The day before the day before

The day before the day before a big event is always the worst. There's nothing to anticipate except the excitement. There are only so many times you can re-pack your bags. The problem with waiting periods is it gives you the freedom to conjure up the worst possible situations. When I returned home from Shoshoni, I was ready and excited to start classes, make new friends, and live an anxiety free life once and for all! Two months later, and I've convinced myself I'll get horribly lost, forget the fact that I've walked past these buildings a million and one times. My brain has created every circumstance in which I'll be "that person"--the one who wears the wrong clothes, eats the wrong food, and has her dorm building collapse over her head. Hey, anything can happen.
Perhaps I should use this free time to reminisce--I could remember all those good times in high school when I got physically fit from running away from volleyballs and angry team members. Or when I didn't fit in on dance team because I was in the Renaissance Faire club and vice versa. The world was our oyster in high school, as long as we didn't mix nerdy clubs with ones in which perfect abs and hot pink nail polish were the main topics of conversation. There's always the memories of when I must have wandered into the children's section of Kohl's, purchased a shirt that basically screamed "notice me, damnit!", and started loudly speaking in French, all for a boy I was trying to impress--while he was obnoxiously flirting with the entire dance team I'd just quit. Timing is a bitch.
So maybe reminiscing wasn't a fantastic idea. I'm more of a fan of that whole memory blocking thing. The best four years of our lives? Yeah, maybe for the lucky few who enjoy dalliances with public humiliation and hormones that order us girls to have a thing for every douchebag imaginable.
I guess for now I'll just have to stare at the truckload of paper weights and other knick-knacks I suddenly can't live without. I'd do that whole family bonding thing, but then I'd have to feign innocence to the comments about the whipped cream mysteriously disappearing from our fridge. And I just don't have that kind of energy.

Namaste.