Butterflies

So I have this thing for butterflies, especially monarchs. That's what I tell everyone, at least. If they are even merely mentioned in conversation, you're more than likely to hear those words come out of my life. I say its specifically a "thing" because its not an obsession or a love or anything. It has nothing to do with how they are biologically or mythologically or their symbolism. I just have a thing for them, and it starts with September 2001. No, it wasn't 9/11 that spurred this "thing," but it was 9/9, the day my grandmother died.

After diagnosed with terminal cancer, my grandparents came from Delaware to live with my family in Richmond so Nana could get better treatment. I was never too close with them. Sure, I saw them at Christmas and Thanksgiving. We also used to take a little trip up to Delaware during the summer, but in eighth grade, I didn't quite grasp what death would mean not only to me, but to my entire family. After the summer of 2001 and growing the closest I had ever been in my life to my grandmother, she died. I guess at that time I had been so focused on the actual death that I didn't know the mourning process would last much longer than the cancer did. And it was my mom who I saw it in the most.

At an age where I didn't have my own car and I hung out with my parents just as much as my friends, I saw first hand how miserable she was. I didn't understand it. I was watching the woman I've looked up to my entire life crumble before my eyes. And that's when I realized that that's exactly how she felt about her own mother. Except the crumbling never stopped. I grew very close with my mother during that time.

I'll bet you're wondering where the butterflies come in. Well, you see, my mom has had this theory since Nana died that she reincarnated as some sort of butterfly. Well, maybe reincarnating isn't the right word, but when my mother would be overcome with grief, a monarch would fly by. After seeing these insects many times during her mourning period, she came up with this theory that Nana was trying to comfort her and show that her body is decaying, but her soul lives on. Since then, everyone in my family has had many of these incidents. Usually on birthdays, anniversaries, and other special events, there will be a sighting. In fact, driving home from Delaware this past weekend, I saw a lone bumper sticker on a car. It was an enormous monarch butterfly.

Throughout these years, it has become a kind of hobby for my family (especially my aunt and mom) to collect butterfly trinkets. So I guess it's not a surprise that my one and only tattoo is over a modest monarch butterfly. It's not a dedication to the life of my grandmother (she's probably pissed that I got a tattoo anyway), but to the family that lived on without its matriarch. Maybe it's not a thing for butterflies. Maybe I just have a thing for my family.

Vive La France!

So I think it's finally starting to sink in that I'm going to go to France for 4 weeks this summer. I'm scared shitless. In fact, you know how most people say they're scared, but more excited? I'm not. I'm just scared. The fear has sunk in, but the excitement hasn't. Typical.

The good news is, since I decided to go a few weeks ago, I've actually been paying attention in French class since I know I'll actually use this information (unlike most of the shit I have to learn since I chose good ole Longwood and its liberal arts).

This may sound silly, but what keeps me up at night (literally) about this whole France thing is the plane ride. Isn't that ridiculous? I hate flying. I used to love it as a kid (except when it would hurt my ears). I flew all the time. We went to Disney World every other year and other trips all the time since my dad had a shit ton of frequent flyer miles. Then he left that job. Then 9/11 happened. In all of that time span I guess I grew up and started watching more movies/TV shows (coughLOSTcough) with graphic plane crashes. All of that mixed together = scared shitless.

This will also be my first time going across the big, bad Atlantic Ocean. And this will be my first time flying with people who aren't my best friends or family. It may sound juvenile, but it helps me to hold someone's hand. Also, if the plane does crash, I'll bet it would crash on the LOST island. Then at least I can have a friend/boyfriend/family member to run from the Black Smoke Monster with. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I guess what it comes down to is that no one has control of when or how they die (unless you commit suicide... but I'm not going to do that). So if I was so scared of flying that I would skip out on this one in a lifetime opportunity to study abroad, then I might as well lock myself in my room and never venture out into the world again for fear of some other kind of freak accident.

France is going to be awesome. Scary too. But more awesome than scary. I know enough French to survive without being mute for 4 weeks, and I'm hoping to be close to fluent by the time I get back. I'm sure this won't be the only time I blog about this, and I think I'll set up an entirely different blog for when I actually go so I can tell everyone I know at the same time that I'm OK instead of writing/calling/e-mailing 40 separate people the exact same thing. A la prochaine!

Dreams

I have some of the strangest and most memorable dreams of anyone I know. I love telling people about them because it helps me remember it for longer and sometimes it even jogs my memory of another part that I may have forgotten. I usually don't realize exactly how strange they are until I'm the process of telling my friends about them and come to the realization that I am talking like a crazy person.

I was originally going to start this blog as more of a dream journal but decided that unless I was willing to get up 15 minutes early to groggily type up my odd dreams (which I did not consider for a second), I wouldn't have the time to type them up until the memory was gone. Of course now that I'm thinking about them, I can't remember too many examples of them (typical). Maybe if I start giving examples of the ones I do remember, some other will come back to me.

Last night, I had a dream that I was a black college student managing a women's basketball team. Tom Hanks was the coach and my only job was to come press a big green button every day before practice (it did something to the scoreboard). And then I had to press it at the end of each practice. It felt more like a movie because I felt more like I was watching it than experiencing it, but it kind of went back and forth. The main character (me) struggles with it at first and forgets some practices and therefore the button isn't pushed (catastrophic!), but then she becomes the best green button pusher anyone has ever seen. The coach admires her, the teammates adore her, and of course she falls in love with a male basketball player. I should write a script for this and sell it to Hollywood. Tom Hanks would have to play the coach.

The strangest dream I ever had involved the grim reaper. Or maybe it was a dementor. Either way it was hooded and scary as shit. It was following a group of maybe 6 of us (including Miranda from Sex and the City as well as a guy I used to make out with junior year of high school) and all I knew was to run from the scary hooded figure. I ran to the Short Pump mall and I knew he could never catch me if I kept running since he could only move at a walking pace, but he would always know where I was. I got tired of running so I ran into my old work, Maggiano's, for refuge. I told the hostess that I was going to hide in the back and not tell the scary hooded man where I was. By the time I explained all of this, he was already next to me. I begged for my life and then a "1/2" sign appeared above my head and he walked away.

In Grey's Anatomy, one guy said he smelled lemons before he died. A few nights ago I woke up in the middle of the night because I smelled the strong, citrus scent of lemons. I didn't go back to sleep that night for fear that I was about to die.

I had a dream I spoke in French. I told my french teacher the next day and he said that's how I know I'm learning it. I'm really only writing this to procrastinate writing my french composition, but I guess whether I procrastinate or not, I'll still need to write it. C'est la vie.

Organic Chemistry

I hate Chemistry. I've hated it since before I ever took it since both of my parents came close to failing it in high school and my usually smarty pants sister had great difficulties. So when I took it in high school, I was no exception to my family's rule. Crash and burn. And then it was behind me. Or so I thought.

Then I had the great idea of deciding to be a nurse and therefore enrolling in Longwood as a biology major with the intention of going to nursing school. My eighteen-year-old mind must not have been working properly when I came up with that great idea since I had just chosen one of the most difficult majors and I've never in my life enjoyed learning or been good at it at all.

So let's not forget the role that Chemistry plays in everything. Oh, I only need to take 5 semesters of the one class I've ever just tried to "get through." The first two, General Chemistry. Piece of cake, I thought. Turns out I was right about that first semester since I got a nice and solid B without doing much. I guess I had learned more in high school than I thought. Then spring semester happened. I drank too much. D. So I got to do the unfortunate task of re-taking it the following spring. I hate Chemistry.

Luckily, that second time around was with a new teacher who was pretty good. I learned enough to get me to (but maybe not through) the dreaded Organic Chemistry, which I had been dreading since the moment I decided to major in Biology. The horror stories I heard were endless. How it ruined the careers of would-be doctors. More people fail it than pass it. The first test's averages were in the 30's. So I decided to knock it all out last summer. That was my next mistake.

On top of working a full time job, I went to night classes for 5 hours a night. I was exhausted and the awful teacher I had barely spoke English and went at a pace that was unbelievably fast. My classmates (or some of them) were able to pass by studying every moment they weren't in class. After too many panic and crying attacks than any normal person should have, I decided that after I (barely) passed the first part of lab and lecture, I would only take the second lab part. Long story short, I barely passed that one too. I learned nothing that summer. I hate Chemistry.

So now I'm back. I only need to take the final part of Organic Chemistry lecture. One semester. One hour a day for 3 days a week. I can do this. I kept telling myself that. At least I heard encouraging things about this new teacher. Turns out I got a B+ on my first test and learned more in the first 3 weeks of class than I have in any other Chemistry class.

Now if I could only hope that for the Biochemistry class I have to take next fall. Unfortunately, unless they decide to get a new teacher after this semester, I'm stuck with the teacher who fails the most students at Longwood.

I really hate Chemistry.

A First try... and how to brush one's teeth

After 2 out of my 3 roommates started telling the internet about their thoughts, I finally gave in. It didn't really take that much persuasion actually. Just some time.

I deleted my MySpace almost exactly a year ago and I would write my little thoughts there. Usually I kept it private and it wouldn't have made sense to anyone else anyway. But I guess I like the idea of sharing interesting things with the world.

Well what really made me start this blog was about 5 minutes ago when I was brushing my teeth.

I put some Sensodyne (bad genes = sensitive teeth) on my little battery-powered purple toothbrush and started doing my thing. Then I began walking around my apartment turning off lights to save energy since I knew I would be going to bed soon. It struck me that this might be odd to walk around while brushing my teeth, but I do it about every time I brush my teeth. I just get bored.

Even though I probably see my own face less than anyone I know, the thought of watching myself brush my teeth bores me. Plus, I have a free hand so I can start the dishwasher or lock the door in that time. It's all about multi-tasking. I usually don't drool toothpaste everywhere either. Usually.