Ugh. Argh argh argh. I am so frustrated with Stanford’s Student Services. I found out yesterday that 1) they have changed the class schedule yet again and now two classes that I was supposed to take — and other people were supposed to take — are now offered at exactly the same time, and 2) my registration is on hold yet again for something I was totally unaware of. Turns out I owe $100 for taking the piano class, and they didn’t post it to my account until November 30. Well, since I had checked with the Bursar’s Office in early November to make sure my account was all squared away, and was told that I didn’t owe anything and everything was great…I hadn’t checked my account since then.
So. The way things are run out there is maddening.
But that was yesterday’s frustration, and I will hopefully take care of it tomorrow…though the Bursar’s Office is probably closed in which case I’ll have to wait until Wednesday and just be annoyed. But anyway. My current dilemma has nothing to do with Stanford. Instead, it deals with cars, and the fact that mine is in California, leaving me unsure of how I am going to get back to Atlanta for New Year’s.
I have burdened Chris with the effort of bringing me home, and I am reluctant to burden someone else with coming up to Charlotte to take me back. Kent won’t be back yet, and Carter doesn’t think he will have enough time. Which I totally understand. I was hoping for the miraculous appearance of someone who actually wants to drive 4 hours up and 4 hours back, just to give me a ride. Hmm. I will have to come up with something. Planes are too expensive, and Amtrak leaves at the ungodly hour of 4 a.m. If anyone has a great idea, please let me know!
(12:04 a.m.)
I must say it again: I have awesome friends. I have nothing to ever complain about in the friendship department. I talked to Christina for an hour and a half tonight…somehow the time always flies by when I’m talking to her. She has such great stories! I am always amazed by her wonderful outlook on life in general; I wish I were more like her. She is always an inspiration to me…I wonder if she knows that. I should tell her. I don’t think she reads this page.
I can’t believe tomorrow is Christmas Eve! The first week of my long-awaited break has really flown by. I can’t help but remember last year’s break, and how bored I was, and how depressed I was, and how confused I was, and how all I wanted to do was get back to Atlanta. Things certainly do change in a year.
Last year I listened to the Counting Crows’ Long December over and over again, waiting for the line that goes “maybe this year will be better than the last…” I didn’t know what I was doing with my life, or where I was headed. I didn’t want to graduate, and yet I knew that I couldn’t stay in Atlanta for much longer without completely losing my sanity. I came home hoping for some relaxation, and instead was met with family uproar and like I already said, all I could think about was getting back to Atlanta, where at least the uproar was not quite as loud.
Spring semester was hell. I didn’t think I would make it to the end, I still didn’t know what I was going to do after graduation, I despaired over the thought of leaving Atlanta, and I spent many nights crying myself to sleep, sometimes alone, sometimes in the company of a friend. My craziness strained my closest friendships, I think, and that only made my doubts even more pronounced.
Then I graduated. It happened. Before I could calm down, I went to Europe. I was still mired in my insanity, and the whole trip was very stressful at times…but still altogether an unforgettable experience that was fantastically fun. I came back to the U.S. and in a whirlwind, I drove to Maryland and watched one of my best friends get married. It made me really happy to be there for the event, and for her.
My highs and lows came quickly that day. Later that night, I cried and cried on the front porch of the inn where we were staying, and even the presence of a friend who knew more than anyone about my hopes and fears was little help.
The good thing was that time kept on moving. The porch steps in Maryland were the last place I felt truly hopeless. I went to Houston for the summer, life slowed down, I loved living with Ron and Phil, and I finally found a group at work doing just what I wanted to do and full of fun people. September 11 came and went and threw the country into craziness just as I prepared to cross the west and settle in for at least nine months…maybe 4-5 years. Stanford is beautiful and the people are great; I am also working harder than I ever have before. I still had so many questions. Is Stanford the right school? (Yes.) Do I still want to work towards a Ph.D.? (Yes, but not right now. Maybe in a few years.)
It’s funny how things work out. Somehow in the middle of all that, my life started to make sense again. School was driving me crazy and so I began to toy with the idea of taking the job in Houston once I finish my whirlwind master’s degree in June. The more I thought about it, the more comfortable I became with the idea. Thinking that I will be moving to Houston this summer, and won’t have to move again until I decide I’m ready, is really nice. And suddenly, I’m starting to feel happy more often than not. Finally. I realize I have awesome friends. And a pretty cool life.
Anyway. That is way more than I intended to write, and it’s now 1:15 a.m. and I’m ready for bed.
