Well, the end of my first year at uni is upon me, and I can’t shake this feeling that it went by far too quickly. As spring came along, my sense of time and directions seemed to do backflips, until I felt like I was at the beginning of the school year all over again. I’d walk into the room and think it was September, but when the calendar said May, I’d skulk away, shaking my head.
It’s odd to see my room the way it is after having packed nearly two thirds of it away. I ended up spending Saturday not studying and getting all of my clothes and items from drawers packed away into my truck. And after only an hour, I was surprised to see my truck full and my room, well, not so full.
I’m actually taking home the truck load on Tuesday, though my reasons for going back to St. Charles are entirely different from a simple dump of items. It’s starts back on Friday with a text message from one of my friends saying that the mum of a mutual friend had recently passed away. She’d had cancer for several years, so it didn’t come to that great of a shock, but it was still very saddening. I found myself worried and feeling empathy (I know, actual empathy), for my friend who had lost his mum. And I ended up spending an entire night tossing and turning, wondering what to say to him. In the midst of bad dreams, my brain somehow rattled together two sentences that I decided to send him via Facebook the next morning.
But it was a bad night. A T-Rex dream kind of night. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had these nightmares. I’m running, running as fast as I can, but there’s always this T-Rex behind me, waiting to eat me up in one bite. As much as I try not to, I always turn into this little child, this five-year old Missi who can’t seem to leave the middle of the street and run for safety. And then, completely helpless and out of control, I’m gobbled up. But this dream was different. Suddenly, I was me, just me, and the T-Rex, well, it was nothing more than a silly stuffed animal. It bit at me like a yappy dog, not able to do much more than draw a drop of blood. Yet it was still ferocious, and I still felt an immense amount of fear toward the tiny thing. I tried throwing it, bashing it against the floor, anything to keep it from turning right around and biting at my fingers, but I couldn’t kill it. After a while, I was so lifeless, so angry in this dream as I bashed it again and again until I realised that I wasn’t me any more. I may have still looked the same, but I had become the monster, the T-Rex, and that yappy little stuffed-animal of a monster was no different than me in all of those other dreams. How pathetically funny that I had lost control. No matter what, I would never win against this, because I would never have the control. But I looked at the two situations. In one, I had no physical control, but I still had me. In the other, though I had the physical control, I was nothing more than a husk; there was no humanity left. And, putting that T-Rex down and waking up, I decided I’d prefer to keep my humanity.
As I awoke, I finalised the words I would send to my friend, and upon checking into Facebook, I found that he had placed the time of his mum’s visitation as his status. Tuesday, 4 until 9. Well, I hadn’t any finals during that time, so I decided in the matter of only a minute that I would go. I called my mum to finalise it, and now I have my plans set. I’ll leave after my finals on Tuesday, get back to St. Charles around six, maybe eat something real quick, go to the visitation, unpack, wake up at seven on Wednesday, and drive right back up to Truman. It will be hectic, but it’s something that I should do. Or that I feel I should do, because even though I hadn’t really met her, I was friends with her son. And that’s all that really matters.
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My birthday is this week–on Friday. Nineteen. I’m still unsure what to think of it, so I try to think of nothing at all. Chances are, I’ll make a fool of myself, wear a tiara, and go out to dinner. Like every birthday, really. The only difference is that it will be my last day of finals, so I will spend a grand majority of this birthday packing and driving back to Saint Charles. But, how I see it, there is no greater present than getting to be alone for four hours with my own music, the windows down, and my own voice to sing and talk through my thoughts. As I told some friends yesterday, it’s quality time that can’t be bought.