I’m alive, I promise. Well, at least a little.

I’ve had a few people poke  lately and ask me, “you’ve not been writing, are you okay?” The truth is that I am alive, I am okay, and I’ll be just fine, I’m just ridiculously overwhelmed.

I’ve moved into my new place and I’ve been there since August 8th. I absolutely love it; it’s perfect. It’s big enough for me, it’s comfortable and I actually feel safe. I had a bit of a concern flare up almost a week before I moved in that I wasn’t going to be safe; thankfully that fear has been absolved.

Hey Look! The view from my front door

For some reason I started thinking about crazy ninjas scaling walls to the second story of my apartment building, climbing in through my windows and kidnapping me. Clearly my mental status is in check. The more awesome part about my apartment? I’ve not heard a peep out of my neighbors. At the same time it makes me curious if I’m the loud one, or if the walls are just like concrete and super thick, or everyone who lives in my building walks like ghosts. I’ve not determined the truth to this answer, so clearly I’m going with the most obvious choice: I live in a building full of ghosts. Only seems fitting. Come prove me wrong, I’ll provide the wine.

I love my closet. It’s absolutely ridiculous. I could feasibly turn it into a small bedroom. It’s big enough for my wardrobe, which might I add is hand-me-downs that I’ve picked out of my friends good-will piles, left overs from high school that now actually fit (and for the most part are too big for me) or the occasional “Sam Must Has” situation via New York and Company or Ann Taylor Loft.   My washer and dryer are also conveniently located in my closet. It’s pretty swell. I never have laundry scattered around my apartment from when I decided to fold in front of the T.V. and am too lazy to get up and put everything away. Now I’m just too lazy to actually take anything out of my dryer. Who knew! Laziness in new forms. Creature of habit? Eh, perhaps. I just hate laundry and we will leave it at that.

School is school and I admit, I’ve been feeling a little defeated. On Friday, August 26th, I received the delightful news that despite my academic excellence I am no longer eligible for the Georgia HOPE Scholarship since I’ve been out of high school for longer than seven years. For those unfamiliar with the Georgia HOPE Scholarship, it use to state that if you graduated high school with a B (3.0 or higher) grade point average that you would receive the HOPE Scholarship funded by our Georgia Lottery that covers tuition and books. Due to the apparent economical down fall of the State of Georgia, they have cut HOPE funding. Even though I had to wait for four semesters to prove that I was actually going back to school, and maintain a 3.8 at KSU, I had my HOPE revoked on Friday. It’s almost ironic…they revoked my HOPE and now I have none! Admittedly, I broke into tears at work; the uncontrollable sobbing, snot snuffling, breath catching crying. The type of crying that is not even remotely cute or pretty – the kind of crying that you don’t want anyone to see. Ever. Simply because it’s absolutely hideous. The end result? A blond, disheveled hair not in the “I just had fun way”, no make-up, Muppet-eyed, red cheeked Sam. It was awful. There are some women that I feel are undeniably adorable when they cry. Magically, they produce these beautiful streams of single tears that flow effortless down their rosy little checks that fall so poignantly off their chins into a small pool of crystal water below. This is not me. I’m absolutely hideous. I’ve attached the image that I think of when I think of beautiful girls who cry – naturally, they are all anime characters. Go figure. Damn you, beautiful, artfully drawn women.

I was so distraught and so deflated that I ended up sitting out side my office building in a newly discovered corner of the parking garage that is actually in the sunshine and free of pedestrians. The last thing I wanted was for some random (or non-random) employee of my hospital to walk past me and wonder what the hell was going on. I didn’t want to explain that I was okay – I just wanted to be alone. I sat in the sunshine for a few minutes, regaining my composure, before I called a few people to try and talk some rationality into myself.  I had to figure out how to come up with the remaining tuition by the middle of September, but I had no idea how to do it. Needless to say, it’s all figured out now, due to an overly generous individual and her appreciation of my hard work. I was so overwhelmed from the emotional roller coaster that was Friday that I slept the majority of the weekend.

On a more what-is-sam-doing-in-school thought – I am taking Linguistics, Film and Shakespeare. It’s an odd array of classes, all of which I think are going to be difficult, but at least they will be entertaining. Right now I think my least favorite is my Shakespeare class, only because it’s the more difficult of things to read and understand, and my favorite class being Linguistics – though film is making a run for its money.

So, I’m alive. I’m well. I’m busy as hell and kind of terrified of everything, still, but I’ll be okay.

In lieu of my not having film class for another two weeks, I leave you with an awesome, awesome film from my class last night. Charlie Chaplin in “The Immigrant”. 

 

 

 

 

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