1.29.12: T.O.D.

I know, I know. It's been a long time since I've written. I'm sorry. School is finally back in session which means so is lacrosse which also means that I have no life. We're three weeks into preseason and classes are fully underway. I haven't had time to breathe so now I'm finally sitting down and collecting my thoughts and sharing them with you.

Love. A four letter word that means an infinite number of things and gives you an infinite number of feelings which leaves an infinite mark on your heart. 

1.16.13: T.O.D.

"We accept the love we think we deserve."
       -The Perks of being a Wallflower
...But what happens when we know that we deserve better...but we're already in so deep that we can't do anything about it? Then what?

1.5.13: Cancer

The worst thing about cancer is everything. It’s a deceiving little monster. It disappears and hides in the shadows until it decides that it wants to reappear and ruin people’s lives. I don’t know where cancer came from but I do know that it needs to be destroyed. I am one person. I can’t do it myself and to be completely honest, I don’t have the brains to do it myself (my brother, on the other hand, definitely does). Cancer took one of my grandfathers and now it’s after the other—and winning. My father says that he lived a good, long life and I’m not one to argue with that. But why do the good have to be taken from us like this? As the tears pour down my face and my fingers bounce of the keys of my laptop, I can’t help but notice how mad I am at myself. I’m always so worried about such trivial things in my life while my brave, strong grandfather is fighting for his life. How is that fair to him? How selfish am I to think that my petty problems could be more important than his? And how embarrassingly self-centered of me that I don’t stop and think about him every now and then.

I have one more opportunity to see him for the rest of both of our lives. I’m going to make it count.

When my dad’s father died, I was five years old. I didn’t understand any of it then. Now I understand it all…and it scares me. I’m so scared. 

1.4.13: T.O.D.

Just because you would do anything for someone does not mean that someone would do anything for you.

1.2.13: The Final Straw

Once again, I meant to post this much sooner (after I had finished my finals) but my brain was so fried that I honestly didn't want to do anything that didn't involve my couch and my TV. BUT, whoever you are, you'll be happy to know that I made Dean's list. So because of that, I have officially proven that maintaining a social life, being a division 1 athlete, and getting a solid GPA is obtainable! So, if you ever think that it's not, don't count yourself short. I didn't. And even when I didn't think that I could do it, there was always a part inside of me that knew I could. You can, too. So, whoever you are, thank you for all of your support because I do this not just for myself, but for you too and you're why I don't count myself short and you're why I don't give up. So really, thank you.
I wish you only the best for 2013. Make it your year.

Have you ever watched a horse race, like the Kentucky Derby, before? You know when the cameras zoom in on the horses and their jockeys? Make sure that you watch the horses. Their hooves drive into the soft footing beneath their huge, strong, muscular bodies. Their eyes are wild and their nostrils flare. They’re chomping at their bits and pushing against their gates.

That’s how I feel right now. I was on my third large hot caramel latte with cream and sugar from Dunkin Donuts of the day. It wasn’t even 5:30 p.m. yet. I checked my watch for about the forth time in the last three minutes. It read 5:07 p.m. This was one of those situations where I really wouldn’t mind time flying. I tapped my right foot and drummed my left hand’s fingers on the desk in front of me. I really couldn’t tell if I was nervous or just extremely caffeinated at this point.

I had devoted the last 72 hours of my life to this test. There was absolutely no other option than to come out on top because I had, most undoubtedly, trained for this. My professor started to hand out the exams. When he got to me, everything went white.

The test was a blur. As soon as my professor put my test down, I flew through it. When I looked up at the clock again, two hours had already passed. I took a breath and unfolded my test so the front cover was back on top. I looked at it for a second trying to make sure that the English sentences weren’t the Russian ones they now looked like. I slowly and carefully placed my pen on my desk and then pushed the now completely marked up test away from my face. Okay. All I needed on the test was a 75 and I’d still get an A in the class. That’s it. I took another deep breath and then rose from my seat.

“How was it?” My professor seemed way too eager to hear my answer. I looked at him blankly for a second.

“Uhm, it was alright. Thanks for a great semester.”

“No problem. It was a pleasure having you in class!”

“Thanks.” I actually didn’t have a great semester and getting a 97 average going into the final was actually almost the death of me.

As I was walking back to my dorm room, I realized that I was freezing. I cursed myself for finishing my third coffee five minutes into my test. When I got back to my room, I crawled into my bed, making sure to pull my big fuzzy blanket over my head. Five minutes later my phone rang.

“Ugh. What now?” I grabbed my phone from my nightstand and read the name. Boyfriend. “Hi. I was sleeping.”

“Well hello to you, too. Just wanted to see how the test went.”

“I wouldn’t even recognize my own name if you wrote it in front of me right now.”

“So then it went well?” I laughed.

“It went brilliantly.”

“I knew you had it in you. I’ll be over in ten with ice cream.”

“You’re awesome.”

“I know.” He hung up the phone and I tried to focus on what flavor of ice cream I’d be consuming in T-minus ten minutes.

Fifteen hours later, I was homebound. The ride was never long and that’s what I liked most about my school: it was close. Each mile closer to home that we got, the better I felt.

But being home was weird. After I had rolled (actually, after I had dragged with all my might) my suitcase into my room, I stood there for a minute soaking it all in. I let out a breath, put my hands on my hips, and surveyed the room. Well, this was definitely not my dorm room. The floor was carpet and the walls were higher and the bed was bigger and the room was much more spacious. I had to take a second to remind myself that it was still my room. I dropped everything and ran over to my big, fluffy bed. I collapsed there. My mom found me in the same place the next morning. It was good to be home.