I'm So (Home) Sick

WARNING: Serious whining ahead. I wasn't even going to post this, but I haven't finished a post since I left Hawaii and I wanted to assure you that I'm still alive. Mostly. Read at your own risk.

I now understand why people live in their parent's basement all their lives.

Why would they leave? Why would you go away from people who love you and walk out into a world that gives you weird looks and treats you like every other person on the street? Why would you leave when you don't have to worry about how to best work things out with your roommates, what you should by at the store, and where your checks were sent? When you were comfortable and happy?

My parents say that they don't really remember saying goodbye to their family or their first couple days at college. I'm putting mine down on record: It stinks. It stinks worse than anything else. Ever since I gave my little sister that last hug I've felt hollowed out inside. I'm constantly fighting back tears. My voice sounds thick and there are these hideous, painful bags under my eyes. And even though I'm sitting here on my bed crying, my mom can't give me a hug. And she isn't going to be able to for another four months and fifteen days. No matter who else gives me a hug, it won't be the same thing at all. I hate this.

I know what my dad would say if he were here. He'd say, "Why aren't you watching that movie with your sociology class? Why aren't you going down and talking to those guys who are blasting music from their truck (as long as they're not return missionaries, because you're not allowed to talk to them)? I told you not to just sit in your room and do homework and watch Korean dramas and Doctor Who."

And he did. He told me. And I probably should have stayed up on campus to watch that movie with my class. But I was hungry, I didn't want to have to pay for food, I didn't know if it would be dark by the time we finished, and I didn't want to walk for forty minutes. And I probably should go talk to the girls who are yelling downstairs, who came in place of the music-blasting guys. I should. And maybe even could.

But I don't feel like I can. My hair isn't washed, I'm in a PE shirt and shorts, and face is all swollen up. That would be OK. I could wash my hair, change into something else and wash my face. But I don't think that I could talk to them without crying. I haven't really been able to talk to anyone today without crying. I don't even want to talk to the people passing under my window. I feel no interest in them. No sense of kindred-spiritness. I'm sure they're nice, but I don't know them. And after growing up in a town where you never have to talk to anyone you don't know, I wouldn't be comfortable with them. And all I want right now is to be comfortable. All I want is to get hugs from my family, to sleep in my bed back home, to run down to Katie's house, and complain to Sister Handcock, and make bread in my oven. And for my mom to hold me and tell me everything is alright, and that she loves me, and that I can do it.

That's it. I'm transferring back to Hawaii. There is no way I can do this for a whole year. I'd live in my parents basement if they had one, but since they don't I'll content myself with sharing Mei's room.

I probably won't. I'll probably end up liking it here, meeting friends, growing up, learning about myself and the world in general. Probably. At some point. But tonight I'm by myself and I can't think of any good solution.

Over.

I Don't Want To Brag, But...

(Marissa)






















I live here.

And here.

And here.

Just thought you should know.

Over.

Dear Everybody,

Are you there? Oh, good. This is Marissa. Hi.


I have lots of news. 


First order of business, my bathroom is back! And so is my closet! I have never fully appreciated them before, but after the extended Welcome Back ceremony, complete with banners, balloons, streamers and apple pie (what is a party without apple pie?) they promised that they would never again leave me again. I, in turn promised that I would love them forever, clean them occasionally and give them hugs if they're ever blue (which is much more possible than you think, see below). I'm making more apple pie in celebration of the agreement (and the Fourth of July). Maybe I'll give some to the nice men who put my shower back in it's rightful place.


Unfortunately my back bathroom was feeling left out so it's throwing a tantrum to get back it's share of attention. Bye bye toilet and sink. My bathtub is still there, but not for much longer. The guys will take care of it when they get back from their lunch break. (Don't tell the sink, but the bathtub is really my favorite part of the bathroom. I'll miss you tub!) Maybe I won't give them pie after all.


Because my closet is back my books have returned from exile. These are my books.

Aren't they beautiful? They aren't under my desk.


Next bit of news: My mom--brace yourself now, this is a bit shocking, you might want to sit down--my mom painted our doors purple.


...


Let me repeat that so it's clear.


My mom
painted
our doors
PURPLE.


To go with our bright green/yellow house (which is now also the color of my reinstalled bathroom).

(You can stand back up now, if you want.)


I don't know what has gotten into my mom lately. Color obviously, but why? Not that I object. I like bright color. It's just... my mom hates purple. And has liked white walls for as long as I remember. Now she is going for "beachy" and "Mexican". My neighbors' quiet souls are going into shock. I think it's probably good for them.


You can see why my bathroom is concerned that it might one day be blue.

Last in this list of miscellaneous-ness is that when I was going through my closet today I uncovered my mom's wedding dress and my dad's inheritance. When my grandpa died my dad got a tennis racket and this shirt

All those who think my dad should wear this to his next first day of class, please raise your hand.


Over.

My Bathroom and Closet... Or Lack Thereof

(Marissa)

I am a bad blogger. I haven't posted in five days and my only excuse is that I've been being lazy. It's incredible how much of my time laziness occupies. It sprawls across my days. I am a bad blogger. Bad blogger. So this is my official apology.

Good, now that I've apologized and you've either forgiven me or didn't care in the first place, the healing process is over and we can move on. Good. I like moving on.

Today I am reporting on the state of my house. Just to be clear, my house is generally a clean, comfortable, relatively organized place. I'm stating this for my mom's sake. Unfortunately now is not a general time and my house is not clean, comfortable or relatively organized.

This is my front bathroom. Where my shower is supposed to be. Yeah, to the left there. The right is the toilet.

This is the view from our hall closet. Usually there are shelfs there. They're just taking a few days off.

Hey, look, you can see where the shower is supposed to be from the closet too. Very cool. I think the lack of walls and things like sinks gives it a much more open feel.

Everything that was once in this closet is now being stored under the desk in my office. All the books, Apples to Apples, pictures of plants and pottery. All under my desk. It's just great. It was just empty space before, and now it's storage. Yay.

If I were to make a list of the things in this world that I love right now, clean, complete bathrooms with the shower where it is supposed to be, orderly closets with shelfs not taking a vacation and the office without the glad tidings of my books on the floor would rank in the top ten. Well, maybe top twenty. Ice cream would be up there too. And bananas, which are yellow fruit and also, a pudding. A delicious pudding.

Sorry. It's our tenth post and I still hadn't made a Psych reference. Couldn't let that happen.

Anyway. They said there was mold in (all) our walls, and that's why their ripping it apart.  Today is the front bathroom and closet. Next week it's my bath. Who knows? Next month I may not have a house. While I find there being mold there highly likely, I can't help remembering the Monk episode where he bought a house and his fix-it man ripped it apart looking for treasure.

Monk and Psych references. Check.

On a less self pitying note, it is really interesting what you you find out when you're emptying a closet.

For example.

• My family has a lot of books. No, I mean a lot of books. It's getting to the point where it's just ridiculous. That whole closet was full of them, and we have two more book cases in the office and both my parents have offices. Normally this isn't the kind of thing that I would complain about, but right now a large number of them are stacked under the desk and other available surfaces, all rather difficult to access. So even though we own an absurd number of books, there are absurdly few I can actually get at. Did I say this was less self pitying?

• On his mission, my dad wrote in cursive. And it was actually pretty nice handwriting, which brings up an interesting question: What happened? He wrote about protein and marriage. So that's what missionaries think about....

• We also have a lot of salt and pepper shakers, which were used as chess pieces a few summers back. I don't like chess. I can't beat anybody.

• We have difficulty throwing certain things away. Like petri dishes I got for science fair and ended up not using. We might need them someday! In the distant future, there will be one of our neighbors in desperate need of a petri dish and we will be able to provide it, thus saving their lives and becoming heros. Assuming that we'll be able to find them...

Remind me, the petri dishes are under the desk in the office, on top of the bubble rap stuff and next to The Mysterious Bennedict Society.


Over.