Some things that I've decided by living in England.

1) If you are a girl, you are dumb.
2) If you are an american girl you are dumb.
3) An amendment to number one, you can be a girl and not be dumb but you have to wear glasses and be stupid.
4) If you are a girl and only speak English, you are dumb.

Protocol in order to be taken seriously.

1) You are a producer on the History Channel
2) You do not qualify to any of the four items mentioned in the above list.
3) You are a historian.
4) You are german.
5) You kind of know 4 languages.

Basically, I should eat shit and die and get out of the scholarly community.

And yes, I am surly.

I was looking at my posts that I have drafted but haven't put up. There's this one where I got the idea of connections between people and wondering if the workings of the universe was responsible for why people meet. Although you part ways and you think that you'll never meet again, but in actuality you will meet again because of these connections. Logically it kind of makes sense. You meet certain people, however random it may be, because usually there is some sort of commonality that's involved: you like the same music and atmosphere so you frequent the same pub/bar/club, you take up a similar studies so passing each other in the library isn't far fetched, etc etc. So through this, my thinking evolved into, we've met randomly on the basis that we have such and such a thing in common therefore it's possible that doing this common thing will enable us to meet again.

Looking back at this optimistic attitude towards meeting people and then parting ways, I now just think, "That's bullocks". How many people have I met at camp 8 years ago, and now have no idea what their names are? 10-20? To even go so far as, how many people did I meet in my year abroad that now have no desire to talk to me now (not that there's no desire there...just that there's no point really)? 10-20, again? Right away that's like 20-40 people who I'm sure I'll never see again.

From optimism to pessimism. But more importantly, from unrealistic to realistic.

Small clouds dotted the calm blue of the sky above me as I sat on a park bench at the corner of Main and Water in Kent, Ohio. Noon - ugh. I still have half hour until they show up, and that is only if they are on time. What else is there to do but sit and enjoy the day and reflect upon the events that had happened to me on the weekend. Perhaps though, the most annoying part of waiting is knowing that I am waiting. With my iPod in my ears playing my Paris cafe album, I glance at my purse and realize that I probably have something in my bag to keep me occupied for the time being. Jackpot. Pen, paper, music, scenery. Reaching into the depths of the artistic part of my brain for any remembrance of my classes from life drawing I begin sketching the only scene that might be appealing, as well as easy to draw. The lamp post and the tree behind it seem easily at my disposal and simple to draw. Easy enough. -ten minutes later and I think... This looks like shite. I respect artists now that I see I cannot meet my standards of a light post. It is basically just a straight line with a rectangle thing on the top... Screw it. Nothing ever turns out the way I envision it in my mind, this is just another example. Oh well...I might as well draw some more leaves on the tree though. Solo, listening to French music, and trying to draw on a bright green almost day-glo post-it, a curious looking man, obviously a traveler, cuts across the lawn in front of me. Over the romantic slurs of the French language I hear a grumble and look up to see this mysterious man's mouth moving.

"Pardon?"

"Beautiful day isn't it."

"It certainly is. And how are you on this gorgeous day?"

Suddenly the traveler starts asking my questions in different languages asking if I speak German, French, or Dutch. After establishing that, no, I was not a foreigner but originally from Ohio, the traveler seems intrigued that I could have an "accent" and was raised not but an hour from Kent.

The traveler sits down on a rock opposite of me and greets me with a warm semi-toothless smile. It is apparent that he was either a hitchhiker or homeless. Regardless of which, it was his smile that was endearing and welcoming. It was the type of smile that should have been rewarded with a cold beverage, but with fifty cents in my pocket I was upset that I could not give my fellow man something cold to drink on such a hot day. Despite this setback in my mind we converse briefly. I find out that he has been hitchhiking from Arizona and came back to Ohio because not only is the Kent area where he is originally from, but it is warm and a pleasant place to be in the summer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Mine is Tegan."

"Hello, my name is Joel."

"It's a pleasure."

Extending my right hand to shake his, I take extra care to examine the condition of his hand. I find that the hands of an individual tell a person about whomever they belong to. Joel's hands are hard and rough. Tanned and slightly dirtied. I think that it is probably not unlikely that he has used his hands to do the occasional odd job for a small sum of money to get by.

After listening to his stories of being adopted by Native Tribes in the west, and his journeys throughout the USA (disincluding the East Coast because as Joel would say it, "They're all stuck up over there"). I realize that although this man may not have what I have, that I envy him. I envy him because he lives for himself and he lives for things such as a cool breeze, or a cold drink on a hot day, the smile of a passer-by, and the feeling of cutting loose on his own terms. Sitting across from him and imagining his lifestyle compared to mine, I start drifting away from the idea that I had a terrible week; it could have been worse.

Joel was enlightening. Unlike Joel, I am too dependent on others at times and this is something I do not enjoy being as it causes me extra grief in my life. Another item to reflect on was the way he moves on with his life. This is especially symbolic to me, and certainly relevant on this particular day. Moving on and leaving Kent was something I needed to face up to. I am almost positive that Joel has met people that he has only seen and met once in his life, much like his encounter with. But what should be remembered is the time spent with that person, not what could have been spent with that person. Most important though, was the feeling that there are those in the world that still like to sit down and converse with strangers, even on the most irrelevant topic.

Although I will probably never see Joel again in my life I like to think that our paths will cross again someday. Perhaps I will even see him walking on the side of the road with his thumb out so I can pick him up and give him that long overdue beverage. Regardless, this small moment in time allows me to reflect on what is possible. Whether it is hitchhiking from Arizona to Ohio or just getting through the half hour.

Glancing at my watch the half hour has passed.

"Well, it's 12:30 and I have to meet my friends. They're probably waiting for me."

"Yeah, I was going to go see my lawyer friend who picked me up and brought me into Kent."

"It was lovely to have met you Joel. I wish you the best in your travels."

"Thank you. You're a pretty lady. I hope you get where you need to go."

***

It's always the small moments I remember and the smallest of gestures I take away. Taking the path I want is not always an option, but the random meaningful and enlightening events along the way are worth it.

Jobs suck and so do you.

Multiple combinations of emotions are scurrying through my body at the moment. Lately I am lost in myself. Whoa as me....

This is not supposed to be pity time. For me, it is more of a reflecting time. Knowing myself, probably better than most I might say, reflection is usually dabbled with in not so good times for my self.

This past weekend while walking around Kent with my good friend Beth we arrived upon a sort of fellow, who although should not a role modeal, is a role model. I have never known or even heard of the artist Vince until this day, and our random encounter has made me think about ways in which different people live their lives.

There was nothing remarkable about Vince, to say the least. He was a scrawny guy who is in his late thirties. He is unkept, odd, and not entirely attractive - at all. But his stories of moving, or working, of not having any money but managing to live off the land sounded so great. So with the flow. So magnificent. I still struggle to go with the flow and to see an individual go at it with such ease was refreshing.

What I struggle with is not being able to be on my own. I hate it. What I tell myself on a day to day basis is that I am a natural loner. When deep down...I really do need something of substance in my life - platonic or not.

I am still in the process of trying to go with the flow. But lordy lordy, the emotions take a toll.

I'm 21. I'm 21 and looking at the bottleneck of my future. Graduated from college, living out life as a bum right now, and awaiting a summer of living in my parents' house with a scum-paying job. Sounds depressing? On the contrary, sounds normal.

I keep making excuses for myself like, I don't know where I'm going to be in a year, I have to obtain this in order to be something, yada yada yada. All this to justify my uncertainty. But, who is certain about things? Even if I wasn't planning on continuing my education I still wouldn't know what to do. [for purposes of making hypothetical situations simpler, insert previous paragraph here]

As it is though, I have found myself in the past always making plans. Even things that are as simple as dinner tomorrow night - I plan. Well...here is a resolution for me. My last and final plan. [no more plans] I'm PLUM sick of them and they never work out.

The pessimistic attitude of this is not intentional. I do however think that although this may indeed sound pessimistic that some sort of optimism may come out of it. The idea of leaving behind an old self and reinventing a new one is, although quite a cliche, refreshing for me.





Smell the roses, they're beautiful.