On studying abroad.

The very first day I arrived in England, after I had gotten all my things up to what was to be my room for the next three months, I stood staring out the window, unable to process everything that was flying around in my head. So I did what any normal 21-year-old girl who was abroad on her own would do. I cried.

I spent about an hour crying in my room that first day, extremely, terribly thankful that I was the only one on my floor. What would my floormates think if, the first time I met them, my eyes were red and puffy and I was sniffling all over the place? So I got it out that first day.

After that I was surprised at how easily and quickly I settled in. Newcastle no longer seems like a strange foreign place that I'm scared to walk around by myself. It's not quite home but it feels more like it every day, especially after a weekend away, when I'm just getting back and my feet are aching and my bag is weighing my shoulders down and the only thing that's going to be better than a hot shower is falling into my bed, in my room, on my floor. Because it's slowly turning into a place that I can call mine.

Then there's that nagging voice at the back of my head, prodding and poking and telling me I'm not making the most of being abroad. Have I done enough yet? I've been here for over a month and I haven't even left the UK yet. I spent a weekend in Ireland and a weekend in London but what I expected to feel when I went away isn't there. Aren't I supposed to feel amazed and fulfilled, like pieces are just clicking into place with ease? Here I am in a foreign country, seeing and experiencing new things, and yet I still feel like I need to do more. What more can I do?

Don't get me wrong, I love being here. I love all the people I've met (especially my friends of 10A) and everything has been great but sometimes I feel like I spend too much time either sitting in my room or sitting in my friend's room. Shouldn't I be out exploring? Drinking with the natives? Pushing my boundaries? Getting to know all that England has to offer? Maybe I built it up too much and now actually being here just isn't living up to my expectations.

But I'm here, aren't I? I made it here, I got myself here (with, of course, much help from my parents; let's be real). Shouldn't that be enough? Theoretically, everything should just fall into place and I shouldn't have to move too many pieces around. Or maybe that's the point--the pieces aren't all there and I have to seek them out. The picture isn't complete yet, but I don't quite know what I'm looking for so I'm just going around and looking, touching, feeling, learning--and maybe that's the whole point after all.

Hey.

Oh hey.

Hey.

HEY!

Stop ignoring this. I promise it's real. I promise I am actually updating with the intent of updating again before the summer is over.

As the summer has progressed--

Pssst.

What. 

Hey.

--I have taken note of a few things. 

Stop it. 

Stop what?? 

I am your writer's block. YOU WILL NEVER WRITE ANOTHER WORD. NEVER.

Well guess what I'm doing right now, I'm writing, so go away and never come ba-- 

You're pulling words out of your ass, that's what you're doing. Just stop now. This will never be a quality post.

Yeah, not with you being such a downer. Get out of here, Gollum, I'm trying to organize my thoughts. 

No.

Quit it. 

You can't make me.

Yes, yes I can. This is my head and I control what goes on in it. Now go away. 

I will never leave you. I will constantly plague your mind with fear and doubt. May all your words be forced and all your writing never be good enough.

You're so mean. 

Well, boo-frickin-hoo. Get used to it.

I'm walking away now. I'm done. 

SO I WIN AGAIN!

The metaphorical crossroads of life.

I feel like I've come to a sort of crossroads. A metaphorical one. I'm walking on the path of Life and all of a sudden, I've come to a fork in the road, or an intersection, really, and I've been kicking loose pebbles for a while, trying to decide what would be best for me.

I've reached a point where "real life" isn't such a far off thing, and "being an adult" isn't so much a thought as it is something that I actually need to do. I feel, as most people do, a little stressed, a little scared, a little helpless, and a little lost.

When having the "what are you doing after graduation" conversation with my parents, the most I've been able to come up with is...well, nothing really because I tend to just leave the room when the topic is brought up. It's like I think by avoiding it, I can continue to put it off. How very adult of me.

So that intersection I mentioned? Here's a brief summary of what each road looks like (may vary for other people):

Road #1: Do what's expected of me. Graduate college with my English degree in hand. Get a job, probably in New York. Pay bills. Pay off loans. Pay rent. Do adult things. Drink on the weekends. Repeat.

Road #2: Graduate with English degree. Go back to school for second bachelor's degree, preferably in Geology, leading to a more refined study in volcanoes. Study for several more years, possibly move out west, where volcanoes actually exist. Uproot my current existence for something I'm not sure I'll be any good at; move away from everything I know. It's like starting college over, basically.

Road #3: Obscured by mist. Possibly leads to a cliff, which maybe I can just jump off of.

And road #4 is the one I walked up on, and that would be my past on this metaphorical Life path, and turning around would do nothing for me. Not that standing in this intersection kicking pebbles is doing anything either, but maybe I'll get hit by a car, or lightning, or just start running down a path in front of me.

But basically, I no longer have any idea what I want to do. I feel something like this:

Do I subject myself to years of more school? More studying, more homework, more tests? Do I take this desire and run with it? Or do I stick with what I know? I know English, I know literature, I know New York City, I know needing a job. How do I know I won't hate the science once I start studying it seriously? Is this just a whim? Or is this a chance that I should take?

As usual, the best response I can come up with to any of these questions is, "I don't know."

Stanley Cup fountain and the Rangers shuttle.

I spent most of today feeling very sleepy and out of it, especially during class, where I spent a good chunk of time taking illegible notes because I kept dozing off. That's what I get for staying up late to try and actually do homework. But then I remembered that the Stanley Cup was in Times Square so of course my energy levels shot up and I had to go in and see it.

21 feet tall! (I think, haha)

How could I pass up an opportunity to see this? Especially since it's only going to be there until Friday (or maybe Saturday, not sure), but either way I'm going to visit my friend this weekend, so today was my only chance to see it.

It's actually a fountain, and they gave out free cups and you could fill em up and drink. I was kind of iffy on drinking the water, but I did anyway...so far so good, I'm still alive.

My cousin and I took a few more pictures, stood on the red stairs (still don't really understand the point of them, but you know, whatever), and then I remembered that the shuttle that runs from Grand Central Station to Times Square was Rangers-themed, so since I was in the city, I decided to go and check it out.

IT WAS AWESOME.

Inside the shuttle.

Outside.

Best seats ever.

We ran up and down the length of the train, taking pictures of all the players featured there. We waited for it to go to Times Square and back twice before finally getting on and taking pictures of the inside. We tried to time it so we could run on as soon as everyone else was off and get a decent picture of the seats and everything, and then we were running around the train taking pictures of the doors and the ads and, pictured above, the awesome seats. :D

It was a quality afternoon, and now I'm watching the Penguins/Flyers first playoff game with a cup of coffee to get me through it. I'm also casually filling out study abroad forms, which is simultaneously stressing me out (so many forms, ugh) and making me really excited for the fall. :)

Something else to be excited about is this weekend, because I'm going to Stockton to see Jessica and Becca, and watch a Quidditch tournament. We've been planning this since we first heard about it--we're going ALL OUT. Robes, ties, wands, EVERYTHING. I'm so pumped because this week has been so long and tiring.

And my spring hockey season starts on Sunday, so I'm expecting this weekend will be pretty awesome. I am going to try and keep up with the blogging though Saturday might be difficult. But we'll see.

How hockey changed my life.

It's no secret by now that hockey is a huge, huge part of my life. I love hockey. Hockey is my life. Literally. At this point,  I don't know who I would be without it.

People always talk about things like books or maybe movies or inspirational people changing their lives. I've never heard a lot of talk about how a sport changed someone's life, but I'm sure that it's happened. Because it happened to me. I also feel like I'm one of those rare breed of combination nerd/hockey fan, so I gush about my love for hockey as freely as I wish.

I started playing hockey (again) in 2008. The last time I played hockey before that was elementary school. There was no sound reason or basis for wanting to play again. I was standing with my dad, watching my brother play, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I said, "Hey dad. What do you think about me starting to play hockey again?"

My original suggestion was roller hockey, but he suggested ice hockey instead, which I readily agreed to. I went through the painful process of buying and then breaking in all the equipment (skates were the worst, ugh), finding a team, trying out for the team, making the team. I did endless camps and clinics over the summer. Because I'd never skated much before, I remember doing a clinic every Sunday morning with kids probably ages 7 to 10. It was combination mortifying and hilarious. Eventually I progressed, and did clinics with kids my own age--it was still mortifying because I was awful. I didn't know how to stop and couldn't lift my shot to save my life.

But eventually, I got better. There was nowhere for my level of skill to go but up, and up it went. With every new camp that I went to over the summer, the more I fell in love with hockey. By the time I started practicing with a real team in October, I knew I was hooked. So much so that I somehow got it into my head that I should play on my high school's hockey team too, which was quite the experience.

That's where it all started. And for the next four years, my life was nothing but hockey games and practices and tournaments and trying to fit in homework and seeing my friends around all that. I complained bitterly during every season. At one point I hated it. But every March, when it was time to wash my equipment (shocking, I know, but I can't deal with the smell if I don't) and put it away, I wished for a few more months to play.

Hockey changed my life. Before I started playing again, I was just another quiet girl in high school, wondering what I could do to lose weight, make myself feel confident about myself. Getting back into skates not only helped me get in shape (the second year I played was the best shape I have ever been in. Ah, the good old days when I actually had upper body strength.) but helped me to feel better about myself. For the longest time, I wished I was more like my best friend, who is tiny and petite and stays skinny with virtually no trouble. I envied her so much for that because next to her I always felt fat and hulking and gigantic. I was never skinny, even after I'd been playing for a while, but hockey helped me come to terms with that. It was okay, being the size that I was (am). If I had the body type of my friend, I wouldn't be able to play hockey because I would take one hit and fall apart on the ice (no offense, Jessica). I've learned to throw my weight around and not be afraid to use it to my advantage, especially when playing with all guys.

But even more than that, hockey is one of the few things that can make me truly happy. It fills me up, it completes me; there is nothing that playing hockey can't fix for me. If I'm having a bad day, if I'm upset or angry and need to blow off steam, hockey is my go-to solution. I prioritize it over almost everything in my life. If I have a game at 8:15, get off the ice, and someone asks if I want to play another game, I will say yes with no hesitation. If you pose the question "hockey or _______," it is highly likely that my choice will be hockey.

I have never had anything I could be so passionate about. This doesn't just go for playing hockey, it also applies to being a hockey fan. People are sometimes mocked, I think, for being sports fans, and for getting so into something that you aren't even playing. We're not on the team, no, and we don't contribute to their wins or losses. But being a sports fan is about being a part of something that's bigger than yourself. It's about losing yourself in the joy of watching two teams battle it out for victory. It's about coming together in a community of people who all share the same passion. It's about realizing that no matter how many people tell you it's just a game, it's really not.

It's something to be passionate about. It's something to share with others. It's something that allows you to make bonds with people that will always last. It's something to love. It's something to live for.

Nothing will ever be greater than the feeling of lacing up my skates and stepping out onto the ice. The first puck drop. The last two minutes of desperation in a tie game. Getting worked up and emotional over what is technically a kid's game.

I can't explain what hockey is to me. Trying to describe how I feel about hockey is like trying to describe what being in love is like. If you've never felt it, you simply will never know. And that's as far as my words will take me.

Looking forward.

As I sit here, alternating between writing this and getting ready for a party at my friend's house tonight, I'm trying to look back on this year and think about what has really stood out. This year hasn't been particularly memorable. I don't mean that it's been bad, but it hasn't been spectacularly good either. It was just another year.

If I learned anything at all then it's that I need to stop trying so hard to fix things between myself and other people. Too many times I wanted to make things right and everything just got worse. One of my few resolutions for the new year is to stop trying to keep people in my life when they won't make the same effort to keep me in theirs. Because what's the point then? Sometimes I don't want to be the one who has to fix everything, sometimes I want to see that other people want things to be fixed, and that they don't want to lose me. I'm sick of people just dropping me out of their lives like I don't have feelings. Just once, I want someone to fight for me.

I think I changed a lot during this year. The way I think, definitely, and the things I want to do with my life (mostly I have no idea, but I think that's starting to change). I'm sick of people doubting me and telling me my dreams will never come true. I don't understand why people don't believe in me, but it just makes me even more determined to prove them all wrong.

Hockey has come to play such a huge role in my life. I honestly don't know who I would be if I didn't have hockey in my life.

This year meant the end of the Harry Potter series, but it also made me realize that some things don't really ever end, and that the bonds made through it don't ever really break.

My dislike for school reached an all-time high, so much so that I am actually worried about my GPA for this semester.

I wasted my entire summer on one boy who, in the end, just forgot about me and apparently met someone new. Not sure about that. But I'm pretty sure about it. That was kind of a big thing for me. I shed way too many tears over him but I've finally been able to move on with my life.

I am who I am and I'm not going to change for anyone. If people can't deal with that, then I'm not going to deal with them.

I'm hoping that 2012 means new and exciting things for me. Hopefully at this time next year I'll be celebrating the new year in Europe, as I will be applying to study abroad for next fall semester. If I don't go, then I have plans for the following summer (in 2013), to go somewhere. I don't care what anyone says, I'm going to get my butt out of this country for a while because I do not want to be one of those people who talks and talks about going places and then never goes anywhere. We live on such a big and wonderful planet that I can't even think about not trying to see as much of it as I can.

This year has been an interesting one, at any rate. I could make all the normal, boring resolutions like lose weight, write more, keep in touch with people and blahblahblah, but those are just things that I try and do all the time.

It's time for a change in my life. I don't want to be a small-town girl with small-town dreams; I want to try new things and see new things and become someone new. I won't let myself be stuck in one place because of other people, and I know that the people who do matter will make the effort to stick with me no matter what I do or where I go.

Out with the old and in with the new. I want 2012 to be unforgettable.

130.

Something I've always wondered about is how people would react if I died. Would they be distraught? Simply sad? Would they sob until they felt completely drained? Or would they be dry-eyed, unwilling to accept my death?

I guess what I'm really wondering is how much of an impact I've made in people's lives. Would they feel my absence so intensely that they couldn't rid it from their minds even though they wanted to? Or would my death slowly fade to the background, just one of many others?

"Are you awake?" That was my mom I hear yelling up the stairs.

"Yes!" In fact, I was still in bed, and had barely lifted my head from the pillow to yell back. As soon as I heard the front door close, I shut my eyes again, trying to get back into my dream. You know--you're having a great dream and you're getting up to a great part and then something kicks you out of it--like your mom yelling at you to wake up even though it's only 8:30 in the morning and your first class isn't until 11:30.

I slept until my third alarm went off. One alarm just wasn't enough for me. I needed three. I slid out of bed, resembling a zombie the way I staggered around my room, looking for a clean pair of pants. Grey skinny jeans? Dirty. Dark blue skinny jeans? Can't find them. Black pants? In the hamper. I pulled them out, sniffed them and decided no one would really notice if I just used a few extra squirts of perfume.

I pulled off my Avery t-shirt and threw on a bra and clean shirt, leaving my skin exposed to the cold air for as little time as possible. The clock read 9:15. Plenty of time to spare.

I wake up. I go to school. I go home. Usually I'll kill time on the Internet, spending too many hours on Facebook or Twitter or YouTube. Or all three. Somewhere in there, I'll fit in homework and working out. Then I sleep and repeat. Where's the break in the monotony? Day in and day out, it's the same things over and over again. Where's my escape? What will this lead to? Only more monotony, but instead of waking up and going to school, I'll wake up and go to work, always dreaming of something more, something out of reach, something unattainable. What escape is within my reach? Is there a way out?

I sat down at my desk--second row from the door, fourth seat back--and gulped down some coffee. I placed my notebook on my desk and my textbook on top of my notebook. Same routine. Sometimes I think I preferred a routine. I would always know what was going to happen. If I had a routine, then I would always know what to expect. I would know that nothing could go wrong. There wouldn't be anything to catch me by surprise, like a punch to the stomach from someone when you think they're going in for a hug.

I began to think of more normal things, like what I was going to have for lunch when I got home because this was my only class of the day. Which homework should I do first? What workout should I do today? Maybe I should just nap instead.

My professor walked into class and my mind went blank, and the monotonous drone of his lecture filled my ears and my eyes glazed over.

It might be a little sick but sometimes I envision different death scenarios. What would be the quickest? What would be the most gruesome? How long would it take for me to bleed to death if I sliced my stomach open? What if I jumped off the top of a building? If I threw myself in front of a speeding vehicle? If I drove my own car into something at a high speed? Would that kill me or would I merely experience unspeakable levels of pain and then be thrust into therapy and onto medication until people believed I could function normally again?

Class ended and I practically sprinted out of the classroom. I was starving. I needed to get home and eat. The walk to my car went quickly, except for the part where I was looking on the wrong level of the parking deck, which only added fuel to my frustration and hunger.

Every day when my classes ended, it was like a race to my car. I wanted to get out of this place as fast as I possibly could. I didn't want to spend any more time there than necessary. I hated school. I hated those people who had their lives all fucking planned out. I hated the ambitious people who were doing double or triple majors and seventeen and a half minors and were already planning on graduate school and what they would be wearing to their wedding and how many fucking kids they were going to have and how they had so much to do but it would be so worth it.

I hated those people because I was the exact opposite. I had no idea where I was going or how I was getting there. I hated routine and I loved it. I wanted to know what was coming so I could prepare myself but I hated that trapped feeling I got when the days started to blur together because they were all the same.

I finally found my car and escaped the confines of the parking deck, thinking once more of the leftovers in the refrigerator at home.

The funny part is I have absolutely no reason to kill myself. I just happen to wonder these things from time to time. I don't know if it's weird to fantasize about my own death but it can't be that weird. It's something everyone faces.

I pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder, urging my small car to get up to speed faster as I merged onto the parkway. My coffee thermos leaned over a little precariously in the shallow cup holder--I steadied it as I cut over to the left lane and quickly reached 80 mph. That was maybe a little fast for this section of the parkway but I couldn't help it. Driving, to me, was a way I could forget the world for a little. The faster I drove, the more alive I felt. The emptier the highway, the faster I drove; the more alone I was, the harder I hit the gas pedal. I craved that adrenaline rush. The white lines blurred on the pavement; the grass was a green smudge on the side of the road. I passed by exit signs so quickly I could barely read them, but it didn't matter where I was as long as I could push the speedometer ever higher.

Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to start a day out completely normal and then die. Like, I went to school, went to class, and then just didn't make it home. What if I bypassed my exit on the parkway and kept driving until I had no idea where I was and then crashed? The worst part would be doing that and then not dying, because then people would realize how twisted my mind really was and they would be all over me about it. Why can't someone just wonder about death without being thrust into a psych ward? Everyone's so sensitive about something that happens to all of us.

Exit 163. Mine was coming up. I was in the middle lane. I stayed there. I pushed the gas pedal closer to the floor. The engine groaned a little but the needle of the speedometer moved past 80. 90. I could see the bend in the road up ahead. 100. The steering wheel began to shake in my hands. 110. 115. My hands were sweating with the effort of gripping the wheel. 120. The bend. 125. How would people react? 130.