Entry 44--AKA: "I am officially a pre-UCLA graduate alumni."

First I would like to start out by saying I love southern California. When I tell people that they look at me as if I am missing a part of my brain, but it's true. I love it. I love that there are million people down here; I love that they all have place to go; I love that everyone (mostly) ignores one another and, most of all, I love the anonymity. It is hard to stick out down here just because of the sheer magnitude of the population. And the weather on the coast cannot be beat. Long Beach and all the small coastal towns are so cute and the weather is cool, and you can live fifteen minutes from the ocean. I love it here.

Second, UCLA. I didn't even bother making an appointment mostly because I wanted only to wander the campus and see if it felt like "home." We have all had those experiences where we set our heart on something, get there, and are completely disappointed by the reality. I didn't want go through the trouble of tracking someone down, making an appointment only to hate the campus and feel like I wasted my time. Plus I wanted to see how friendly the department was: if they were complete dicks I was just going to cut my losses.

I arrive at the campus and it is BEAUTIFUL. I thought I was smitten with Davis the first time I walked around, UCLA is overwhelming. There are the huge brick buildings, some of the first built on the campus from what I understand, and you can see off in the distance the hills of Los Angeles. Breathtaking. I manage to find the L&IS department and walk into the office asking the admin assistant if I can speak to someone regarding the program. He points me in the direction of the graduate advisor who is kind enough to sit down with me and answer all my questions regarding entry into the program, even giving me tips on what to (not) write in my personal statement!

Not only do have a decent enough GPA (the average last year was a 3.8, but they take people from all ranges of 3.0+), but I don't have to stress about the classes I haven't taken in order to apply for the program! I just need to take them before I begin my classes (next year). The only other thing I need to do is take the GRE and I have to store (ideally) above the 60th percentile in every category, but I feel pretty confident I can do that.

I am so, so happy! If I could get into UCLA...well, I don't know what I'd do! I can't even believe that I can even have a shot, let alone actually do it! I am overwhelmed with joy at the moment; it's almost too good to be true. I really hope I'm accepted.

I attached some pictures I took of the campus with my phone. They are not great, but I hope you enjoy them. They really do no justice to the beauty of the campus. :)

Entry 43--AKA: "It's just too soon."

I went a funeral. No bid deal; some distant great-aunt I have never met. I went because my dad asked me to and I am a good daughter who wants to be there when her dad needs her to be. Funerals: never easy, but how had can it be if you don't know the person?

My grandmother's youngest sister is the deceased; my dad's side. We walk in and there is this huge group of people who share my blood. I look around recognizing faces I have never seen and it's the strangest feeling. It's like meeting people you've known you whole life for the first time. My grandmother had thirteen siblings and all but two of them are there with their children and their grandchildren. Generations upon generations of people unknown to me because of one argument no one seems to remember. Even my dad does not know what happened, or my aunt who makes a point to refer to her "crazy mother," for she cannot understand why my grandmother would turn her back on this family.

My dad introduces my mom, me and my boyfriend, Jason--"we're trying to get them married!" my aunt feigns to whisper--and my grandmother's many siblings take turns hugging us and look at me with wonder: "the last time I saw you was twenty-five years ago!" You were in a diaper!" They shake our hands, hug us and it is hard not to feel like I missed out on something. My dad makes a point to tell them that my brother was sorry he could notmake it, he had to work. "You have a son, Willy? I didn't know you had another baby!" an uncle declares. My dad pulls out his phone, proudly showing them pictures of my twenty-five year old brother as if they require proof of his existence. "He looks just like your father!" they each exclaim in turn as they pass the phone around. "He's an engineer. An electrical engineer at Honeywell--and he drives a Corvette!" my dad cannot hide his pride as he talks about his son.

My mom, Jason and I sit down in the pew as my dad and his sister rush from one group of people after another re-introducing themselves to cousins they haven't seen since they were in their youth. Before marriages. Before children. Promises of phone calls and emails, picture exchanges and holiday dinners are circulated without hesitation. My grandmother's oldest sister turns around to me, clasps my hand and says "I am so glad you could make it; it's so great to see you all again."

I don't want to let go of her hand. She looks like my grandmother and her hand feels like my grandmother's did: that soft, cool touch of someone who has seen more and touched more than I can imagine. I never knew the bad things about my grandparents; I never saw the arguments, the fights, and the split in this family. My parents never told me and my brother what were were missing, and we didn't know to ask. I see my grandmother everywhere.

I can feel my face flush and become warm remembering her funeral only a few months before. Meeting these lost relatives for the first time. I can still hear my dad, through sobs, making a point to ask forgiveness on behalf of my grandmother. Of those people my grandmother had cut off over the years in anger, in turn isolating her children and grandchildren: those mysterious people who showed up at the funeral, reaching out to this family that had grown apart from their own.

"Why are you crying?" my mom asks me. It is odd; I don't know anyone there and I have never met the sister who died.

"It's...it's too soon. It's just too soon."

My mom's eyes well up too and we stare straight ahead toward the coffin.

Entry 42--AKA: "Of course..."

...it's a perfect time for a cold. As if I don't have enough to do without having to set everything aside for a day to recover.

Fuck.

I am rolling my eyes at life right now. Just had to share. Now, to make myself minimally acceptable to go out into the world for basic cold-recovery items.

I have a feeling this week is going to suck. (sigh)

Must. Stay. Positive.

Entry 41--AKA: "Senioritis in full force."

Summer school round two.

As of Tuesday I have been waking up with the first question I ask myself being "What the hell was I thinking?" I had a great job and I quit because of school, and now here I am up to my eyeballs in literature and papers during what might be the most mild and beautiful summer I've ever experienced in Sacramento.

What the hell was I thinking?

It's strange to think that somewhere along the way school took priority. It's even stranger to think that in less than a year (307 days, as a matter of fact) I will be walking across the stage to receive my A.B. from a University of California institution. And even more strange still is that I have a great shot at getting accepted into another one for graduate work: the surprises never cease.

I ask myself: when did all of this begin? I have been trying to remember the exact moment I had finally convinced myself that school was more important than my job. It always seemed as if, no matter how many times I told people that school WAS more important, work still took precedence: school didn't pay my rent or my bills. Hell, I couldn't even qualify for financial aid from ARC (a rant for another time), so why should I bother focusing on an education that, as far as I was concerned, made me believe could do better out in the working world?

Which is what brings me to "senioritis." I find it amusing, a sort of great cosmic joke really, that just about the time I get serious about my education--when I quit my job, plan for my future with volunteer work, internships and focusing my time on my education solely--is exactly the same time I want nothing more than for it to be over. Maybe it's just that the grueling pace of the quarter system instills that in people--three quarters, each ten weeks long, minimum of 13 units--and makes them all the more in a hurry to want to finish. If you calculate that awful equation along with the following stipulations: all literature and philosophy classes, plus the two rounds of the 6-week summer sessions, what you are left with is a conglomeration of never ending reading and paper assignments, and only a handful of days during the year with which to recover.

Forgive the language, but: fucking hell on earth.

Now, the best I can do at this point is continue my mantra: almost done. After 4 years straight of full time school, with a year of screwing around after I graduated high school, I am almost done. I've done well (as my GPA clearly shows), I've learned so much, I can talk about what I've learned, and I can see the effects of my education in everything I do. Plus, I'm damned smart, and I mean that as humbly as I can possibly say it, but it makes me proud that I can say that, since I don't think I would have said it and meant it even a few short years ago.

[almostdonealmostdonealmostdone]...*sigh*

So, senioritis, I accept you; I will live with you; I will deal with you. However, it ends June 2010, my friend, so keep in mind this is a short run. Then, it's off to bigger and better things, and you will be nothing more than a fond memory from my time at UCD.

Entry 40--AKA: "Ben Folds has got my number lately."

“Learn to Live with what you Are” by Ben Folds

I know that you’re in there;

I can see you.

You’re saying you’re okay;

I don’t believe you.

And now that the gig is up,

the spell is broken,

the fat lady has sung

the president has spoken.

These days you were waiting for will come and go

like any day.

Just another day.

There’s never going to be a moment of truth

for you

while the world is watching.

All you need is a thing you’ve forgotten

that’s to learn to live with what you are.

So freak out if you wanna

I’ll still be here.

Don’t call me for years and when you do

yeah I’ll still be here.

I’m not saying the effort is a waste of time but I

just love you for the things you couldn’t change

though you’ve tried.

These hours of confusion will soon expire

like everything

does.

There’s never going to be a moment of truth

for you

while the world is watching.

All you need is a thing you’ve forgotten

that’s to learn to live with what you are.

Sometimes

everything you’ve wanted floats above

sticking out it’s tongue and laughing while…

everything anyone could ever need

is down below waiting for you to notice.

There’s never going to be a moment of truth

for you

while the world is watching.

All you need is a thing you’ve forgotten

that’s to learn to live with what you are.

You’ve got to learn to live with what you are.

You’ve got to learn to live with

what you

are.