1:45am
Wide awake.
The ceiling is white and studded.
Gotham City colors.
I wish the world was upside down.
So I could run my hand along.
To smooth out the roughness.

Dreams happen at night, sometimes on a bed with all the lights off, but this wasn't a dream- or at least I didn't think it was. It all seemed very real. The cushion of the mattress under which supported myself, pinned between it and a nearby dresser, and two others- one in the middle sitting up against the headboard and the other stretched across the bottom of a window pane that we all stared out of at the skyline of Chicago- was completely lost to me. The cushion molded so well to my body that the blankets were like jet streams keeping us aloft in midair as we simply enjoyed looking out over the city and talking silently, not to disturb the peaceful piece of mural art that we were staring at; though if one of us wanted, they could have easily acted as though they were taking a bite out of the Sears Tower, through proportion distortion, and used it for a profile picture on Facebook. Instead, we all laid there kind of in our own heads. I imagine that not everyone on the mattress was thinking about what the others were thinking like I was, but it was nice being partly in the moment nonetheless. 


For me, I have always liked looking at airplanes and wondering where they are coming from or going to- it kept me positive every day on the South Side of Chicago. When I saw a plane flying around Midway, it would remind me that the summer coming up would be the one where I would be on my way to experience Europe. But the planes flying about the sky in our time back on the mattress could have been coming from anywhere- Europe, Africa, Asia, you name it. And think, on every one of those flights could be around a hundred or so people. I was watching from such a great distance that the planes appeared to be close stars but I still noted the significance of the people on the flight and the people I was surrounding myself with to enjoy this moment Kodak would approve. It is amazing to me how I survived that long without them.

I wrote a poem during training. It was a sonnet that no one will read, ever. If they did read it during training, well, there's a reason why I write poetry at times like those. I'm not saying I planned it. But, I'm not stupid. It's not that it wasn't good or that I'm not proud of what I wrote, it's just that the feelings put into the poem were ones I need to voice elsewhere- a poem doesn't do it justice. Will I confront those impressions? Maybe, or not, let this be the start of the conversation.

The hard work is far from over but now is a moment where 'free-time' is a luxury and I am laying by the pool of my penthouse shrouded in shrubbery up on top of the Hollywood hills, metaphorically speaking.

I am an R.A. And as such, inherit the responsibilities of making door decorations and bulletin boards for the residents to appreciate or ignore. I have a nice place and enjoy the company around me- my team is amazing. But like I said, the work is far from over, and although my door decs and bulletin boards are finished, there aren't any residents here yet, and I have yet to start to do rounds where I do a walk through all of the halls. This is when the stress will heat up and I've only experienced a taste.

How's life? Good, I guess.

I am making adjustments. Now that I'm back in an environment I'm suited for and used to, my focus and thinking skills have sharpened, and it's helping put things in perspective and only I can know what that means.
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A little less than a week left in Port Huron for a while. Maybe a week sprinkled about the months/years while I'm carrying on in Chicago; well that's the plan currently, if being a holiday and summer resident advisor work out.

Therefore, I'm not entirely certain this is my last summer in Port Huron, but I would like to say that I was (certain, that is).

There was never a large reason to come back to PoHo aside from my family and a few close friends, and while those may sound like huge reasons, the sting of living under the same roof as your parents and the stunted or sped up changes in friends' attitudes creates a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach- in a town where nothing ever changes, it's that feeling in coming home where everything is still pretty similar, but to you, the differences make a much larger statement than you anticipated.

As I keep getting older the more I feel like I'm ready to move on, and I am, barring those week long visits at max for the same reasons listed above.

I officially leave Port Huron on the 19th and will be returning to a city that has been exciting to me ever since I started college a few years ago. Chicago has been that second home for me and if it weren't for formalities Chicago would be my one and only. What I come back to will be different than it was these past few years for sure and it's both exciting and nerve-wracking.

Starting a position that carries with it a lot more responsibility, I think it's going to be a fun new challenge for me to face off against. The duties are abundant but the returns from those are a treat. Working with Freshman in a theater hall will play to my strengths and I am excited to be around like-hobbied people.

School will always be school to me- I've never been too intimidated with school, I do my work and seem to do fine. I'll continue to use the same methodology I have been for years for doing all that work. I don't plan to be too phased this quarter.

But priorities are priorities- and my job and school aren't the only ones on the list. I have myself to look out for too...

New theater opportunities await me and I can't wait to get on stage again to perform some of my pieces I've worked all summer on with my joint-venture partner John O. Look for the finished product sometime in early November hopefully.

My writing(s) is/are still important, and maintaining this blog is getting to be second nature to me now. It's something I like to do and if people read it, I might as well keep it interesting with new material. Plus I want to start all my new projects I've thought about this summer. One at a time more likely.

Friendships last year had to be put on the back-burner and it really made me sad to not be able to spend as much time with them as the year previous to it. This year though, I think being on campus for my position will help a lot (commuting the hour back and forth from Lincoln Park to Englewood always took a lot out of me) in getting back some of the friendships I missed most, and will encourage new ones with the many other RA's I'll be working with because I'll at least be around, if only to just meet for lunch or dinner around campus.

All of this, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm finally ready for something that I've struggled with over the years- being in a relationship. For years I've made excuses to get out of being in a relationship, and I never knew quite why, only that I hated myself for it. To deny myself of this happiness for so long has been a learning experience, and for whatever reason, it just feels right to me now- where before I felt as though I could never be the boyfriend you deserved, or that I wasn't good enough, or that it wasn't the right time, or that long distance relationships couldn't last; finally, I can say now that most of it doesn't bother me anymore and I'm going to give it my best, whatever worth that holds. That iron curtain I was hiding under has lifted and after being alone for so long, this summer traveling and through most of my life, I came to find that there was a hole that I didn't know needed filling until now...

...I can't say what's going to happen in the months ahead- because I haven't the slightest clue. There's so much for me to expect but the unexpected sure will make Fall 2010 an interesting time to be alive, and to be me.

In a little less than an hour, by the time I post this, I will be twenty years old, shedding the "teen" status for far greener pastures and heavier responsibilities, or so I would think.

Before today, I needed people to remind me this day was coming; when I was younger I'd get more excited for birthdays, but this one doesn't seem as dramatic. Yes, I can vote still. Yes, I can drive still. No, I still cannot legally drink alcohol (in the United States). So, I'm left in the same place as I was a year ago, aside from the stigma of being a teenager. My rights as a citizen certainly haven't changed much.

To not be a teen anymore is a big step. Granted, 19 is a high teen, but it fails in comparison to saying that you've been in the light for two decades. To me, it sounds like a big step.

This academic year will bring more responsibilities. It's not necessarily because I'm twenty, but I could look at it as being so- a year longer of experience conversing with others and figuring out what sort of person I am helps.

I'll just be graduating in two years and really had this summer left to saunter around at my leisure for the last time in a very long time- it's time to get my act right, I suppose. That's not a new goal to have but it's certainly more prominent now.

I just feel it's natural progression though that's making me do some of the things I do. I'm just stepping from one platform of existence to the other. No real humongous chasms I have to cross. It's only one year from 19 to 20.

What I'm trying to get at in this blog is that turning twenty is a plateau that carries with it some power, different than being called a teenager. In looking at it though, this year is more or less the same as the past few years after I turned 18.

21, may in fact, be the bigger year- and that sort of upsets me.

It's like those people who claim the new millennium didn't start in 2000, but on January 1st, 2001- do we really have to get down to the logistics? Just allow me to drink legally, let me get that status of an "adult" quicker; I have been waiting ever since I turned 18...and society makes us wait that long. What does a year really mean at this point anyway?

Preface: I love all of my relatives equally and while this post may seem slightly skewed toward one chip in a much larger bag, there are characteristics of each family member that make that individual special and by no means am I trying to discredit or lower the value of those invaluable tangible qualities.
End of Preface.

I love my grandmother Ruelle.

Close to eighty years old, she's always taken care of me, and I could never hope to reimburse her for all that she has done for me in only my twentieth year. My meager help around the house at various times throughout the year are put to shame by her day in and day out affection she doles out to our family and friends. Never have I met a kinder person, or a person that cherishes a long distance phone call like my grandmother, nor if I do, could ever they replace my grandmother's continuing lifetime of dedication. Even still, my immediate family comprised of my mother, sister, and father (son of my grandmother) have all been blessed with her presence far longer than I have, and can account for their own stories of her dedication to an individual's personal pursuits and character building.

It was my grandmother who made my dad's life progression possible, not slowing him down when the opportunity came to work and travel cross-country with his friend, essentially making this blog possible in the scheme of things. I am absolutely certain that there are more people out there who were touched, like this, by the qualities my grandmother has, than I will ever know about.

Unquantifiable, is the number of memories shared in the house upon the beach and so many more are shared, set, and scattered about in different locations. Ask me about them, and it may sound something like this:

Bored and alone at a far younger age I would sit in my grandparents living room watching cartoons and when confronted about my subsequent lack of activity my response was usually that there was simply nobody to play with. I'd like to point out at this point that these were the '90's so it was okay back then for her to say "well go outside and find somebody." My grandmother is the only person in my family that when any signs of boredom are shown, chores wouldn't be given, which may have been part of the reason why I was over at their home so much as a child. I was spoiled a great deal, and still am by my grandmother.

It was this proactive spirit of going out and finding somebody to play with that I will always remember and try to live by, with the same tenacity as my grandmother does. Every time I visit her she always seems to have more energy than me- which is either amazing or really sad on my part. Nike may have started using the "Just do it" ad campaign in 1988 but it was my grandmother who popularized it in our household. Mixed with her politician-like fist pump she fires back, "just do it," and whether or not you want to, you always end up feeling compelled to do it.

I'd like to think my grandmother knows me better than any other living being in this universe. She knows what kind of food I like (my belly throughout the years has been full of mac n cheese), all my strengths and weaknesses, and so much more.

I bring all this up because I went over to my grandparents house this morning and got into a long conversation with my grandmother about all that's troubling me...and I mean "all." For the first time in a very long time I was able to say EVERYTHING I wanted to say, and have it mean something to someone.

I'm tired of having pseudo-conversations, if you know what I mean.

Normally, I'm the one asking all the questions. It was so refreshing to have the roles reverse. My grandmother genuinely cares about me, one of the few women to have done so, and I just really appreciated the time I spent with her today venting and expressing all the little hiccups going on in my head.

Because the truth is, I am nervous about a lot of stuff. I don't talk to my parents about half the things I do or how I feel, so to have a person like my grandmother in my life to share and talk with at this point is truly amazing. For her to be able to comprehend and give me advice is more than I could have asked for.

Sure, I have certain friends that I talk about this material with- we swap stories and share in our self deprecating jokes. And sure, we try and give each other advice to our worldly problems, but for me, it's only sound advice when my grandmother says, "Just do it."

I'd like to reiterate my opening statement and say that I love my grandmother Ruelle.