Monday, June 14, 2010

Hey, insomnia.

It's back. I swear, I didn't sleep in college. I expected to come home, get ready, complete this massive to-do list of catching up I had accumulated over the past four years, and sleep. All I came home to was kitten sheets and a homemade quilt. And, that's where I have been for the past few weeks. I think it's healing, really, to camp out under the hand-sewn girls with colored bonnets that cover little girls' quilts. There's something about going back to your room, not your apartment, but your own little room with your first furniture and those pictures from forever ago with the only real friends you still have that just...heals.

This room hasn't changed much, and really, neither have I. I think coming home before moving to Chattanooga may be one of the smartest ideas I've ever had. You just remember who you were, who you are, and the reason you went to college in the first place.

Something should be said about the massive amount of Disney Princess stuff in this room. It wasn't from when I was a little girl, though. I got all of that in highschool when the Left Side (our "gang") still believed in making wishes and Prince Charmings. I still ahve the pictures of us outside Dave and Busters that first time. It was the spring of my freshmen year, and we had all had possibly the hardest previous year that we will ever endure. Still, that's my favorite picture. Above it is one from one of my 13 birthday parties at Rosie's. Aside from Farrell not being in it, that picture is close to perfect. Next is the Tea Party picture from when I was Alice, Kari was the March Hare, and Stephanie was the Mad Hatter. What else. My rhinestoned point shoes are on the top of my shelf from when I was Cinderella and needed glass slippers.

I still have pictures from Winterfest, DMA, Disney World, Dave Phillips and every single "Left Side Pretty Picture" from picture week.

I think this has been good. To come home, to remember where you came from, and to remember the ones that are going to keep in touch no matter where you go.

Yea, it's cliche. But they have to be cliches for a reason. They're almost always true.

And so, it is valid to say that there is something healing between kitten sheets and homemade quilts.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

27 pairs of stillettos.

I just got home from the Southern Christian Writer's Conference, and it was one of the most blessed experiences of my life. I have never had anything so inspiring and I met so many wonderful people.

Part of it was learning to write every day, so here I sit, ready to write. As I was resting (not packing), someone knocked on my door. It was a black girl with braces and tattoos. Something or some person on her left forearm. I couldn't tell. She wanted to sell me magazines. I have no money. I couldn't invite her in because I'm in the middle of packing and there are TONS of clothes everywhere. I cannot tell someone I don't have money when there are currently 79 pairs of heels, 27 pairs of stilettos, sitting in the floor of my apartment. So, we sat outside while she gave me the song and dance about the books and magazines I couldn't afford. In all honesty, I couldn't afford them. I'm constantly in trouble for overdrafting, and I know there is not an extra $48 in the bank right now to buy 3 years of Woman's Day.

Jerk. I felt like a jerk.

We made a deal. I gave them all the change I had, plus green tea and my last two Weight Watcher's icecream if I didn't have to feel bad. They asked me if I smoked. I don't. I would never. By this time another girl came to talk. She had tattoos, too, and her dress was far too little.

I thought about going into a lecture about how God didn't want them to dress like that and how he didn't want them to drink or smoke. I didn't. I'm not good at that. I have never been good at talking about God. I choke every time. I suppose that's why he made me a writer.

So, I sit here, spiritually exhausted from the weekend and feeling like a jerk for not buying a Spanish cookbook. One of them told me her mother died of breast cancer. I wonder sometimes if that's not what I bring God. I have a room full of skills that I have gotten over the years. All the lessons and ideas, all the community service "I should do" things, all the letters I should write, all the phone calls I should make, and all I can afford is a cup of tea and 70-calorie raspberry icecream.

Packing in general has been humbling. So often I wonder why I have been chosen to have such a wonderful life: potentially the world's best parents, the best friends, an amazing family, the opportunities, the freedom. Putting all that I own in the open has made me realize, once again, how blessed I am to have parents that will give me anything I want (within reason. 27 pairs of stilettos are reasonable-ish). Did I really need two poor girls to hit it home, God? Obviously, I did.