Sunday, December 09, 2001
I sit here on a lovely Sunday night, a bit at a loss for what to do with myself. A few times this weekend, a brief but overwhelmingly joyful thought would cross my mind and cause my stomach to jump in a way usually reserved for boys, tests, and unfinished assignments due the next day. My thought: I don't have lab tomorrow, I don't have to sit up for hours and hours trying to type out a story to please my teacher and no one else. There was a time in mid-semester when I honestly thought this day would never come. Now that it is here, all I have left to do is sit and hope my final story was enough to salvage a C from the impossible troll that crawled from its cave to rule over lab 2056 on Monday mornings. I've celebrated in my usual way, doing nothing but spend money.
The rest of my weekend thoughts have been almost consumed by dreams of packing up my stuff, stepping onto a plane, and flying across the Atlantic to step out onto the land I have wanted to visit for as long as I can remember. England. My romance with Great Britian began a long time ago and has continualy grown deeper as I have flirted with the Beatles and British actors. I would give anything to be there. Especially right now, as the break sets in and the familiar disappointment of sticking around town creeps back. We're well acquainted, that disappointment and I. He was a most unwelcome visitor over the summer and now, no matter how hard I brace myself against the door, he seems to have one foot in. His voice rolls around in my head telling me that no one here wants me and thus making England ever more desirable. I don't mean to dwell in what closely resembles self-pity. Despite all the crying on the phone to my mother, I am oddly at peace and could be defined as happy, but only in my own terms. I have just about all the things that honestly matter, the rest of what I want will fall into place later. Including wonderful stick-by-you friends, a husband, and beautiful children to giggle with and stay up late telling secrets or making forts. I have to believe that God has His plan, this is part of it, and all will be made beautiful in time. Until then, I count it all joy, so bring it on.
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The rest of my weekend thoughts have been almost consumed by dreams of packing up my stuff, stepping onto a plane, and flying across the Atlantic to step out onto the land I have wanted to visit for as long as I can remember. England. My romance with Great Britian began a long time ago and has continualy grown deeper as I have flirted with the Beatles and British actors. I would give anything to be there. Especially right now, as the break sets in and the familiar disappointment of sticking around town creeps back. We're well acquainted, that disappointment and I. He was a most unwelcome visitor over the summer and now, no matter how hard I brace myself against the door, he seems to have one foot in. His voice rolls around in my head telling me that no one here wants me and thus making England ever more desirable. I don't mean to dwell in what closely resembles self-pity. Despite all the crying on the phone to my mother, I am oddly at peace and could be defined as happy, but only in my own terms. I have just about all the things that honestly matter, the rest of what I want will fall into place later. Including wonderful stick-by-you friends, a husband, and beautiful children to giggle with and stay up late telling secrets or making forts. I have to believe that God has His plan, this is part of it, and all will be made beautiful in time. Until then, I count it all joy, so bring it on.
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