The women in my cohort — three of us in total — are four, ten years older than me, which is phenomenal because I thought we were roughly the same age, given, like, looks. In terms of demeanor, I feel the oldest; most confident, most considerate in discussion, which means I’m the most extroverted, which means trouble because I’m such an introvert. Or maybe (relative) youth is what enables not giving a shit about what books you’ve published or what classes you teach, because by the fifth and final day of orientation, my brain is applesauce. Formless, raw and wet.
But our combined life experiences are kinda peerless! Human shields and training horses, etc. Excited to work with these ladies, excited to help my advisor with a project ASAP?! Excited to finally put my writing to good and productive use?!
Things my apartment’s still missing: quilt, colander, magnets. I have to get creative with hanging shit, including a 20 lb framed poster and the mobile that made it all the way from WA and that I tore in a moment of pure tragedy. Orange — a former favorite color, and therefore me and orange items are one and the same for my mom — is definitely a theme.
On the other hand, I feel super ancient when nine PM rolls around and the kids down the hall are partying so hard, man. I’m like, knuckling a smudge on my counter and making some tea with some tea bags stolen from Hampton Inn, bleary eyed and every joint cracking, and there’s like, loudness and laughter and I just >:(
I mean whatever, I really like it here; just so, so tired! One of our presenters said this year is ripe for change, which reminds me of Fired Up! “you gotta risk it to get the biscuit,” my own brand of life motto and arguably the best movie ever.