The homework fairies are comming back into my life

I must say I am a nerd! I love this time of year. You are just ending a fun filled summer. It is still warm and you are satisfied. Then school starts. For some reason I think I am in the minority, but I absolutely love the first day of school! There is an exciting energy in the atmosphere. You have new classes, teachers and classmates. Life is presenting you with the same old routine that you have followed since you were 5 and yet there are new possibilities. Like any fresh start I always feel the hope that I can improve upon the person I was last semester. I usually fill myself of expectations on how I am going to be the best student in class. I tell myself that I will always stay on top of my homework and establish a great relationship with all of my professors. In the back of my mind I am also pumping myself up with the confidence that I am going to rock the social scene. Those moments are quite enjoyable. I have succeeded in convincing myself that all dreams will become a reality this semester. There are no foreseeable obstacles in my path to perfect happiness. So I head to my first day of class in my favorite outfit and listen to all of my teachers read their syllabus'. I try not to buy into their intimidating speeches about how demanding their class will be. Life is going to be a perfect balance of school, work and fun, no matter what my teachers say. My blissful honeymoon attitude lasts for a while, life is great and is going to get better. I go to class, learn and then I go home and have fun. This all comes to a screeching halt on the day of that first quiz or paper. Then I remember that I was supposed to be doing school out side of school. The little homework fairies... or should I say devils... start doing their little dance in my brain and slowly stamp out all of those hopeful expectations of a healthy, happy balanced semester. After they have completed their work of destruction, they bind me in chains and lead me to that cold library and up to the corner seat on the fourth floor.... to become a slave to my education.
I guess what I am saying is that I am excited for the first day of school this semester, but I am also excited that it will be my last full semester before graduating.

Coming Home to a Sold house

So my house, was built by my parents. It was their dream house and we moved in when I was 6 months old. Its been a long span of time. Alot of memories and events. Its weird because I am not a sentimental person, in fact I can be right down cold and unfeeling when it comes to little nic-nacs and keepsakes. I am not a pack rat and I hate clutter, so I don't really attach sentimental value to objects, but my blue house is one MAJOR exception! I love this house so much because it represents so much to me. My little brother, after being born was brought here to this house. It's the only place he knows. In fact I must say that my first memory that I have is sitting in our family room with Andrew as a new born. All of us went through school, as we lived here. My sister Serena had her wedding reception in the back yard. As a family 55 became our base point, and it is much more than a number at which people would send us mail.

So seeing how this is my last weekend in my childhood home I decided to go one last time to "my spot". Its the place where I would often go to write in my journal. Its right in our neighborhood and has a great view of the city. When we were really little all of the neighborhood kids went and carved our names into the sandstone. You can still see them, even though time and rain has worn them down a lot. In my middle school days my best friend and I decided to bury a time capsule there... but unfortunately I got mad at her shortly after and dug it up. But after that it turned in to my spot where I would go to think.

It was nice to sit and reflect a little on how this big move fits into my life. So here is a little passage from my journal:

"Its weird and a bit ironic, most of these years that I have called 55 woodmen ct. my home, I have spent feeling confused and frustrated, not understanding who I was and hating that nothing ever seemed to fit. So I left, in search of myself. I spent 5 years looking. From Guatemala to Rexburg, to Vashon Island, to China and to Argentina. Like before I spent most of that time frustrated. Until I got on my mission in Argentina and to a point to where I realized that the answers were waiting for me at home. I am my family. My roots define my fruit. So my mom and Dad asked me to come and stay home for a few months. I felt good about that and agreed. I have loved it and have really come to appreciate my family. I am enjoying making memories and building the relationship of love and friendship with those who I am eternally bound. For the first time I have really come home. When I walk through that big read door, I don't feel frustrated nor alienated from my family. In this house I am one of them. Taking them on as my identity is leading me to REALLY find myself and to really use and reach for my potential. So I say that its ironic, because after 23 years I finally came home and it was a sold house. But I guess that is how life works. He puts us in a situation that is hard, until we learn a lesson and once we have, he takes us away and starts us on our next lesson. ... So I guess its fitting that I came home to a sold house. I've learned my lesson of family and Identity. I guess it will be exciting to see what 1215 cascade has to teach

GOODBYE 55 WOODMEN CT!!