Works Ahead

What is this mediocrity that I settle with? Somehow I've become complacent with a steady job, occassional outings with friends, and the idiosyncracies of the day. I feel like I should be doing something above this layed out life before me. It sounds too samaritan, but this has been plaguing me since the start of summer. I recently turned nineteen and already I'm determined to accomplish more than a lifetime of works before I blow out my next twenty candles. I want to start to leave a mark on this world, whether I am remembered for it or not. What I will do is yet to come, but I feel something big, fast breaking on the horizon. For now, I'll leave a list of things that I wish to do at some point in my life.

Lifetime Goals
1. write a fiction novel
2. write a biography or an autobiography
3. volunteer at least a year of my life
4. teach
5. write a book of poems

...and to know I did this not for myself

Back in Breezetown

First year at college wound up alright. My illnesses faded just one day before the start of my exams. The next five days were filled with cramming, papers, and goodbyes to culminate my first year experience in a very anti-climatic sort of way. But, I have safely traveled 400 miles across the southern bible belt to return to the small town of Gulf Breeze. A quiet town where the only thing worse than the stuck up aristocracy are the eagerly ticket-dispesnsing police officers. I was clearly in the wrong for going 40 mph in a 35 mph zone. It happened a year ago, and yes, I am still bitter.
I have managed to weasel my way back to the restaurant I had so desperately wanted to quit senior year, Billy Bob's Beach Barbecue. Yet, I know I have missed this place. All the employees are just as entertaining and comical as the seasons of Family Guy or any other comedy show to your liking. Each with a background and dramatic history, like fine string twisted and tangled into the egg beater. This restaurant must have family origins or else some psychic energy, as all employees seem to be brothers or sisters of previous workers. In fact, we just might all be related. A scary fact that I know isn't true, but will entertain my mind when I'm pulling pork for the third time in a week. What is pulling pork? Well, I'll save all my job descriptions for later blogs. Afterall, I do have all summer.

Les Yeux Paresseux

Four o'clock in the morning and I'm typing away in the library. What's more painful then writing in french? Easy, rewriting what you've already written. It's hard enough to generate logical arguments and smooth progressions in language you barely understand. I mean if I'm looking up every other word to my sentences, surely they must be confusing and incomplete. How am I to communicate my ideas in French when I can barely convey them in English? Ah, that is but the beauty to college, my futility at understanding that which is above me. The auto correct spell check doesn't help my french writing either. The second I type "personnages" it strangely turns into "personajes," perhaps Spanish majors could resolve that issue for me or else some other language. Still, this french paper remains unfinished, and my eyes are slowly closing to darkness. Eight hours until this paper is due, and then I'm home free. If motivation could be served in a cup, I'd glug it down like a forty year wanderer in the desert drinking water for the first time. I'm tired. But, there are still miles to go before I sleep...miles to go before I sleep.

The Home Stretch

One last day and this semester will fade away from existance. It will become a sand of grain in the wrinkle of time, and I'm anticipating it. A week and a half of upper respiratory infection and conjunctivitis left me unable to attend class and dumbfounded for exams. I have effectively studied one day for each of my exams, not enjoyable for those who wish for a stable mentality. But, this weekend has been just as excrutiating. A deleted french paper plagued my sick week, and it must be rewritten by tomorrow (12:00 p.m.). A little french fries and coke from Dooley's will hopefully push me through the night. That leaves just enough time tomorrow to study for my health exam, pack my life into boxes, and say goodbyes to those that remain. This summer, however, should prove to be better than this downhill spiral of first year end at Emory. I have only one word for this summer, and there are certain people who know what I speak of when I say billy, just billy.

A Mucked Up Weekend

Beach plans have fallen through so I'm instead spending my weekend at Emory. Yet, this is by far the best weekend I've had here. I am still sick, coughing and hacking throughout the day. However, today started at 2:30 p.m. to my enjoyment. Susan and I had another afternoon breakfast, and then it was time to shower at 4:30. The guys in Dobbs suggested a movie, so it was that or do my homework. Being the unwise college student I am, I naturally chose the movies. The Interpreter was good, a bit slow, but still good. Little did I know that eight hours later at 3:00 in the morning I would be throwing peanut butter and over six month old pudding at J.B., Ryan, Peter, and Katie. I especially took care to nail Katie in the face with a glob of PB&J. Then. the putrid smell of shaving cream, mayonnaise, and peanut butter pervaded the air. My nose was in revolt, and I gagged heavily on the smell. We traveled back in doors to jump in the shower with a short parade to showcase our battle scars. And who ever said Emory was lame?