An Abundance of Sweaters

This entire week I’ve been in process of moving back in.  I’m not anywhere close to being finished, but I am slowly and surely starting to get it done.  I have a lot of things to sort through in my room since my sister redid the room while I was gone and most of my things were put in plastic tubs.  I love how the new room looks, but I have to decide what I want to keep and what I should probably get rid of.

Yesterday I finally had the opportunity to do laundry.  Walking downstairs to the laundry machine and throwing things in without paying quarters was heavenly!  At school quarters were pretty much gold—if I ever found one it went directly into the laundry fund.  By the end of yesterday I had done $5.25 in laundry for free.  To be precise, that would be 3 washes and 3 dries worth of money. 

In the midst of laundry I realized something peculiar.  It seems like a lot of the clothing items I brought back are sweatshirts.  What was I thinking?  It’s been in the 80s and 90s since I got back and all I’ve worn are shorts and tank tops.  I could have gotten away with bringing only 2 or 3 sweatshirts back, but I probably brought closer to 10.  Right next to all my sweatshirts were several pairs of jeans, which I haven’t worn yet either.

Then it hit me.  I’m more used to the weather in Seattle than Colorado.  That just proves I haven’t been home in quite some time, and I’ve now realized how different the weather is between my two states. 

In Seattle it’s all about the layers.  In Colorado you have short sleeve shirts, long sleeve shirts, and sleeveless shirts.  And in the winter you have one giant winter jacket.  Otherwise, forget wearing more than one piece of clothing over the other.  (It was in Seattle that I finally understood what a cardigan was.)

Looks like all my sweatshirts and jackets are going to be hanging out in the closest for a while, which is totally fine with me.      

Ready to be Back

(Written 2 nights ago--finally got a chance to post it!)

When I don’t play the piano for a long time I get an itching sensation in my fingers.  It’s as if I can feel the end of them tingling, telling me that it’s time to touch the ivory keys, telling me it’s time to produce music.

I’ve had that same sensation in my fingers for two months, except this time it’s been in regards to writing.  For two months I have been blogging in my head, but not once did I touch the letters on my computer to actually write.  Now it’s near midnight, I’m in a small town so close to Canada that I don’t receive cell phone service, and I suddenly had the urge to pull out my computer and write. 

This past quarter I wrote countless papers, personal essays, and stories for classes but not once did I write for myself.  I reached a point when it was too hard—it’s not that I did have anything to say, but nothing that I had to say was making it’s way onto paper.  Some of what I had to say I couldn’t share with the whole world either. 

Blogging is like journaling, but what I write needs to be censored.  If I share all of myself with the world I won’t have anything left and I think I needed to keep some of my feelings to myself.  Spring quarter was full of emotional ups and downs for me, like turbulence on an airplane or an earthquake—completely unpredictable.  I couldn’t write about trivial things that are fun to share when so much of me was bursting with heavy emotions that took time for me to sort through. 

Long story short, I’ve made it through that and now I’m here.  Now it is finally summer and I’m once more ready to pick up where I left off.  I’ve missed the color scheme of my blogging page, not even joking. 

I’m ready to be back.

To those of you who have so patiently waited, thank you.

I hope you enjoy reading what I have to say just as much as you did before.