Today is my last class at Northland.
May. 28th, 2004 02:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lykomancer(ever.)
I need to write an eight page paper tomorrow that's due tomorrow. And talk to the Career Services lady about my resume, and schedule a check-out time with that bitch of an RHD. I should swing by Heather and Akia's to see if Akia picked up any boxes for me, and visit with them before they leave for her sister's graduation in Texas.
...I lost my graduation day schedule paper. How will I know to follow Michele Small around now? What will I do with myself?
*sigh*
I really wish i could have seen the suckers run this spring.
I really wish that the lilac bushes would have bloomed before I left.
I was really hoping that by the time the end came, everything would be ok and it would feel right to go...that everyone would be settling into their boring summer routines and being their normal boring selves and that I wouldn't feel like I was going to be missing out on anything and that everything would be fine, just fine and it'd be cool... I'd be all smiles and hugs and "see ya sometime-- yeah, I'll try to visit in July; there better be a place for me to stay, and no, I won't forget to keep in touch" and that I'd walk away without thinking about it. And by the time I realized what I'd done it'd be too late.
(and it wouldn't hurt so much)
(and I wouldn't be crying)
Gawdammit.
.
.
.
.
It's not just the fact that I am leaving the Northland "bubble" with it's subculture and rhythm and idiosyncratic quirks that I have learned and learned to love. I can deal with that.
It's not just the loss of casual acquaintances or the distance put as a barrier between close, deep friendships. That's terrible, but not the worst.
It's the loss of identity. Who am I now? What am I? I have to redefine myself in a strange place with few people I know who can help me. What am I going to do with myself?
Will it matter what I do? Will it matter if I slip into working class apathy and just fall asleep standing up behind a counter or sitting at the keyboard?
Who will care anyway? Those whose opinions I value most are not going with me, and the longer that we are apart, the less understanding there will be. Communication will break down until it is simply the ritual mouthing of words, with no care no empathy no understanding.
The color of my tassel is white-- the color of death.
My, I'm cheerful and optimistic, ne?
There must be something wrong with my eyes. I can't stop crying.
I need to write an eight page paper tomorrow that's due tomorrow. And talk to the Career Services lady about my resume, and schedule a check-out time with that bitch of an RHD. I should swing by Heather and Akia's to see if Akia picked up any boxes for me, and visit with them before they leave for her sister's graduation in Texas.
...I lost my graduation day schedule paper. How will I know to follow Michele Small around now? What will I do with myself?
*sigh*
I really wish i could have seen the suckers run this spring.
I really wish that the lilac bushes would have bloomed before I left.
I was really hoping that by the time the end came, everything would be ok and it would feel right to go...that everyone would be settling into their boring summer routines and being their normal boring selves and that I wouldn't feel like I was going to be missing out on anything and that everything would be fine, just fine and it'd be cool... I'd be all smiles and hugs and "see ya sometime-- yeah, I'll try to visit in July; there better be a place for me to stay, and no, I won't forget to keep in touch" and that I'd walk away without thinking about it. And by the time I realized what I'd done it'd be too late.
(and it wouldn't hurt so much)
(and I wouldn't be crying)
Gawdammit.
.
.
.
.
It's not just the fact that I am leaving the Northland "bubble" with it's subculture and rhythm and idiosyncratic quirks that I have learned and learned to love. I can deal with that.
It's not just the loss of casual acquaintances or the distance put as a barrier between close, deep friendships. That's terrible, but not the worst.
It's the loss of identity. Who am I now? What am I? I have to redefine myself in a strange place with few people I know who can help me. What am I going to do with myself?
Will it matter what I do? Will it matter if I slip into working class apathy and just fall asleep standing up behind a counter or sitting at the keyboard?
Who will care anyway? Those whose opinions I value most are not going with me, and the longer that we are apart, the less understanding there will be. Communication will break down until it is simply the ritual mouthing of words, with no care no empathy no understanding.
The color of my tassel is white-- the color of death.
My, I'm cheerful and optimistic, ne?
There must be something wrong with my eyes. I can't stop crying.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-28 07:33 am (UTC)I guess what I'm trying to say is that who we are is as much who our friends know us as, as much made up of our memories, as it is made up of the present time and the future. Some of you is going to change -- is always going to change -- but so much more will stay the same that you're not going to blow away or anything.
Amy Grant put it well:
So many people come and go
But nothing can change the you I know
You’ll never be just a face in the crowd
And...hey, what you do does matter. 'Cause, if nothing else, I'm only four hours away, and I will come whap you over the head with a pillow. :D
Cry if you need to. There's nothing wrong with that. And if you need a hug, tell me *^_^*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-28 09:20 am (UTC)Besides, if I become a writing major too, I'll probably cover my tassel in mud so it's all gooky and flaking dirt all over everything (the true Northland spirit, eh?), and I'll think of you when I do it.
Oh, and thank you for having the sense to know that white is the death color and not black. I've argued with people over this.