Just me being ranty and disappointed with my first week at college

College so far is a disappointment.

Maybe that's because I decided to get my gen-eds done at the community college, but I'm not so sure. Harper is allegedly one of the best junior colleges in the US.

I'm having a few problems with it. One, their student portal is ugly and hard to navigate. Okay, not a big deal, but there's more.

The teachers just talk at you. You sit there, jot notes, listen, try not to fall asleep. Since when is that effective learning? And freshman comp is a joke. High school told us all about how to write essays and research papers. In fact, I am pretty sure that in expo comp, they told us we needed to know this for college, that we were basically expected to know all the little steps and details going into college. If that's the case, why are they telling us we need to brainstorm, outline, make drafts, source etc. Frankly, it's a bit boring. Not hard, but a lot like high school, only worse.

Worse in a lot of ways. I don't know anyone in my classes. No familiar faces except the guy who I briefly worked with at Jewel and maybe this one guy in my mythology class who looks very vaguely familiar. I can't place his face, though. And there doesn't seem to be hope for in-class engagement aside from my poetry class, which is so far the most promising one.

Personally, I learn best by taking notes during class discussion and actively participating. Why focus so much on reforming high school education and not college? We're paying for that out of our own pockets.

Maybe I've been spoiled by the good public high school I went to. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if that was the reason behind my disappointment.

Hopefully things change by next week. The first few days have not given me a good first impression. Next semester I will be in the honors program, taking the honors classes, which seem much better. The class sizes are around 15 people and the content and study focuses on discussion and interaction.

I'll keep an open mind for the next few weeks. Maybe it won't turn out so bad.

First Encounter with a Close Call

On my first day at college, I was rear-ended at the traffic light by a large, black Mustang.

To be clear, I wasn't the one at fault. The light turned red, I slowed to a stop, and suddenly, a bump and a jolt and a crimp of anxiety in my chest. I pictured the worst: crunched hatchback, broken lights, ugly scarring. and finally, lots of money to spend on repairs. My sweet, green 2001 Beetle who had been lovingly nicknamed "Shrub" (now I'm thinking Sweetpea would have been a better name), was injured in my imagination.

I took a few seconds to process what was happening before numbly turning onto Euclid with the equally worried fellow-first-dayer on my tail. I pulled into a parking lot and hopped out of the car to survey the damage.

But there was none.

I was grinning as the other girl stepped out of her Mustang, her hands fingers fluttering at her heart and lips. Apologies spilled forth, a stuttered explanation of how she didn't hit the brakes hard enough. I laughed and told her it was no problem, and we shared a refreshing sense of relief. Her nervous apologies transformed into grateful ones, and I laughed more. (I laugh a lot. At anything I don't know how to handle. It's bad when it comes to deaths.)

I drove away with a smile on my face because it could have been worse and it wasn't. I was happy because I had decided to choose patience and forgiveness over anger for a simple mistake. Sure, no damage was done, but if there had been I hope that my reaction would have been as measured and friendly.

Moments like these where you have to choose your outlook can affect the rest of your day. If I had acted angry or even upset, I am sure I would have gone home in a terrible mood. Instead, my temper was actually improved. Not that it was bad to begin with, but I wasn't called Moody Meghan as a kid for nothing.

I'm still smiling as I think about the small bump. This really shows that approach means the difference between a bad day and a good one, not only for you, but for those around you as well.

Just a (poorly written) post about missing someone.

I am not used to missing people. Absence, of a kind, is something slightly new to me. Sure, I've missed people before. Family and friends and home. But nothing has been harder than being separated from my best friend.

And when I say best friend, I mean someone who has been there for me like a sister for two thirds of my life. Kim, while not reliable in the sense of deadlines and meeting times, is a dependable constant. She's always there and always will be. I have no doubt about that.

The separation is not what worries me. I am fretting over whether or not we'll be friends when she comes home. Honest friendship doesn't need validation or reassurance, it's like family: you know you're bound for life. There may be point where you will talk less, but that doesn't change much in the relationship.

The hard part about Kim being away on her mission trip is the fact that talking to her isn't a simple, random phone call. I can't Skype with her. I get maybe five to eight minutes on the phone with her on Sundays. A lot of that time is spent letting that ebbing loneliness that haunted you all week take over while you listen to your friend cry on the other end of the line. And you're powerless to do anything about her sadness except tell about how you screwed up your interview.

This is hard to write out at the moment. I start school tomorrow and most of my friends have left town. So this absence is simply a hole right now. I have never missed anyone so much. Every day isn't dark without her, but there are moments and days and chunks of weeks where the loneliness clamps onto me. At times like that I am a boring lump who just wants to lie in bed and think about stars and made up stories. The loneliness isn't even always blatant loneliness; it's boredom. Heavy boredom where's I'm too bored to think of anything to do.

I miss being able to call and suggest getting together. I miss being able to laugh over stupid, silly faces we make and the way one of us stumbles on the sidewalk. It's the small things that hurt, I guess.

And the new things. Moving on is always hard, and making new friends will almost feel like betraying the old ones. Not that it is, of course. But somehow it seems unfair to all parties involved. I miss Kim, she feels left out, and the new friend feels second rate. It's a cycle I've been through a lot of my life, but I don't really mind.

I guess what my point is...I'm starting college and she's doing work for her church. We're both doing separate things, now, and it's hard not to be able to tell each other every little detail about it. Sometimes I even feel like I am in prison. (Okay, if I am honest with myself, that is probably because I spent all day watching Orange is the New Black on Netflix.)

In any case, this is a lot of "new" all at once. Being mostly alone in it is challenging. I'm going to look on the bright side here: I have my sister and another great friend close by. It's great. But there is something irreplaceable about a best friend, and being without your best friend is actually hard.

A Poem: Alone

Alone is when raindrops tap songs on the shingles
tiny reminders that there is a world outside the window.
Flannel shirts under thick sweaters
cold hands wrapped around hot mugs
and soundtracks playing quietly
under the sound of tapping keys.

Alone is the peace in solitude
and the company of  a cat.
The blanket around your shoulders
The grey clouds swaddling the town.

It is thinking of who isn't there
and where you aren't
and where you should be
where you want to be.

The absence of that person's smile
You know.
That person you just thought of
who isn't there,
but you want them to be.

Alone is in a sea of faces
where none of them notice
and none of them care.

But alone is still in that serenity
of your own breath
and the worn softness of an old quilt.
It is silence
the purgatory of the troubled heart
There is life and love in alone
because alone is nothing to fear.

How to Fail a Job Interview

Working at a bookstore has been an idyllic dream of mine since I was nine years old. A quiet, uncrowded store packed with thousands of stories? What sane person wouldn't love that. Yesterday, this dream was a lick from my future. I had the position in my grasp. Or really just an interview at two o'clock, but you know. Details.

I was a bit nervous. I had only had one interview before, and that was at Jewel. Let's just say they aren't the most formal or organized employers. And where I could have cared less about Jewel, I wanted this job.

Caring was my first mistake. Caring makes me nervous.

I put on a nice dress, made myself feel confident and pretty, and drove down to the nearest Barnes and Noble.

The woman I met with picked a table at the cafe and pulled my name out of a fat stack of applications. I laughed nervously and nodded when she said something I didn't quite catch.

She explained what the job would require of me, that I had to be outgoing, determined, and energetic. I lied and assured her I was all of those things. Then came the questions.

"Tell me about a time at one of your other jobs that you had to deal with a difficult question. Tell me about a poor relationship with a coworker and how you handled it. How many items do you put in a bag at Jewel?"

That one got me. Gaping, I froze and scrambled for an answer. "I...it depends. On what is in...on what you're bagging. You know? Yeah." I swallowed, laughed, and waited for her to tell me why the hell that was relevant. Why was it necessary to bring up the horrors I experienced at Jewel.

She grinned and waved her hand. "Oh I'm just kidding. I only ask because I used to a manager at Jewel." She laughed, I tittered nervously, and she finished by saying, "It's eight, by the way."

Great. Thanks for nearly giving me a heart attack.

But the woman was nice enough. She told me I was doing fine in the voice a teacher watching me stumble across a speech. Then she stood. "Okay, I'm going to have someone else interview you now."

Taken by surprise, I nodded and waited for the next woman to sit down.

Most of the questions were the same. My answers, however, were different, even less sure. For example:

"What did you like about working at Jewel?"

I wanted to say nothing. But "the work was simple and straight forward" was the only reply my mind could manage.
And the final question. Here's where nervous me screwed up majorly, the me that just wanted to be done, to drive home and meet with a friend and forget about the job. She asked me that typical question that every applicant is told to expect: "What is your biggest weakness?"

And I told her the truth.

"I'm horrible at talking to people," I blurted, and the mistake was out on the table before I could explain. The finality of her pen's scribbles signed my fantasy's death sentence.

"I shouldn't have said that," I whispered out loud, and I almost stared cracking up.

I left the bookstore knowing I wouldn't get a call back, but I really didn't mind. Somehow, part of me was glad I'd messed up. At least next time, I will have a better grasp on the interview process.

Now I know that when it comes to the real world, it's always best to bend the truth to get yourself ahead.

We need stories, and they need us

There are stories that make us smile, stories that make us cry, and stories that we accept with a grim nod of our heads. And then there are the stories that take our lives. No, I'm not saying they kill us. But I'd be the first person to admit to falling under the enchantment of a well-woven tale.

The effects are similar to that of a love potion. The story begins to settle into your mind, reaching every corner and fold. Slowly, it begins to consume you. And it is a lovely, painful sensation. Lovely because you can draw happiness from the story, even if it is sad. You feel like you are part of something. The story reaveals to you a truth you needed to hear. However, it is painful because you aren't truly a part of it, not in the sense that the characters are. And maybe part of you doesn't want to be. Sometimes you are broken because it isn't real, so maybe it doens't matter. Maybe it just isn't important in the scheme of things.

But it is.

Connections to other are what make life worth living. Love, family, friendship. Stories are just another part of that, another form of connection. We live through stories. We expirience new lives with each book we read, movie we watch, song we hear, and video game we play.

So next time someone tells you to "Stop wasting your life on that show" or to "live in the real world," don't listen. You are living in the real world. You just have a foot in a fictional one, which can help you live more, to see more of the world around you.

A story needs you just as much as you need it.