I feel like Dexter.
Things are still a little off. Definitely better than last week, plus I've made it through the tough part of my week, so it should only go up from here.
The Africa Party did indeed raise my spirits. All of those kids are just so great. Especially because the people who come to the parties are all of the people I really enjoyed on the trip.
We made tons of chapati and rice and people brought lentils and veggies. Good food. Eventually I decided to make the transition to the party-partying. When I caught Texas's eye and said, "First on the table" she got all excited, then got "mad" at me since I meant with a different partner than her. She's always telling me there are no permanent partners in this house, but we have pretty much solidified ourselves as partners. Anyway, I enjoyed bothering her by playing with one of my absolute favorite girls from the trip.
I had invited a couple of people who didn't go to Africa to come to the party party after the dinner party, and apparently word spread. It wasn't that big, but big enough. We had a great game of baseball and there was tons of dancing. About six people (all who went to Africa, plus one from work) stayed until about 3:30 dancing. I was sore afterward, but it was totally worth it.
But at the same time, I'm...not really depressed or angry. Unhappy, I suppose. I don't want to be here. I'm so thoroughly done with academics, except I know I have to graduate, which means one more year. And I just want to go home--I don't know if it's just that it's finally the only home I want, that I've finally realized that, or if it's just that time of year (only a month to go), or if it's not being around people who knew our friend who died.
He wasn't really a part of my current life. He lived in Florida--we saw him maybe once a summer, but that was about it. Thing was, he was just part of my life. Like the Lake, just there. Maybe I didn't think about him all the time or talk to him all the time, but we had good times in the past, and it was always just assumed that we'd keep having good times in the future.
When I was little, we went to visit him and Uncle Howard in Florida. My mom knew the neighborhood where they lived, but wasn't quite sure of the exact address. She and my sister drove around a bit our first morning there, before the rest of the family was up, to see if she could remember which house it was. She did--because Uncle Doug was in the driveway hand washing his Porsche. That's how we got in touch with them that year, but still, later that week, when my siblings and I were swimming in the pool and my sister told me Uncle Doug and Uncle Howard like liked each other and she asked why else they would live together, I said, "To share on the rent."
And maybe it was that year or maybe it was a different time we visited, but we went to the Miami Zoo. It was a millionty degrees out and we had seen almost everything and everyone just wanted to go home, but I had to see the warthogs. Everyone except my mom and Uncle Doug went to the cars for A/C, but they came and saw the warthogs with me.
And of course there are more stories, but not enough. I've probably forgotten so much, just because I took his presence in my life for granted. He was part of it. Stable. Constant.
It's sad and I hate it and I'll miss him, but I think the worst part is not being home. My mom grew up with this guy. I can't imagine what she must be going through, and I hate not being there.
There's just a point of life where it becomes confusing and unfair. Anything can be taken from you. And maybe that's what's got me in such a funk--maybe that's why I'm so sick of living in a way I don't want, even if I'm not necessarily sure what I do want.
It's so much that I've been feeling like I'm missing out on things--stupid drunken college things and flings and hookups and I don't even know. I'm not going to change anything, because I don't think I actually want to, but it's just a confusing situation.
I kind of feel like I'm faking everything, and like I've been faking a lot of things my entire life. It's an odd feeling.
The Africa Party did indeed raise my spirits. All of those kids are just so great. Especially because the people who come to the parties are all of the people I really enjoyed on the trip.
We made tons of chapati and rice and people brought lentils and veggies. Good food. Eventually I decided to make the transition to the party-partying. When I caught Texas's eye and said, "First on the table" she got all excited, then got "mad" at me since I meant with a different partner than her. She's always telling me there are no permanent partners in this house, but we have pretty much solidified ourselves as partners. Anyway, I enjoyed bothering her by playing with one of my absolute favorite girls from the trip.
I had invited a couple of people who didn't go to Africa to come to the party party after the dinner party, and apparently word spread. It wasn't that big, but big enough. We had a great game of baseball and there was tons of dancing. About six people (all who went to Africa, plus one from work) stayed until about 3:30 dancing. I was sore afterward, but it was totally worth it.
But at the same time, I'm...not really depressed or angry. Unhappy, I suppose. I don't want to be here. I'm so thoroughly done with academics, except I know I have to graduate, which means one more year. And I just want to go home--I don't know if it's just that it's finally the only home I want, that I've finally realized that, or if it's just that time of year (only a month to go), or if it's not being around people who knew our friend who died.
He wasn't really a part of my current life. He lived in Florida--we saw him maybe once a summer, but that was about it. Thing was, he was just part of my life. Like the Lake, just there. Maybe I didn't think about him all the time or talk to him all the time, but we had good times in the past, and it was always just assumed that we'd keep having good times in the future.
When I was little, we went to visit him and Uncle Howard in Florida. My mom knew the neighborhood where they lived, but wasn't quite sure of the exact address. She and my sister drove around a bit our first morning there, before the rest of the family was up, to see if she could remember which house it was. She did--because Uncle Doug was in the driveway hand washing his Porsche. That's how we got in touch with them that year, but still, later that week, when my siblings and I were swimming in the pool and my sister told me Uncle Doug and Uncle Howard like liked each other and she asked why else they would live together, I said, "To share on the rent."
And maybe it was that year or maybe it was a different time we visited, but we went to the Miami Zoo. It was a millionty degrees out and we had seen almost everything and everyone just wanted to go home, but I had to see the warthogs. Everyone except my mom and Uncle Doug went to the cars for A/C, but they came and saw the warthogs with me.
And of course there are more stories, but not enough. I've probably forgotten so much, just because I took his presence in my life for granted. He was part of it. Stable. Constant.
It's sad and I hate it and I'll miss him, but I think the worst part is not being home. My mom grew up with this guy. I can't imagine what she must be going through, and I hate not being there.
There's just a point of life where it becomes confusing and unfair. Anything can be taken from you. And maybe that's what's got me in such a funk--maybe that's why I'm so sick of living in a way I don't want, even if I'm not necessarily sure what I do want.
It's so much that I've been feeling like I'm missing out on things--stupid drunken college things and flings and hookups and I don't even know. I'm not going to change anything, because I don't think I actually want to, but it's just a confusing situation.
I kind of feel like I'm faking everything, and like I've been faking a lot of things my entire life. It's an odd feeling.