foolishly forgot that it's better to be hurt than to do the hurting

Hello, Goodbye

Leaving for Boston. I always get this feeling in the pit of my stomach, a physical reaction to the fact that soon, I will be very much alone. It makes no sense because all I wanted since the moment I got home was to leave. But life is funny that way; you just cant get what you want WHEN you want it. The airport is an interesting place. There are people fleeing for good, crying for their loss, joyous to embark on a fabulous destination, or just unsure of what their flight will bring. Every time I fly, I'm reminded of the difficult equilibrium between the freeing independence of being alone and the constraining ties that bind me to a family.
I get this horrible, scared feeling that as soon as I pass security, I will be alone. For better or for worse I will have to face what comes my way without being able to blame anyone or attribute it to anyone but me, myself, and I. Yet I feel empowered because I know that I thrive when independent; I'm a weed that can grown anywhere you throw me.
It is partly liberating to be free from listening to other people in my life who have a say in what I do, when I do it, and how I want to do it. I think that’s what I missed the most while at home, making all of my own decisions. (Yet choices are a reflection of the larger structural frameworks that we operate in... thus, I'm frustrated that these forces that governed my life at home are still pervasive when I'm away... is there such a thing as "free thinking"? doubtful-- so our thoughts/actions/choices are just a reflection of what we've absorbed from our surrounding or our efforts to do otherwise) But that is the exactly what I missed the most about home: being able to be the baby and seek out help shamelessly; to neglect cleaning my room and doing anything productive.
Well my days of lardhood are over. It looks like I will have to get my bum on the move now: hopefully it’s all I wanted.

No Gifts Please

It's Christmas Eve and my stocking is effectively empty--trust me, I've periodically checked a few times already. Considering the past year, I could see why I might be on Santa's Naughty list; but I also happen to know that "Santa" loves me unconditionally (and dotes on me appropriately). This must mean my empty stocking and complete absence of a Christmas tree must mean something more; the economic downturn is hitting my family. Now I don't know too much about The Economy that we seem to love talking about these days, (perhaps after econ101 next semester I will be able to sound a bit more inteligible) but the high gas prices and frantic sales from my favorite designers and deparment stores are enough to tell me something is up. What I've failed to accept is that issues with our economy will affect my family; I've missed these hints via phone calls from my mom all semester. I blame being stuck in the middle of one of the wealthiest New England towns and being surrounded by girls from families who can afford to pay $50,000 a year on college tuition and maybe a few Jimmy Choos and Marc Jacobs along the way. Coming back home for break and seeing for myself the stores that have closed down and the new found frugalness of our household, I realize I should give the credit card a well-deserved break. Suprisingly, I've found our new plan for a gift-less Christmas to be easier than I thought. But it does make me wonder if all those years I couldn't go to sleep because of the excitement of tearing open my new gifts or because of the Christmas spirit of family and love.

Genesis

All good things have a beginning; nylons, the cure for tuberculosis, white-out, creation/evolution of mankind... While this blog may have humble origins, I nevertheless have high hopes for it. Unfortunately, much of my life has been marked by starting and stopping various activities and fugacious fancies. From goals of writing a daily diary entry to a never ending reading list, it would be fair to say that I have a insatiable desire to see and do; but I couldn't say that I'm one for commitment. Starting this blog, I wonder if it will last a week, a month, a year? Yet fear of quitting often means never trying. Here is my attempt.