a look back at the summer

music: "Layla" by Derek and the Dominos, especially the instrumental part (believe me, it's a good thing)

It's been a weird couple of weeks. A lot has happened, and a lot more will follow.

In the past two weeks alone there was an emotional upheaval. I recognized the five stages of grief early on, which I found myself going through. (my psych classes and tuition dollars at work!) It all started waaaaay back last December, when I inexplicably was unable to get a loan to cover tuition for the spring semester. I thought little of it, pushing it far away in my mind, especially when the spring semester started. A bursar hold put things in perspective a little while, but it was soon brushed off. Lo and behold, it threatened to evolve into a "mandatory financial leave of absence" (i.e., "GTFO and don't come back without my money, y'hear?") if I didn't take action. So, I finally applied for loans with various terms, doubting my efforts along the way, causing me to reflect and undergo the stages of grief.

I must have jumped directly into the anger stage, as I clearly was in disbelief throughout the semester; that lasted a few moments or so, then bargaining began, which lasted for a few days. I then spent a good bit of time in the depression stage, and admittedly turned a bit emo by shedding a couple of tears. (These tears could also have been from downloading and listening to the Final Fantasy VIII soundtrack lately, and having the "Fisherman's Horizon" theme resonate with my situation, causing me to break open like a cloudburst.) Acceptance came soon after, with me planning out my course of action: thinking of ways to soften the blow to my parents, concocting appropriate twitter status messages so my situation wasn't so obvious, examining the NYC job market and community choir audition schedules ahead of time, and so on. I thought I was ready to accept my fate, but I had too much to lose: too many memories, experiences, and responsibilities would have been left behind if I had closed myself off. So I didn't, and resigned myself to at least try to set things right.

On the last day, the week of weeks, everything fell into place. I started doing what I had to do to stay in school. It worked. On the last morning, I marched (er, indignantly biked, to the tune of "Savages" from Pocahontas) to the Financial Aid/Bursar's office and did a lot of talking. Two hours later, the situation was assuaged, and my financial situation (as far as the Bursar's office is concerned, anyway) is okay again.

I've also learned a lot this summer. Good advice has come to me from a whole host of sources: friends, brothers, kind and knowledgeable strangers, and inanimate objects. Where I come from, what I want, what I should do: all were answered, in some way. But that's another post.

Now, I'm packing my personal effects and lugging it all the way up the hill to the historic and charming (i.e., dilapidated yet homey) apartments. Books and most clothing are already up, with the rest still to do. My last night in a place, as always, is spent awake, enjoying my last moments here, while not risking waking up late for a bus/train/transportation appointment, which I know I am prone to do, given the chance.

So here I am, typing away to weird music, my room just hours away from being mine no longer, my mind and belongings prodding me as I type: the former yearning for sleep, and the latter yearning to be packed and moved. The upcoming year should be the most intense year of my life so far; I'd better make the most of it and do.

That's my word for the upcoming semester, I've just decided: Do.