So I’m just sitting here at home, alone, and basking in the glorious peace and quiet that one is rarely ever able to find in this house. My little Avie love–who would normally be climbing into my lap with a bottle, twirling her hair with her little index finger, and asking to watch Caillou right about now–is with my grams and the rest of the gang out at my sister and brother-in-law’s place for the weekend. So I’m just enjoying the silence and it’s lovely. I should be probably be working on all the packing I have to do in preparation of the move…but it can wait, for now. I still can’t believe it’s actually happening. That this time next month, I’ll be calling New York City home…
I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m going to miss the chaos and all the noise. The sounds of little feet scampering across the hardwood floors…the sounds of little voices giggling and arguing in the play room…the feeling like I’ve been transported into the middle of an insane asylum 99 percent of the time…all of it. I’m going to miss hearing Lena go head-to-head with my grams like only a 9-year-old-going-on-30 can and slamming doors and running upstairs screaming the whole way that life is so unfair. And the death glare from my grams when she looks over and catches me smiling and trying so hard not to laugh at the antics…how she’ll point at the door Lena just exited through and slammed and say how I’m to blame for being such a bad influence on her–to which I usually end up proving her point by rolling MY eyes, shrugging my shoulders, and saying “whatever”. I’m going to miss Emmie’s sweet little sleepy smile at night as she asks me to read her a bedtime story. I’m even going to miss all the fighting and the arguing between us adults, that on a good day would make most people feel as though they had just walked into World War III. I’m going to miss all of it…so much.
Even this rinky-dink little town where nothing ever happens–and all the memories I’ve made here. Like the little beaten path in the woods by the creek where I skipped an SAT review class to get drunk for the very first time on a single bottle of Raspberry Smirnoff. And the dozen or so driveways that still bear the faded, weathered remnants of my name in gold paint from “Paint Night” my senior year–from a long-standing tradition where the year’s graduating high school seniors go around town spray-painting their names in driveways and on sidewalks. There’s the football field by the high school where we spent most of Friday nights, cheering for the Home team. Or the quiet little spot by the rushing creek that floods every year without fail, under a bridge that has since been replaced–where, as a teen, I spent countless hours trying to figure things out. Or the field on the hill where my friends and I spent one Halloween, having one of THE most epic shaving-creaming fights of all time. There’s the high school where I spent some of the best years of my life and made friendships that will last a lifetime. I know a lot of people who would rather forget their high school days than remember…but not me. I loved high school. It wasn’t as clique-y as I know most high schools are. Not that I noticed, anyhow. Sure, there were the occasional bullies and outcasts and the potheads that got high on the towpath every day at lunch…but nothing major. I did a lot of growing up in that school…for so many reasons.
I have so many great memories and stories from that school. Thanks to my intense dislike for authority figures, I had quite the knack for driving teachers crazy. For example, my Chemistry teacher who, with the help of the bestie aka my partner in crime, we defied every day. The poor guy almost lost it once, in front of the whole class, when I voluntarily decided to send myself to the office–rather than do what it was that he wanted me to do at that time.You’d think he would have been a little grateful or something–seeing how I was saving him the trouble of having to send me there himself. Yeah, I was a little smart-ass back then. Correction…I still am.
Believe it or not, he had it much easier compared to my Physics teacher my senior year. I put that guy through hell…you have no idea. I remember this one time in class when I was doing other work rather than pay attention–as per usual. I think he thought that by volunteering me for the little demonstration he was putting on for the class–that it would somehow get me to start paying more attention in class like he wanted. Well…his little plan back-fired on him…BIG TIME. See, he was doing some kind of kinetic energy demonstration where he had a bowling ball hanging from the ceiling. I think the point of it was to show that an object in motion will never reach or surpass its kinetic energy point than its original starting point…or something along those lines. Like I said, I wasn’t paying attention. Anyhow, he wanted me to demonstrate what would happen if some resistance were applied. The way it was supposed to happen is that he would hold the ball to his chest, then let it go…and I was supposed to give it a light push when it swung towards me–therein adding some resistance. I’m sure you can imagine what came next. And in my defense, I didn’t push it THAT hard…I mean, if you want to get real technical, I could have pushed it a lot harder if I wanted to. To spare you the image, let’s just say that if he hadn’t gotten out-of-the-way as quickly as he did–it would not have been a pretty sight. I know–it was probably a horrible thing to do–and more so to find humor in it–but the look on his face…priceless!
In hindsight, maybe I should have went a little easier on the poor guy–after all, it WAS his first year teaching there…maybe. But come on…he should have known better. I mean, it wasn’t like it was the first week of classes…or the first time he’d scolded me for doing other work during his class. He knew that I didn’t play nice or entirely fair. Besides, I don’t know what the big deal was to begin with or why it bothered him so much that I refused to pay attention…after all, he had 20 or so other people in the class hanging on his every word. And besides, he and I both knew my attention wasn’t necessary. Not to brag or anything…but I didn’t need it. I’d already proven that, countless times over in fact, when I passed every quiz or exam he gave me…without having taken any notes or studying. I was just lucky that way, I guess. But for some reason, he and some of the other teachers were offended by it. I mean, it’s not like I was personally insulting their teaching methods or anything. Either way…forgetting all of that…I think the better question is who the hell in their right mind would even think of hanging an actual bowling ball from a ceiling…let alone let a poster child for anti-authority like myself anywhere near it in the first place?? Seriously…not the brightest idea. On the upside, I think that was the first and the last time he ever did THAT demonstration. I guess he learned his lesson. Oh well. =)
So anyhow…sorry to ramble on. I guess I’m just feeling a little nostalgic at the moment. I really am going to miss it all. Granted with my family, there’s Skype and FaceTime…but it won’t be the same as actually being here…experiencing it all first-hand. It’s bittersweet, I guess. I mean, I know that this is a good thing. ..that it’s a great opportunity for me…but still, I want the best of both worlds. I want to chase my dreams…but I want them there with me while I do it. Which isn’t going to happen, I know…but a girl can dream, right?
Anyhow, enough with the sappy reminiscing and walk down memory lane…I should really get back to packing. After all, all this stuff isn’t going to pack itself, right? And sooner or later, my brother will be making an appearance with his devilish little mini-me that is my 4-year-old nephew, Joey…and the quiet will be non-existent. So, I’m just going to take one more minute to bask in it…or two…or three…