The End

Well, this is embarrassing.

I didn't exactly blog yesterday. It slipped my mind. This makes BEDA a certified failure. But hey, it was fun! :)

Melody and I are starting a collaborative blog, and I'm hoping to continue this one as well, so there will definitely be more! No more of this blogging every day thing - I don't like spewing random thoughts and stories without taking the time to edit them. I also don't like crunching the posts down into manageable daily sizes - by the time I write, it's usually close to midnight, so there's very little time to compose anything elegant or interesting.

Solution: Quit procrastinating.

I've nearly finished packing, and although my room is a horrible mess, I'll be leaving first thing in the morning. I'm trying not to overthink this moving thing - - if I do, I'll get upset again.

Bad idea of the day:
Listening to "Transatlanticism" while trying NOT to be depressed.

Melody and I have made a tradition of marathoning our favorite shows the night before I leave. Last winter, we watched Series 4 of Doctor Who in about 36 hours, up until the moment I had to leave for the airport. Today we challenged ourselves to finish Death Note at last, and we succeeded! That theme song sure gets annoying...

Obnoxious music award:
Japanese screamo.

Just... don't.

Textile arts

Well, I'm incapable of sewing a straight line (either by hand or with Grell the sewing machine), but I am capable of whipping a carpet bag accordion case out of my butt two days before I have to leave.

(By the way, yesterday's existential panic attack has finally passed. Whew. That was a stressful 24 hours.)

I went to JoAnn (again) and bought some clearance upholstery fabric that reminds me of Mary Poppins's carpet bag. I'm now in the process of assembling the pieces, filling in the batting, and attaching the old cello case strap to make the accordion carryonable. It's a majestic sort of a carpet bag - there's even a piece of a Cheerios box in there. Anyway, I'm in a bit of a panic over the new sewing machine thing. When I left New York last semester, I was forced to abandon several of my worldly possessions when they wouldn't fit into the storage unit I'm sharing with three other people (granted, most of the stuff is mine. Approximately 65% of it.) Included in the rejects was my tattered blue comforter, which will be sorely missed by all except Kelsey, who reacted to its loss by remarking "Good. It was ugly." Luckily, I have been working on a patchwork quilt, so I decided to finish the quilt this summer and take it with me to school in the fall.

Summer's nearly gone, and I leave for Manhattan in 2 1/2 days. I still have to finish the quilt, finish the carpet bag, and hopefully whip up some kind of petticoat from this great white fabric we found at Wall Mart. This is just textiles. I have the rest of my business, too. Cleaning and packing. It stresses me out to think about it.

A Diversion:

While at JoAnn, I also got a strip of fake fur for the secret plushie factory. This was brought on by Polly, who, when I was stressing about how to best craft Prototype Plushie L's hair, exclaimed, "The problem with L is that his hair behaves more like fur than hair!" Well, Polly, I got some fur. Prototype Plushie's feet may be of vastly different sizes; his torso may be oddly shaped because I forgot to increase for the butt; he may be severely pigeontoed; but this is why he is called Prototype Plushie L instead of simply Plushie L. By the end of the day, Prototype will have the softest, most sensually styled fur hair that any plushie has ever known.

What if...

So, I'll be going back to New York in three and a half days. And, as always, I really don't want to go. I didn't want to go two years ago when I first left. I didn't want to go last year. I certainly didn't want to go after either winter break (exchange mild 60 degree California weather for sleet and slush and subzero temperatures? I don't think so.)

Part of the reason is I'm lazy. Another part is I'm scared. Another part, the part I hope is the biggest, is heartbroken to be leaving behind my family, my friends, my town, and the home that I love so much. Although I've spent two years studying in New York, I haven't yet found my place in the mess of it all, and the feeling of being lost (spiritually and emotionally, as well as often physically) in a city that size is not something I want to relive.

I keep wondering: what if I did take a semester off? A year off? What would I do with myself? What would I change? I tell myself that it wouldn't matter if I took some time off - I skipped most of fifth grade, so I'd really be getting back lost time, not losing more time. When I come back, I'll be older, wiser, more mature, and better-adjusted to the adult world. I can take time to develop my other skills, to read, to write, to study. I can take time to just be, a concept that gets thrown around a lot by the hippies who shop at The Store but doesn't get a lot of practice by yours truly. I can figure out who I am.

Of course, this is all bullshit. I have no guarantee that I'll ever come back at all. I could easily settle into a lazy life at home, and I'll never again find the courage to move away. I'll work a boring job in a boring place with other people like me - bright, exciting people who have simply chosen a quiet life at home rather than reach for the stars. I could find a nice guy worth marrying, settle down with him, and raise a family.

This is the first time in my life I've thought that raising a family might not be a bad job after all.

Will I chicken out and stay at home? Probably not.
Do I feel like chickening out at this moment? Definitely.

What will happen tomorrow? I'm not sure.

Eight minutes

There is so little August left, and I appear to have lost my motivation to do these things.

I also have eight minutes to post, despite the fact that I got home over an hour ago...

I've been distractedly jumping between exploring my new phone and exploring my new cookbook all day.

The plushie now has two legs.

Melody and I went hiking today.

My dorm this year has hardwood floors - good for tap dancing.

Awkward quote of the day:
"One year ago today, your mother told me she wanted to break up. I think we're still friends, but I've decided that I'm going to start dating again."
- my dad.

The best part of this is that my parents knew they were breaking up for about a month before they decided it was necessary to tell me. I called my house one day last fall, and asked to speak to Dad. My mom's answer was, "Oh, didn't I tell you? ..."

Great, adults. Just great.

Wow, lots of angst. He's spending the night tonight for some reason. They're downstairs fighting right now.

Short post today.

Melody is very funny. I am really going to miss her when I go back to New York.

And I really don't understand Taming of the Shrew.

Inception (again)

I've just returned from my second viewing of Inception. I'm in the mood to start gushing over it again, but I don't think I want to do that. So let's talk about something else.

It is a little odd to think that I'll be going back to New York in less than a week. On the day I returned home for the summer, I spent my time as I usually spend it at home: visiting my old high school, driving my sister and my friends around, listening to a lot of Arcade Fire and singing a lot of strange songs in public places. Which is basically what I do now, except everything is different.

The people are the same, mostly. We do the same things. We listen to the same songs. We attend Dollar Scoop Night at the local Baskin Robbins religiously.

But - and I hope this is true for my friends as well - this summer has changed my life in impossible ways. Tiny events hold great significance; single scenes replay again and again, becoming clearer with each repetition. When I return to school in six days, these changes will have grown to define me.

At the beginning of this summer, I had never been to a comics convention. I had also never seen Yosemite. I had never read manga, watched anime, played the accordion, or crocheted. I had never met Polly. Invasion, the glorious train-wreck of a play that we closed last week, was nothing more than the seed of an idea. I had never stolen a stop sign. I had never had any sort of religious experience. I had never walked at midnight along a metal bridge suspended over a canal thirty feet above the ground.

It is as though this summer has been a bizarre dream, a dream which has planted the idea in my head that life is beautiful. Or that art is worthwhile. Or something.

It sounds so trite to build up the revelations of this summer only to clumsily define them as "life is beautiful" or "art is worthwhile." Like, duh.

But I think I'll be going back to New York an entirely new person. I'm ready to go back new.

Plushie prototype progress:
One leg, one half-leg.
Designed more effective foot.
No progress on the hair problem.

Bonus:
Acquired a new wig today.

Yarn Factory

I've been trying not to think about how much money I've donated to JoAnn this summer - between the Who scarf (still extremely unfinished), the sewing machine (an adorable mini-machine I've named Grell), and the fabric for the play (lime green and chocolate brown), I have enough craft supplies to last me a very long time.

So naturally, when they were having a gigantic yarn sale, I went back and spent still more money I got some teeny tiny double point knitting needles and a ton of very soft yarn for my secret plushie project. I can't tell the details of this secret plushie project, but it involves knitting adorable plushies and selling them at small-town cons for a tidy markup.

HuHuHu CORRUPT.

I'm actually very excited about this project - merch is expensive, and although I have little to no business or crafting background (hmm) I'm trying to create an adorable plushie that uses minimal materials (see: small) and knitting time (see: college student) but looks good, and can thus be sold for a reasonably low price while still keeping the crafter in food (see also: broke).

Or, given my personal record with things like follow-through, the secret plushie project involves knitting myself an adorable plushie. I have a foot and half of a pant leg so far on prototype plushie. I'll call him P.


Epilogue:
I have a secret desire to quit drama school and become a craft enchantress. With a craft factory in my living room. And cats.

This is a big development, because my usual "What if I quit drama school?" fantasies tend to involve handsome young husbands, children, and a California teaching credential. Not that this is a bad thing, but... I'm spending too much money on drama school to become a mother anytime soon. And my life isn't big on the handsome young husband thing. I can count the straight boys I'm on speaking terms with on one hand.