Left of West XXXXI || Highway 2 || Sunrise finds us back on the road as Jess takes the wheel of the beast. No better place to learn to drive a manual than old Highway 2. #bluehighways #leftofwest #filsonlife #internationalscout #drivinglessons
“Okay, she’s in the basement now,” Alphonse whispered quickly to his brother as they peeked from behind the doorway, shoulder to shoulder. He nudged the other lightly. “Let’s get out of here before she comes back.” Making sure to take the utmost care in quietly maneuvering his crutches across the already creaky wooden floor, the younger Elric followed his ponytailed sibling out the door and into the fresh, welcoming sunlight, gently pressing the door into its frame until he heard a short click. He heaved a grateful sigh, squinting at the open earth’s sudden brightness and life. He wouldn’t let himself think finally just yet, but he wanted to.
Stopping for a moment to glance up at Ed and exchange grins, Al hobbled down the porch steps and the two of them started down the dirt road, still listening for angry stomps and unintelligible shouts. As though not to jinx their chances of escape, neither turned his head or uttered a word until the Rockbell house stood out of eye shot, the sounds of crumbling dirt against feet and distant chirps filling their ears.
Once far enough, Al finally let his eyes wander to his brother’s face. Stray locks of hair fluttered in the calm breeze, his molten eyes still focused and determined, defined jaw still clenched and head facing the road. The younger Elric waited, folding his lips into his mouth, his stomach muscles tightening–but he couldn’t hold back anymore. A loud burst of laughter finally forced itself from his lungs, cutting the silence around them and causing several nearby birds to take flight. Tiny creases formed at the corner of the blonde’s eyes, his teeth glinting against the sun.
“We did it!” he managed, beaming from ear to ear and wanting badly to hold his stomach that began to ache. Deeply breathing in the new air with his neck craned to the blue dome above, Alphonse daringly, victoriously held one arm up, balancing with the other and bumping arms with Ed. “We’re free!”
I can wear denim jackets, hats and scarves in this weather.
I love my advanced South Indian dance class because the professor remembers me and he is sassy as ever. “#fabulous” - he said that.
I live with the greatest, greatest people. People who let me borrow their clothing, people who don’t mind falling asleep in one big bed with me, people who tell me that I’m capable of cooking, people who help me clean my wounds (literally, but metaphorically I’m sure), people who also sleep as little as I do and understand. They understand.
The soulmates are coming for my twenty-first birthday. All three of them. Wesleyan isn’t ready. I'm not ready, but I am so ready.
I ran my first patient in my thesis. I have now experienced recruitment, testing and training. Analysis to come. Understanding to come. Thesis to come.
I taught my mom how to text message and she texts me every day. It is truly the cutest, except when she texts me “get a master’s degree.” That’s weird.
I am learning to drive with one of my best friends. She’s the calmest. She believes in me, and that sounds painfully cliched, but actually, she thinks I’m capable. It’s really encouraging.
I worked more hours at the cafe than I spend in class. Sometimes this makes me sad, but then I realize that it’s because I’ve spent my life in class and now I know education outside of class.
I go to the city of Hartford twice a week and I dress semi-professionally. I am a researcher of clinical psychology.
I’m finally making more than I spend. #budgets
I haven’t done laundry in three weeks and I’m still okay. Wow.
My housemate figured out how to turn on the heat in our house. We live in a house. It’s a big house.
I’ve learned how to spend money and not feel awful about doing so. I bought myself an “adult comforter” and it cost me almost three digits (but I hear that this is a bargain). I am happy when I go to sleep because of this.
I consider everything I do to be artistic, so everything that I do has to be loaded with meaning, but years of believing this has finally made this effortless. This statement is really vague and kind of dumb, but I think about this when I get dressed twice (thrice?) every morning, and how I will go home to change if I feel uncomfortable, and I think about how I feel okay about this because I should look how I want to look.
I’ve finally unsubscribed from at least three listservs at Wesleyan so that my email account doesn’t scare me as much as it usually does.
I am only taking two full-credit academic classes and for the first time, I am giving everything my all.
I skyped with my sister last night, and I laughed for real reasons for the first time in a long time.