Wearing Shoes Every Day: College

As many of you know already, this was my first week of college. As fewer of you may know, this is my first real weekend in ten years. Why do I say that? Well, I've been home-schooled all of my life except for half a semester in third grade about ten or eleven years ago. It may not have occurred to you before, but I have never relished the weekends like you non-home-schoolers/working people do. What, it's Friday? Last day of school? Nope. Not for me. I did school on Saturday too. Mayyybe I went to the beach on Wednesday... but that's besides the point. I just never got it. What is so special about Friday and Saturday?

Keeping it real here. My first day of school pictures for the first time since 3rd Grade were put on hold while my brother and I gathered up all the chickens that had gotten out and put them back in their yard. 

Well, yesterday... I got it y'all. I left my last class in the rehearsal hall at 2:15 eager to chunk my backpack in my car and hurry up and relax. When I sat down in the chairs in the lobby of my favorite building, The Center for Fine and Performing Arts at the University of West Florida, I sighed in relief. I'm done! It's the weekend! Yay! That my friends, is a feeling this home-schooled girl never imagined she would feel. Yes. I've jumped on board. I love the weekends too. I promise, I'll stop making fun of all a' y'all now. ;)

I've experienced some other new things this week besides just the weekend though. Like a daily alarm clock setting; wearing make-up every day; having to find decent clothes everyday; packing a lunch or at least making sure I have enough money to buy lunch so that I don't keel over dead in the middle of the day.; carrying my water bottle around and not losing it (although I haven't been the most successful with that.); wearing shoes all day every single day; and here's the million dollar question I know y'all have been waiting for... how did I deal with all the people?

Untangling Knots and Tying Strings

I woke with a start.  I scooched to the edge of my bed and squinted my eyes as I tried to make out the numbers on the clock.  The digits glowed a dim orange but it was still a few seconds before my tired eyes adjusted to the light.  Still, it wasn’t time.  I continued to stare at the clock and tried not to fall asleep. 

I don’t believe it was every night but in my memories it seems like it was.  I was about nine years old.  I would stay up and wait for my favorite radio program to come on.  It probably started somewhere around ten o’clock.

After what seemed like ages it was finally time.  I readjusted my pillows, my blankets, and tried to shove our big dog away from me.  I turned the volume down low so that my sister wouldn’t wake and laid perfectly still so as not to make the tiniest noise.  Out of the speakers came the eeriest of sounds.  Outer space music.  It made me feel small and made my young mind ask questions.  What is out there? How big is God? Where is Heaven? Are aliens real? The surreal sounds would take me to an entirely different world; Sometimes it was frightening, sometimes I would get lost, and sometimes it was breathtaking – Always, it was filled with wonderment. 

Starry Night has always been my favorite Vincent van Gogh piece. This painting expresses exactly the way the outer space music made me feel.

What Does My Future Hold?

I think I have a propensity for missing out on good conversations. Or maybe I always miss my cue. Or, I don't recognize a good thing until after its gone. Whatever the reason, I always find myself thinking back and wishing I had said something. It's a good thing I have a blog. I have found it is useful, on more than one occasion, to artificially go back and say exactly what I wish I had. Of course it is never as good as saying it in person but one could argue that it is better than not saying anything at all.

If there is one thing I have learned in my life, it is that I know nothing.

If I had to guess, I think my future will probably have a lot more of this in it - piano and funny faces.

There was a time when my life made sense, a time when everything appeared to be under control.
I was like any other little girl back then, dreaming about my future with no concern for anything but the present. At eight years old I had my whole life planned out. I would grow up and go to Clemson University in South Carolina. I would learn music and become a concert pianist. I'd travel the world with my sister and her friend in our RV with our three horses while playing piano for a myriad of audiences. One day I would meet a handsome man and he would become my husband. We'd get married on horseback and for our honeymoon we'd hike across all of North America. After that we would buy a house. I would teach piano lessons and home-school our children. Then I would climb down from the tree where I had been dreaming and run inside to play with my siblings.