Give me the biggest burrito they have!

I'm not sayin' OtherGus and I were being tossed around the bed of a pick-up truck at almost 2 am last night. And I'm not sayin' we went through the drive-thru of Taco Bell in said bed. All I'm sayin' is I need to go home and get into a softer bed.

I'm just sayin'.

It's not the heat...

Damn, how could I FORGET how freaking humid it is here in the Midwest?

And it's certainly not the heat, because today the temperature was barely supposed to clear 68. But still, when I walked the dog, I was sweating so profusely that you would have thought I walked her in a sauna.

I had dinner last night with a friend of Trix's and asked her about the humidity--whether it was unseasonable. She looked at me curiously and shrugged. "I guess I don't notice it anymore," she said as I wiped a sheen of sweat from my forehead.

It's possible I'm hallucinating, of course, but I don't remember it being so sticky back in DC. On 90 degree days in July and August, sure, humidity was thick. But here, the amount of humidity has no relation to the temperature. It's just always there.

Those "warm days, cool nights" OtherGus promised me are materializing, but I still end up sweating through my sheets anyway. I don't even have a blanket on them yet.

My hair is having a field day as well, because it's not the kind of beachy humidity that gives you shining, glowing curls--but rather the kind of balminess that creates halo fuzz on my head. Nothing seems to help. Wearing it curly only encourages hair rebellion. Wearing it straight is a direct challenge to nature. I can't win.

The humidity also could have something to do with the high number of rainy, gross days we've had. I think it's been overcast and yucky for about four days in a row, and of course that means it's humid. But still, it's almost October, and I'm craving crisp, fall days.

Tell me you're not having them back in DC...

Nothing in particular

I was all set to do a semi-funny/absurd/commentary about random things type post here tonight, but by the time I finally sat down at the computer, I just wasn't feeling funny. So I suppose instead I can give you an update about how things are going--an entry that can contradict the alarming tone in my last post.

I'll say this: things are going much better.

I started class on Tuesday, and aside from some miscellaneous, unfortunate day's events that were not directly related to school, it went swimmingly. Both classes were research-related, and I found myself completely engrossed in the topic. Even though one is statistics, I honestly think it will be interesting. I left the classroom excited (I consider this a good sign).

Then today I had the last two classes, both of which are more traditional business classes (marketing and finance). Again, the content seems very interesting, and I am especially into the way the program approaches business problems--very customer-focused. I think I will learn a lot over the next 15 months.

Do I think it will be hard? Yeah, I'm going to have to work a lot. Many of these concepts are very new to me, as I never had any sort of formal business training or classes before. But my interest level is high enough that a few extra hours with the books might not bother me so much as it might have before.

Other than school, things are also going well. I know my way around pretty well; thanks to good friends back in DC, I've met or am in the process of meeting some very cool non-grad school folks; I've been in touch with family in the area; and I feel like I'm getting myself in order. I've had a lot of time outdoors and with the dog, which always seems to put me in a good mood. I'm happiest when I'm out with her, walking up and down the very pretty streets of Evanston and taking in all the sights and people around me.

And of course, I dig being close to the lake. I'm not sure how much I'll love it once the winter snow and wind hit, but right now it's a beautiful walk over there.

So... if you read the last entry and were worried for my sanity, don't. I'm doing OK. I still miss DC, but I'm definitely getting on OK out here, too. But happy hours aren't the same (OK, I'm so poor they're nonexistant) so drink a beer for me.

Officially crapping my pants

Today I went to orientation. I learned these things:

I can officially count on having no life for the next 9 to 15 months.
Every beer I buy from here on out will have interest attached to it.
I shouldn't care about my grades--except I need to maintain a 3.0 GPA to graduate.
Our classes, though sometimes covering the same content, are more difficult and intense than Kellogg courses.

Hm.

So that portion of the day definitely did not inspire confidence in my decision to cut and run back to grad school. However, everyone's discussion of the program did.

For the first time in my life, I am taking on schooling because I genuinely want to learn something. I'm not here because I have to be, or I really should be, or because I have to use it as a means to an end. OK, do I expect to have a higher paying, more prestigious position when I finish? Yes. But truly, that is not my main motivation for being here. I am excited about the content of the curriculum. As the faculty began talking a little about the various courses we will take, I was extremely engaged, and in all of them--not just the PR-specific stuff.

I feel like I am surrounded by professors who are in touch with the industry and more interested in teaching practical applications than useless theories. My new colleagues and fellow students are a distinguished class made up of mostly professionals who are enthusiastic about communications and marketing. I suppose it's a bit like going to a specialized summer camp where everyone is excited to be there.

Of course, that doesn't make the nerves subside any, and I'm fighting that niggling little voice in the back of my head. I'm betting you know that voice, the one that likes to spread doubt and negativity. I suppose I just need to tell it to shut the hell up and get to work.

And maybe put on a fresh pair of drawers in the meantime.

It's the little things

At least, that's what Rob likes to tell me. I don't know why I'm shocked whenever I confirm that it's true.

The last week and a half have been quite an adjustment--new place, new traffic patterns, parking issues, house issues, dog walking routes, new grocery stores and bank accounts and student IDs and so much freaking crap I have to do every day that I am practically begging for the comfort of my old routine back. It's not that I don't like it here--I haven't officially decided that yet--it's more that everything is so unfamiliar that it makes me want to curl up in my bed for hours, simply because it's the only thing I recognize.

But last night, an oasis.

I made a trip to Dominick's, which is the Chicago version of Safeway. I can't tell you how good it felt to browse aisles with familiar signs. I picked up products I love and use regularly (i.e., Safeway brand raisin bran). I bought a Dominick's fresh baked cookie, which used to be part of my weekly shopping trip back in Virginia. It tasted just like home. The man who bagged my groceries even smiled at me and asked me if I needed assistance with my groceries outside. I went home a happy camper.

Yeah, I suppose it is the little things, so I might as well enjoy them when I get 'em.

Five things

About my new home in Evanston.

1. The house is ginormous, to use a favored OtherGus word. You could fit the entire downstairs of my Arlington apartment in the living room. Ok, that's an exaggeration, but it's still really freaking huge.

2. With great size comes great responsibility. Responsibility, that is, in maintaining what seems like thousands of locks inside and outside the house. My key ring now has SEVEN keys--I don't even know what they all open just yet. I feel like a janitor.

3. When I first moved in, my room was pepto-bismol pink. That lasted all of 24 hours, and now is a subtle pale yellow/off white color.

4. I am 12 blocks from the lake. It's a far walk, but since the weather has been so gorgeous, it's a walk I don't mind. I may feel differently in, say, January. But September sun agrees with me.

5. I've seen a disportianate number of mentally ill/mentally disabled/homeless people around. I'm not sure if that's because I take walks with Casey through questionable neighborhoods, or if it's a bigger sign of the vast discrepancy between the extreme wealth of Evanston and lack of good social services. (Based on a conversation with my new roommate, it sounds like there isn't enough money for the city to pay for some basic things. But I'm not sure how accurate that is.)

All in all, a good start to a new journey. I think I can live here for a year or so.

Driving away

There's something about being in a vehicle that makes leaving somewhere so much harder.

Earlier this year, I wrote a long post (as part of a project I promise I haven't forgotten) about a surge of emotion driving to my grandparents' house after college graduation. Such an incident wasn't the first.

The night before Angel left for college, we sat out in my parents' old Honda Civic, in her driveway, bawling and hugging. A few days later, I sniffled softly to myself as we pulled away from the house, lugging my meager possessions, on my own path to college. I cried on the plane, gazing out the window at my family, waving from the gate inside, as we taxied out to the runway on my way to France for two and a half months my junior year of college. Later that trip, I sobbed on the train on the way to Paris and home. I cried when I left OU, and I still tear up almost every time I leave my family--even after a short weekend visit.

I'm accustomed to the tears; in fact, I expect them.

For the last few weeks, I'd been telling those who asked the same things--"I'm numb," "It's not real to me yet," "It probably won't sink in until I'm gone." I meant them.

I had flashes of sadness, of course, of things and people I would miss, but I was mostly just going through the motions of packing and organizing. Even the dog seemed to be taking the move harder than I was. She moped around the boxed-up house, positioning herself strategically between me and the door wherever I was.

Even the night before I left, as my friends helped me load up the storage containers, it wasn't real. We sat around, drinking beer and eating pizza, and reminiscing about funny stories or events. They made me smile, not frown. And when they rose to leave, I hugged them all tightly, but still couldn't feel anything more than misty eyes.

Finally, the next day, after the cleaning was finished, after the last item had been packed, after I had handed in my keys and shut the front door softly, I ambled into the car and started the engine. I found some good music on the radio. I adjusted the headset for my phone. I took a deep breath. And as I pulled away from the curb, my leaving DC was no different than any other goodbye.