remind me of how attached to suburbia I am. Other kids would say that nothing interesting happened here, but I wouldn't trade my tree-lined lanes and neat houses for anything. --An old man yelled at Lena for touching one of his plants.
"How dare you touch that plant? " 
"Chill man, she's only a kid." 
"Kids can't kill?" He demanded, his eyes popping a bit. We walked on. When I'm old, I hope to remember that children don't kill, that they like to touch things for the sake of curiosity and love of life. But we were in Flushing, and no one remembers those magical little things there.

Night swept over, and we sat in New York City traffic, surrounded by skyscrapers and lights. I held little Cherri close to me, Lena lay on her, and we talked about the Pisa's leaning tower and the stability of the skyscrapers. Then we were engulfed in the orange lights of a tunnel, and we were home.

The thing that bothers me about college is that each semester, my schedule and my friends' schedules change. It means that lunchtime will not always be at 11 40, when Chris gets out of his class, and that it will probably not be the same lunch group. It means that there won't be marioparty or smashbro games every night. It means having constantly to adapt and change and find new people. Ugh. This year, I'm stressed because my friends have disappeared off-campus, holed up in houses. I wish so much that Russ still lived one floor above me, that Meg popped in sometimes to fill the room with her, and that the Boys were pulling Laurie away to play Halo. And even all that I could bear if Laurie were on-campus. But he is working and driving, which leaves me in my quiet, amber den, feeling like a fox in its little hole.

Oh, I know it's not bad at all. I always complain and gripe at the beginnings of a school year.

My classes are interesting this semester. This is the first time that I haven't really been excited for any classes; this semester, they leave me with ambiguous, vague ideas on what they could do to help me. Biology to satisfy a major requirement, 19th century lit and black narratives, public health literature (a joke, really) and principles of health and wellness. I find myself missing Dr Greenberg, dear old soul, and Prof Levao, the little darling.

This semester is tinted with nostalgia. Could it just be that this is junior year, and I am one step too much closer to finishing my college career? 

Tonight, we went to the bookstore and sat on the fringes of the café area. Laurie was absorbed in his stack of books, and I was absorbed with keeping warm, slipping my bare legs between his. The lighting and atmosphere were perfect, and they had a little ensemble playing that sort of light jazzy style that I enjoy so much. Regular café music.

When it was time to go, we stepped into the warm, full summer night, dancing closely together under Borders’ amber lights. I love the feeling of him against me, of us swaying together to his count. We went for a “moonlit stroll”-- minus the moon-- and he lifted me up, and I have never felt so safe and loved than in his arms. A lady stopped to say that we were “sweet”, and I smiled-- I like thinking that people can see how much we love each other, how much we glow.

I think I'm sort of a list fanatic. I really do love them; they keep track of things and organize and remind you of important to do's. I think my mind even works with the number of lists I have, categorizing various items into ASAP, Groceries, and Far Into The Future [FITT]. I need an application that will love my lists as much as I do.

Dear Huyck,

It's been a while since you first posed the question, and I've been mulling it over while daily life hustles on. This is a fraction of a suitable answer:

I love Laurie because he makes me feel like I'm at home. I know that's a cliche, but there's something comforting about being able to be completely comfortable with a person, right? Actually, it's more than comforting-- It's probably one of the most valuable things you'll ever find. You know that we're such a fake society; we put on our whitened smiles and hide our disdain and teach our children good manners. I feel like that disappears when I'm with Laurie; we have our own structure and sense of things. Completely real. I can talk, laugh, breathe around him-- it's almost like being with another one of yourself.

In fact, I think I do love Laur because in some ways, he is a reflection of myself and things that I admire. I love that he is brutally honest, uninterested in what people think about him, and fearless. And he likes to laugh, likes to do things, likes to sing and dance with me... We're like mixes of each other, shades of the same color-- he is the bolder and I am the pastel.

I think love requires a lot of ingredients. It takes a certain admiration for the person, a certain willingness to let yourself be vulnerable, a capacity for indulgence, tenderness, violence, friendship... I know that there are times when he's next to me, and it just feels so /right/, for lack of a better word. His hand around mine, the way we fit together, and even the way we walk together. I'm almost afraid to say that I KNOW that he's the only one I'll ever have or want because if I did say it and it wasn't true, I'd never believe in true love again.

Again, this is only a sliver of the depths I could write about. I used to think that words could encompass everything-- I never knew why everyone said that love was indescribable. Any now, closing my eyes and touching that infinite amount of love I have for Laurie, I realize that words could never really grasp that. It's such a tender, sweet, almost unbearably light emotion... and yet so comfortingly heavy... Like a good chocolate.

Man, I've compared love to everything I enjoy-- sweets, art, and good food. That's all I have! I want to read your reply. :)

Hearts,
me

PS. Oh yes, and I can't bear being without him. It's like being without a daemon, if you've ever read Philip Pullman. Like something deep in you is being stretched to a breaking point and will snap if you don't hurry back to its side.

FOUR.OH TERM AVERAGE!!! YESSS.
If I weren't so tired from leading OLs and future fresh all day, I'd be more celebratory. As it were, my heart gives a little leap of ba-bump. :)