Return.

I haven't blogged in quite awhile. In fact, it has almost been an entire year since I wrote about measuring my life in semesters and reminisced about my illustrious college experience. A few things have remained consistent - I still maintain that my college years were the best of my life, I still have a love/hate relationship with Iowa City, and I am still more than a bit quirky - but more things have changed since I was the wide-eyed, almost-graduate walking across the stage after hearing a terrible graduation speech and sharing the event with the damn College of Business students.

For starters, I have been living in Des Moines for almost a year now. I commonly tell people I am living the dream because it usually elicits a chuckle or an appreciative smile, but truthfully I am living the reality of most people my age. I live with my parents, I fight with my parents, I am restless, and I am faking my way through a few jobs so I can make money to pay off my debts. And by "pay off my debts," I really mean "go out with those other people my age I referenced and drink beer and pretend that we've all never been happier."

Ok, that was a little dramatic. I actually am quite happy. Life treats me well, and I think I treat life well. I think this particularly when a few of my married friends tell me they live vicariously through me. I have a secret hypothesis that they say this only to make me feel better about some of my terrible life choices. Either way, life isn't perfect, and it's certainly not static, but what 20-something truly believes or wants that? I mean, isn't that the beauty of your 20s? You are the most idealistic you'll ever be and this means you can really pursue all that life has to afford. When something doesn't work out, a 20-something moves on to the next thing. We're malleable, we're flexible, we're the best kind of non-committed.

Ok, stop there.

When I started typing this blog entry, I didn't intend for it to be monumental or all that great, really (and I obviously succeeded at doing neither). In fact, I just wanted to breeze over the fact that it's been a year since I contributed to the blogosphere and move on to my original purpose behind digging up my username and password. So, we'll just move on, shall we?

As I mentioned, I work a few jobs. This sounds more taxing than it really is, but we'll just leave it at that so whoever reads this will think I am truly deserving of all the things that I want because I work so hard. With that in mind, one of my jobs can be described as a rollercoaster. For once, this isn't because it's a dramatic thing, but rather because what I do depends on a multitude of factors. So, I will go through phases of being ridiculously busy and yet spend hours doing nothing but doodling, surfing the web, and plotting ways to save the world. During one of these "valleys" today, I started free-writing. It came out in a Carrie Bradshaw-esque way, probably because I watched a lot of "Sex and the City" over Thanksgiving Break. I decided to post it because otherwise it will be forever lost on the hard drive of my computer, and I will read it sometime in the future and have no context for what I was thinking. So, without futher adu (and there was a lot of freaking adu leading up to this point), here is my SATC column. Oh, and no, it's not about me. It truly is about a friend of mine, so just stop trying to be clever and figure out the supposed analogies. It's just a waste of your brain's synopses.

“This Is Bullshit!”

By: Carrie Bradshaw (a.k.a. Kelli Russell)

I have a friend who met a guy at work a few months ago. After a flirtatious banter and a carefully orchestrated “asking for the phone number,” they met up for drinks one night and hit it off. The days following were a whirlwind of cute texts, cuter kisses, and the flutter-of-the-heart feeling that leaves you breathless but with oxygen the last thing on your mind.

Sometimes these stories end well, and you have relationships form. Sometimes both parties are content with the affair becoming one to remember, and nothing more. And still yet, sometimes the stories end before they even have a chance to move beyond the title page. But through the countless situations I or someone I know have been through, despite the numerous times we’ve faced ourselves in the mirror after being knocked off our feet, and the harsh conversations we've drunkenly had alone or in dialogue, it just never seems to stick. It seems like the only thing that has truly ingrained itself into our minds is the idea that we should give selflessly and wait with open arms for the moment when someone needs us. I know we're not alone in this morally charged, flawed character trait. But what I have noticed is that more often than the not, the one who winds up standing alone is the woman, as intelligent, discerning, real-world as she may be.

My friend is one such woman. Admittedly there is always fault with each member of a relationship; we are not debating perfection here, after all. But what happens when the fault is that you cared too much, and gave too willingly? When did it become a bad thing to embrace life and feel all the intensities it has to offer? At what point do our actions shift from being supportive and patient, to the designation that we’re being walked all over? And when should we toss aside the conventions we’ve been taught about the Golden Rule and actually put ourselves first, having the guts to say, “this is bullshit!”

I may not know the answer to those non-rhetorical questions. In fact, I know I don't. But I think it does have some merit. There must be a thin line between being kind and patient about a situation, and the situation really being one where you're getting walked all over. In fact, just today I was listening to a co-worker tell me why their unemployment will really be the end of their happiness (obviously, this person doesn't understand that they are 25, and thus still in the "idealist, shrug it off" stage of life). They eventually deduced that the worst possible scenario would be to live at home with their parents and work for their dad in a field that isn't related to their college degree.

Oh, hi, did you just describe my life?

When I pointed this out to this person, they informed me that it's different because they have a more expensive degree (hey, nobody held you at gunpoint and made you go to Drake) and because it is also a higher degree than my bachelor's, it is even more difficult to work some remedial.

Now, I will concede that everything that person said is factual. They do have more debt than I do because they did attend a private university. They did get a degree above a BA/BS, so they are, technically, "higher educated" than I. And I'll even give them that it may be more difficult to go back and work for a parent with that higher degree, simply because I don't have the ability to empathize with that because I am not in the same situation. But my question is, when does being a good person by listening and empathizing with someone diverge into allowing myself to be offended and say "hey, asshole, why can't we just cooperatively curse the economy and go get a beer instead of split hairs about who has it worse?"

I pride myself on knowing things and constantly learning, but I will never claim to know everything. But as live moves on, and as I enjoy the last 6.5 years of my twenties, I know I'll probably still be too nice, too forgiving, and too patient with people who are actually quite undeserving. But that's ok. What is idealism without the Golden Rule, anyway?

My life in semesters.

I have my last final as a college undergraduate in 7 hours and 28 minutes. Shockingly, I can't sleep. I can never seem to sleep when I need to, and when I do take my infamous coma-naps (Kevin calls them my hibernations) they are never at good times.

Because said final is my last final, and it is an English final at that (the absolute worst kind of final because it's all BS and taking about things nobody actually cares about), I've started down the road of no return - the road of the lasts.

I started thinking about how many finals weeks I have survived (9), and how I can't remember most things from my exams, but I remember that week like it was yesterday. I vividly remember my first (and last) dead week at Iowa State, as well as sitting in the lounge with Jessica Giuttari eating my weight in junkfood just to use up my Cy-Cash. Those were the days when I was a Political Science and English major with a Spanish minor. That worked out well for me, obviously.

From there I started thinking about my first semester at Iowa and finally feeling like I was where I needed to be. I remember staying up all night with the girls on my floor studying for Intro to Sociology and thinking they would be the best friends I ever had. Again, that worked out well for me, obviously.

My sophomore year, I decided to break up with my boyfriend mid-finals week the semester I took 17 hours. To this day I stand by my belief that it was a miracle from God that I passed my finals that week. I guess in this case, that did work out well for me.

I guess you get the general idea that I have always measured my life around academic events. We all do it ("I met her sophomore year" or "My junior year we had that horrible ice storm, remember?"), but the fact that I barely remember what I wore yesterday, yet remember what I wore to my Intro to Law final sophomore year freaks me out a little. Partly because that's a bit strange, but also because what happens when I no longer have those academic bench marks to measure my life from? It seems a little strange to say, but college gave me structure. I've been here so long, doing this song and dance, that I'm afraid I don't know what to do without it.

Yes, I'm aware that countless individuals have done it before me. In fact, because I decided to take a victory lap, a large portion of my friends have already gone through all of this because they graduated last May. I'm a bit on the quirky side, though, so I suppose I'm wondering how my mind will wrap itself around this dramatic life change. I am moving back in with my parents, after all.

I have a major love/hate relationship with Iowa City. In some regards, the place absolutely disgusts me. You would think this was the elusive Garden of Eden by how some people talk about it, and I've long said you couldn't pay me to live here after graduation. My logic is that I couldn't stand being around college students without actually being one. Let's be honest - they're a bit lazy, narcissistic, and drunk. I also wouldn't want to work in the school district because the students are so used to academia and being around such rich culture they don't even realize what they have; they're completely jaded to the incredible opportunities around them.

Yet, I've also lived in Iowa City for four years, and the past two have been continuous. I've been here through tornados (freshman year), an earthquake (junior year), a flood (junior year), and most recently a fire. It would be impossible, and a complete lie, if I said I didn't feel invested in this community. I've spent the past 2.5 years explaining to campus visitors why I love Iowa City and the University of Iowa, and I truly wasn't lying. There is a lot to offer here, and I adore the campus and downtown Iowa City. I've also had a lot of fun here. College was certainly the best years of my life (thankfully, because high school was quite anticlimactic).

Although I have a general idea where life is taking me, and a solid idea exactly what I'll be doing until July, I have to stop and consider all of the semesters, finals weeks, nights out, nights in, natural disasters, overdramatized disasters, laughing, crying, fighting, running, sleeping, drinking coffee, perusing the library, eating Which Wich, and enjoying life that I've done in this town.

And believe me, that's certainly not a bad thing to consider. Just maybe now when I have a final in 7 hours and 5 minutes.

Blerg.

Ladies and gentlemen, October is almost over.

Holy buckets, Batman!

Not to state the obvious, but October being over means November is here. November means Thanksgiving, which means finals week, which means graduation. College is over, what?

This week was by far the busiest I've had all semester. For that matter, my head feels groggy and I should go back to bed (I took a pseudo-coma earlier this evening), but I feel like I need to update my blog for my pretend readers just as much as I felt the need to labor over lesson plans this week for my pretend students. So, some nuggets of goodness for whoever you are:

- I absolutely, positively abhor Cambus, the University of Iowa's campus bus system. I can hardly talk about it on tours without frothing at the mouth.
- Someone called me a "yuppie" today because I worked at Starbucks once upon a time. I don't even have a good response to that because I'm still scratching my head in confusion.
- A letter arrived in the mail this week confirming that I am student teaching in southern Sussex County, England. I think that's the long way of saying London and London suburbs.
- By far, I ingested more coffee and Halloween candy this week than anything remotely nutritional.
- Ignorance is bliss, and I like to pretend that NPR is a completely unbiased news source. Even if it isn't, I still delight in it.
- I taught at Tate High School this week and it was great. I also whipped up a 4-day lesson plan on Act I of Romeo and Juliet and it was great. I'm going to be a teacher and that, too, is great.
- The Iowa Hawkeyes could very well become 9-0 this weekend. Oh, mylanta!

That's all I've got. Peace in the Middle East.

Gimp.

Last Friday I ran a 5k. I decided to do this Thursday afternoon, under the pressure of Anne Kvinge and the lure of a free latte from the Java House.

Friday afternoon I found myself standing outside wearing once of those racing numbers, with a computer chip tagged to my shoe (as though I were actually in competition for first place), and my legs screaming "Why are you stretching us? What are you planning to do?!" Obviously, I did not die. I thought I might, though. Around mile two, my legs started loosening up for real, and I remembered why I liked running back in the day. Afterwards I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, but it still felt pretty good and I do enjoy the freebies that come with races: t-shirts, bananas, and coupons for things you'll never use.

Sunday night rolled around, and I went to play in my intramural volleyball game. I played volleyball in high school, and as the game progressed I started caring more and more. It is a bit pathetic, sure, but I was yelling and running; I actually broke a sweat playing an intramural. WTF, mate? Near the end of the game, I decided it would be a great idea to dive for a loose ball (thanks, Nic) and proceeded to give myself a floor burn on my ankle and jam my big toe.

Please, do not dismiss this injury or call me dramatic. My big toe is now a colossal toe, is a wonderful shade of purple, and hurts to bend (which causes me to limp). All for an intramural game. Great work, champ.

I was downright active this weekend, which leads me to my lesson of the weekend: I need to be more active. I am 22 years old and I still get slightly winded on my tours when we climb to the top of the Pentacrest. Not cool.

So here's to being more active. Or at least attempting. I'll cheers to that (water, of course).

Neither here nor there

The truth of the matter is that I used to be a blogging-fiend. This stopped around the time I decided journalism was not my calling and when I went on my "I can do anything I put my mind to including chemistry" rampage.

Well, I got a C in chemistry, and a few other things have changed since then as well.

In exactly 9 weeks, I will walk across the stage and get my degree. It's a semester late, sure, but a degree nonetheless - except that I won't actually get the degree for another few months, but that's another story for another day.

Student teaching follows come January, and I will be emerge myself into 9th grade-culture at Johnston Middle School. I could not be more excited about my placement or the age level and will spend 16 weeks under the supervision of a lady named Mrs. Boge, who seems to be nice from our correspondence so far.

After completing that, I've decided to torture/amuse myself by doing another 8 weeks of student teaching in jolly ol' Londontown. I'm returning to the UK for the third time and I think this will be the most challenging, amazing, frustrating, and rewarding experience of my entire college career. That's a pretty big superlative, but I think it'll live up to it.

Until all of this goes down, I remain in Iowa City moving half-consiously through my classwork, tours, and other assorted responsibilities. I really am neither here nor there, with few measurements other than one lengthy to-do list and a colorful paper chain.

In other exciting news, the Hawkeyes are 7-0. The plot thickens for the Iowa/MSU game next weekend...