Fifteen minutes in the life.

I pull my newly purchased bag of chocolate covered pretzels, ones that I finally worked up the courage to buy, from my bag. You would think that it wouldn't be, like, a big deal to buy a bag of chocolate covered pretzels. I wanted the pretzels. I thought about them for two days, debating the calories and the extra minutes it would take me on the treadmill to work them off and whether or not I would actually enjoy them enough for those calories to be worth it, before going ahead and buying the damn pretzels. I wonder to myself why I am so weird as I try to open these pretzels. They won't open. I tug and tug, the loud crinkle of the plastic bag echoing off the bare walls of the train station waiting room. The people to the right and left of me, sitting down towards the ends of the long, wooden bench, look subtly in my direction. Nearly 60 seconds later, I am still attempting to open this bag of chocolate covered pretzels, cursing myself for having the audacity to finally buy them in the first place. When nearly two minutes go by, it starts to get embarrassing and my face begins to flush. 

A man walks up the stairs to the waiting room and asks the woman sitting 3 feet to the left of me if it's okay for him to sit down next to her, then proceeds to sit down next to me. All of this room on this bench and he sits within 12 inches of me. Not to mention he's closer to me than the woman he had asked to sit down next to. I marvel at the oddities that are my life and continue to try and open the bag of chocolate covered pretzels. 

A few minutes later the man asks no one in particular if this is the track with the train that leads to Trenton, New Jersey. 

"No," a girl sitting down the bench to the right of me tells him, "that's Track 4. It's on the other side of this track and-" she points out the window to the train making it's exit from the station, "it just left."

"Dammit!" He cries, bringing his hands to his head. He then gets up and runs back down the stairs to the station.

I bring my attention back to the bag of chocolate covered pretzels and my arms begin to shake with exertion. I dig my nail into the top of the bag, trying to poke a hole in it so I could then rip the bag open from there. Science. It doesn't work, and my nail starts to hurt.

An African-American man in his fifties sitting farther down the bench than the lady to left of me begins to rap aloud the lyrics to the song he's listening to on his iPod. Everyone in the waiting room stiffens in an awkward manner as we all try to pretend that this is totally appropriate. I mean, why wouldn't we want to listen to his rendition of from what I can tell are a string of mumbles and obscenities?

I pull my keys out of my bag in an attempt to poke a hole like before, only with something stronger and more durable than a nail, but can't quite get my grip right and by now, the girl to my right is just outright staring at me. I have become her train-waiting entertainment. 

I decide to take a break and read my book for awhile. I pull my book out of my bag and read about a paragraph when my stomach starts to grumble. Going for the sneak-attack approach, I pick up the bag again and pull on its sides really, really fast. As if somehow I've gotten stronger and the bag weaker within the thirty second time frame of me setting it down. It doesn't budge.

The woman to my left starts making strange moaning noises that make me incredibly uncomfortable. I look around to see that everyone else is pretty uncomfortable about it, too. Her eyes are closed and she's just sitting there, moaning. I shake my head. 

I check the time. 2:48. The train will be here in 13 minutes. I begin to read my book again. The man continues his rap. The woman, her moan. I check the time again. 2:50. Fuck.

I pick up the bag of chocolate covered pretzels and stare at it. Just stare at it. Okay... I tell it. In my mind, of course. I'm not a crazy person. We are going to try this one more time, my friend. And this time, you will open up so that I can enjoy the chocolatey, salty goodness I damn well paid for. Got it?

I muster up the strength and courage of a mighty warrior as I once again place my hands along the sides of the plastic bag of chocolate covered pretzels. In seemingly slow motion, I tug and the bag gives way, revealing to me a sea of tiny chocolate covered pretzels.

"YES!" I exclaim, fist in the air. A mighty warrior who's battle has been completed. My chest swells with pride as I look around only to find an empty train station waiting room. No one there to witness my defeat.

I look out the window to see my train has arrived, stuff my chocolate covered pretzels in my bag, and run to join the others on the train.

Snow day.

Everyone, and I do mean everyone, talked about this blizzard for the past two weeks. Claiming it would break records (and it did!) and it would certainly prevent East Coasters from venturing outside of their homes for the entire weekend.

I was skeptical... Today marks the day exactly one year ago that Jason and I finally drove across the country and arrived on the East Coast. On that day, there was another so-called "record-breaking snow storm", but we only ended up getting about 6 inches and it wasn't really record-breaking at all. Jonas 2016, however, lived up to it's heightened dramatics.

Looking out the window every few minutes, because I just couldn't bring myself to believe my own eyes, all I could see was a blur of white. Quarter-sized snowflakes falling frantically from the sky and then being whipped this way and that by mighty gusts of wind. Within hours, my car sat in the driveway completely covered by the snow.

"Would you like another Hot Toddy?" Jason would ask me, getting up to make his way to the kitchen.

Why, yes, handsome future hubby of mine, yes I would.

Buried in blankets and snuggled up with my purring, cuddly cat, Jason and I watched movie after movie as the snow made it's wild descent and engulfed our little corner of the world in sheets of white.

Later in the afternoon, I wrapped myself up in my warmest jacket, threw some boots on over my pajamas, and bounded out the door to play in the snow. Jason followed me, laughing, and once nearly waste-deep in the fluffy white snow, I found myself in a fit of giggles. Finally getting to know how it felt growing up in a place where snow like this came every year. Feeling like a little kid experiencing the wonder of snow for the first time. Marveling at how beautiful my street looks covered in white.

Living here is hard sometimes. Usually in those quiet moments when I'm on the train, sitting by myself, and my mom calls me as if she can feel that I need to hear her voice, hear some familiarity, and minutes later some ass hole comes up to me saying I need to get off my phone. It's also at those times when I all I want to do is go out and have some wine with my best friend and talk about all of the girly things I have to now make Jason endure listening through. Or when I'm walking by myself through a big, crowded city, making my way to my next class, and wishing the people here were easier to make friends with.

However, as hard as those times get, and as much as I won't miss them once back in California, it's on days like today when all of my classes are canceled at the last minute on account of SNOW, that I revel in living here. My first official snow day... Honestly, I never thought I'd have one of those.

I was nearly ready to walk out the door when Jason called me from the car on his way to work.

"Hey!" he said, as I silently panicked because I thought his car broke down or something. "Stop getting ready! Go back to bed! Your school got 28 inches of snow and canceled classes! Check your e-mail!"

Excitedly, I did just that.

My first official snow day... I think I'll build a snowman.

Xx,
City Girl from Cali

New year, same me.

I'm a very nostalgic person. Jason tells me this often, and he's right, but just as he tells me and just as I know myself- being a nostalgic person is not a bad thing. When I was in high school, and even after I graduated, I thought it was just teenage adolescence. That I was being a dramatic teenager who had had her heart broken one too many times and found solace in becoming a tortured artist. Maybe that was part of it, but as I have grown out of my teenage years and slowly but surely into adulthood, I've realized that it wasn't teenage dramatics at all. I'm simply just a nostalgic person. And, okay, a little bit of a tortured artist.

I say all of this to talk about the fact that as I have been on a break for the last couple of weeks, patiently waiting for school to start back up again, I have been heavily reflecting on my life thus far. I have taken notice of how much I've learned, how much I've grown, and realized that I will never really stop growing. So many different chapters in my book already written, and so many blank pages to go... It can be overwhelming. But in the greatest way.

Sometimes, though, in my reflecting... I feel inadequate. As if me going to school full time in order to (hopefully) graduate before I'm, like, oh I don't know, FORTY, somehow makes me a lesser person. I just feel like I should be working and contributing, but I know that as long as I attend school here, there's just not enough hours in the week for me to even think about getting a job. Maybe when we move back to California while I finish up my last semester or so...

Nonetheless, I also panic about my future career sometimes. It's intimidating being engaged to someone who already has his shit together. He knew what he wanted to do since high school, graduated, went to college, and did it. Why can't I be more like that? If I was, I could be in my own career right this very moment. Which brings me back to my nostalgia- my tortured artist soul.

I love so many different things. And not really any one of them more than the other. Which makes it hard to decide which of those things I'm going to choose, run with, and make a career out of. So much pressure, I feel like a tea kettle about to blow sometimes.

The thing is, though, that I put the pressure upon myself. No one else is pressuring me to figure out my career path right this very second or telling me I'm not good enough because I don't have a part-time job at the local Dunkin Donuts or something... I'M telling me that. Which means I'm already going against my very first New Year's Resolution.

1. Be happy with exactly where I am.

I want to appreciate the time that we have left living here, and not worry so damn much. I miss home, I will for as long as we live here, but we'll be back home soon enough. And I sure as hell don't want to look back on our time here and wish that I'd been more present. I don't think it's very "present" of me to be so hard on myself.

2. Do more of what I love.

I got this amazing camera for Christmas. (Thank you, dad!) And I have not put it down since. I have always loved photography and taking pictures and now I know I can take it to the next level with this camera. I love being behind the frame and hearing the satisfying click of the shutter. I love it more than I knew I would.

I want to finish my book this year and TRY to get it published. The manuscript is nearly done, but do you know how scared I am to put my story out into the world? It's so personal... I've of course changed the names and embellished for dramatic effect, but it's still my story. It's my heart. How do authors do what they do? They're heroes of their own kind.

3. Lose weight.

Ha. Just kidding.

So I'm a nostalgic person. Hence, the book I'm writing on mine and Jason's entire love story. I'm a tortured artist who loves too many things to know what to do with. I'm a bit of weirdo, a little crazy, and a little scared. But it's a new year, and even though I'm not going to pretend like so many others that the sheer changing of the clock over to a new year on New Year's Eve makes me an entirely new person, I do believe in clean slates and starting fresh. So I'm going to take the person that I am, continue to grow, continue to do what I love, and see what the hell happens.

Who's with me?!

Thanks for reading, as always.

Xoxo,
City Girl from Cali

Reflecting amongst the stars.

Finals are officially over. Which means that I have successfully completed my first semester at a real-life University. Red, cobble-stone walkways and all. Well, somewhat successfully. I don't really consider getting a B+ in English successful for me, but I digress. I'm still waiting to know how I did in Economics and, sadly, hoping I passed with a C. That professor was a real piece of work with his impossible-to-decipher accent and ridiculously worded tests. Economics is hard enough to understand, now I have to learn whatever language you're speaking and trying to pass off as English, as well?

Other than that- all A's. I even got a 99% on my math final. MATH. If you would have told me that I would do better in math than English this semester, I would have said you were insane. 

Now, finally, I am sitting on the plane next to my sweetheart and we are on our way to California. Where the weather is warm and so are the people. My people. People I've missed so terribly for the past year. I've dreamed of running into their arms and laughing amidst their laughter for months now, and the time has finally come. 

What a year. Can you believe that it's almost been a year that I've lived with those that dwell on the East? I can't. I mean, don't get me wrong, some days felt like years in and of themselves. But all in all, this year has flown by and I've learned and grown so much. So I thought that I would take the time I have now on this flight, flying amongst the stars and looking down at the perfectly tidy and lit up world below me, to talk about what I've learned and how I've grown.

I learned about snow this year and we ended up having a love/hate relationship. I had to put layers upon layers just to take out the trash and scrape ice off of my car's windshield. But let's face it, snow coats the entire world and makes it absolutely beautiful for a little while, allowing you to forget about all of the crap that lies beneath it, and that's pretty awesome. I learned how important it is to step outside of your comfort zone. Because moving across the country was not the end of stepping out of my comfort zone, it was merely the beginning. Then I had to grow accustomed to a new house, new streets, new grocery stores, new Chinese food. I had to learn how to take the train and NOT hyperventilate. It took a few months, but I'm proud to say that I can now ride the train without feeling like I'm going to throw up. I found my way around the train station. I found my way around New York City and actually look like (almost) not a tourist when I go there. I learned that you can't take anyone personally here. Literally, not a single person. They have there own way of looking at the world and it doesn't coincide with my way of looking at things, but that's okay. I had to learn how to live with them anyway.

I got engaged this year. Like, holy crap. Not only did I get engaged, but I got engaged to the love of my entire life. The person who makes me melt and still gives me butterflies. The person who can frustrate me beyond belief and then minutes later make me laugh until my stomach hurts. Someone who just gets more and more handsome every day and always holds my hand. Someone who got down on one knee in Central Park and asked me to be his forever. That really happened, believe it or not. (Sometimes I can't quite believe it myself.) And it happened this year.

I learned how important it is to follow your dreams.Yes, this year has been terrifying. It has scared the absolute shit out of me (sometimes literally... kidding. horrible visual. moving on.) on more than one occasion. My heart ached more than I knew it ever could this year with this horrible thing called homesickness. But if I'd have allowed myself to be ruled by fear one year ago, I wouldn't have any of the memories I made this year. I wouldn't have New York. I wouldn't have had a proposal in my favorite place in the world. I wouldn't have had any of it. I was braver than I was scared and that made all the difference. 

More than anything, though, I learned one thing. The most important thing that maybe I've ever learned. I learned how important family is. Love and laughter and being around people who make you feel good and happy and alive- that's what's most important. Everything else is temporary. Family is infinite. It's everything. My grandparents, my parents, my aunts, uncles, cousins, my best friend, my fiancé, my dogs, my cat... All are my family. I also learned that I am so excited to have a family of my own someday.

Christmas has always been my most favorite time of year. And I know that people say that from time to time, only half meaning it. Well, I mean it wholly. I think, though, that this particular Christmas is going to be my best one yet. I've grown. I've learned. I've thrived in a new place with new people doing things I've never done before. I'm different, I can feel that. And I'm excited for my family to see that. I'm excited to be where I am within myself right now with all of the people who mean the most to me in the world. I can't wait to smell that familiar smell of lasagna on Christmas Eve and sing drunken Christmas carols at the piano with my cousins. I can't wait to drive the streets of my hometown, knowing that I've been driving streets of my own for an entire year. I'm excited to appreciate everything. Really appreciate everything.

So Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and much love to you and yours.

Thanks for reading.

XOXO,

City Girl from Cali (on her way to Cali)

An engagement shoot to FALL for.

After my mom left to go back home to California, I immediately started counting down the days until it was time for me to go back myself for Christmas. (Down to 43 now.) I had an embarrassingly hard time after she left, as you can clearly see from my last Blog post, but in the days that ensued I began to glue myself back together.

It's true what they say about difficulties making you stronger as a person. I definitely have started feeling like The Hulk himself lately. And I'm thankful for the strength that comes just when you think you can't take it anymore. Turns out I can take it. Turns out I'm stronger than I thought.

Up and down went the roller coaster...

After picking myself up, dusting myself off, and realizing that life isn't as hard as my hormone-infused mind was trying to lead me to believe, Jason and I got our engagement photos taken. Even writing those words I kind of look at the screen like, what? That really happened?

It really happened.

Sometimes I think that I wished for this love so hard that on some level maybe I convinced myself I wanted it too much. Maybe I convinced myself that that kind of fairytale just wasn't in the cards for me. A love so big your eyes can't even stretch wide enough to see it all. That's the kind of love I have.

I don't want to come off brag-y. I never want that. I want to rejoice and show thanks for the beautiful things in my life, but I don't want to talk about them with that ever-present "neener-neener-neener" mentality. I just love him. I didn't know he existed. I didn't know a journey like the one I'm on would ever be real for me. And I have to just keep pinching myself.

I was in love before. Or so I thought. What I'm coming to wonder is that maybe I did love the person, but I was in love with the idea of that person more than the person himself. I drove myself (and probably him, too) crazy with this desire. And when I finally began to let him go, I focused on me. I focused on what I love - music, fashion, writing, reading, Netflix binging. Then I went to a party and Jason was there and we played guitar together until 2 AM and the rest, as they say, is history.

He's my best friend. AND my soul mate. I don't say that nonchalantly because I have another best friend/soul mate who is really more of my sister and I've known her since I was 5. She's also going to be my Maid of Honor. Jason is my best friend in the way that I always wanted my future husband to be. Someone who I can make laugh and someone who makes me laugh. Someone who I can fight with and make up with. Someone I can talk to and cry to and who talks and cries to me. Someone who puts up with my mood swings, going back and forth between our moving here being the best and worst decision I've ever made. (But mostly the best.) Someone who looks at me in a way that still gives me butterflies. Someone who makes me feel safe and at home and completely complete.

Someone I am going to be proud to call my husband in exactly 634 days.

'Til next time.

Xoxo,

Gossip Girl

(just kidding)

 

A girl just needs her mama, sometimes.

Hello, readers!

So today, I am a mess. Shocker. I know.

My mom is currently on a plane headed back to California, and even though this is already the 5th time that her and I have had to say an awfully hard goodbye in the last year; it is not any easier. I keep expecting that it will become nearly natural to say "so long for however many months!" and "hello to numerous phone call and text conversations a day!", but it really doesn't. It gets harder, if anything. Which is so unbelieveably frustrating. It's like 5 years are taken off of my age every time I have to say goodbye to her so I imagine that the next time I'll probably be in the fetal position sucking on my thumb and wondering how in the hell I ended up in a crazy people's institution. 

But maybe it isn't so crazy for a girl to just need her mama sometimes. Especially when that mama is all that girl ever had for many, many years of her young life. I have a great mom. It truly is a blessing in disguise that I get so upset at the idea of not seeing her every day. She's a bit nutzo from time to time, sure, but aren't we all? After all, the crazy apple don't fall far from the nutzo tree.

Her first day here, I had only gotten about 3 hours of sleep because I was just too excited. We spent the day doing all of the girly things I don't get to do as often anymore like shopping, drinking wine, and going out to lunch. I took her to the mall that I usually have to go to by myself and couldn't help but feel warm from the tips of my toes to the top of my head that I finally had someone to walk and talk with at that damn place. Now, of course, I'm thinking about the next time that I'll have to go back there by myself and how it's going to be even more horrid than before.

Her second day, we went in to the city. (Of course.) I felt warm all over that day, too, because I couldn't help but remember all of those times that my mom and I would talk about New York City. I was just a little girl when the obsession began, pictures of Manhattan covering my bedroom walls, and I'd tell her, over and over again, a real-life wish, that "one day we will go to New York City and walk around and see museums and eat hot dogs from the hot dog carts" and just a few days ago, that's precisely what we did.

We got lost and took the crowded subway up Madison to 86th Street. We saw Park Avenue, and HOLY CRAP, Carrie Bradshaw's apartment from SATC. We ate a hot dog from a hot dog cart outside The Met and I had my long-awaited Gossip Girl moment on the steps. We ventured through The Met for hours, still not seeing it all. And then promised ourselves we'd be back one day to see the rest, but Bloody Mary's were calling our names right now. We mistakenly asked an ass-hole for directions (who did not give them to us), and found our own way to the Boathouse in Central Park (thank you very much). My mom just kept saying to me, "Wow. Look where we are, Taylor! Look where we are!" It was like re-living my first time in Central Park all over again. We were going to have lunch in the Boathouse to go along with our Bloody Mary's, but we got there late and they were no longer taking lunch reservations. The snooty waitress intrugued me instead of pissed me off because - HELL-OH - real life movie moment. I wanted to slip her a twenty and see where that got me, but I didn't have a twenty.

We saw the fountain and the bridge where Chuck and Blair got married at the end of Gossip Girl. (And my mom got mad at me for continuing to refer to this gossip show she'd never seen before.) Butterflies enveloped my stomach at the sight of the wide and famous walkway in Central Park. (You know the one... it's in Friends With Benefits a lot. Sorry. Another movie reference. God, I'm such a tourist.) Then, I showed my mom where Jason proposed and "ooo"'s and "ahh"'s ensued. We exited the park at 5th and my mom got practically giddy at the sight of Tiffany's. Yes, even more so than the sight of mine and Jason's proposal spot (much to my dismay), but you have to give it to the woman- he is the one responsible for my "living so damn far away". (Her words.) She then pointed out the fountain outside of The Plaza and yelled, "Ooo! Ooo! That's where those two guys walk in that one movie!" So there. I'm not the only one.

After we found a little burger joint for dinner, I took her to Times Square. I'm pretty sure that was her favorite part of the whole day. She really couldn't believe her eyes. Plus, her eyes were being somewhat blinded by all of the lights so, there's that. We got in a mother-daughter spat walking back to the train station because I was walking too fast. What I had to explain to her was that we were in New York, and New York was walking too fast. We didn't come to a reasonable agreement, but we did decide to catch the next train instead and have one more glass of wine.

Which leads me to this, people- DREAMS COME TRUE. They might not always be what you expected and they might take sacrificies to achieve (i.e. moving across the country and dealing with a constant ache called "homesickness"), but no matter the cost; have patience, and most of all, have persistence. Don't ever think for one second that any dream you ever place in your heart is too big or too scary or too much to ask for. It is yours and it is worth it. Whatever your dream is, focus on it. Think about it. Write about it. Picture yourself having it, every single day. And I promise, in some way at some time, it will come true.

New York is a dream come true for me. It's taken so many tears and so much heartache to get here, but I got here. I didn't know how I would get here, I didn't know what it would take, I didn't know that it would be so hard... But I got here. And here is my home for at least the next two years. Here is where the love of my life sleeps next to me every night. Here is that little sparkle I had in my eye as a little girl dreaming of a life in "The Big City".

Anyway...

The rest of our weekend together was maybe not quite as exciting, but equally as satisfying. Jason took us out to breakfast at this old diner down the street. The waitress kept calling me "boo-boo". Then he took us to a pumpkin patch, with, "Oh my God! Actual pumpkins growing out of the ground!" and complete with actual hayrides as well. That night, we watched mediocre comedy stand-up shows on Netflix and mimicked all of the lines along with The Wedding Singer whilst sipping some Apple Cider Sangria that I made. It was a perfect day.

The only time we left the house on Sunday was to go to the movies. To be more specific, the dine-in movies much to my mom's thrill because she'd never been to one of those before, and saw The Martian with Matt Damon. It was a great movie. It was a perfect day.

On her last day, I brought her on the train to school with me. Jason took half of the day off, which is a miracle in and of itself because he never does that, and took us out to lunch after my classes. It was so strange to have them there on campus with me. This campus that has shaped me in so many ways in such a short period of time. A campus that I have had to conquer completely on my own. And now, here they were. Two of my favorite people in the world making this big, scary campus not quite so scary anymore. I think Jason knew I was struggling with the idea of her having to leave again, without me saying a word, and wanted to be there for me. We had many a silent conversation with our eyes that afternoon. It was, you guessed it, another perfect day.

It was not, however, a perfect evening. The later that the day got, the more hours that passed by, and the more that the sun sank down outside our apartment windows... the heavier my chest began to feel. Every time that I would think about the fact that my mom would no longer be sitting there - next to me, in her pajamas, sipping wine - just 24 hours from that moment, tears would prick my eyes, and I would squeeze my eyes tight to will those tears away. 

Of course I tried to talk myself out of having a complete and total, hormone-induced meltdown. It wasn't as if I was never ever going to see my mom again. (Like, ever.) You're going to see her in two months for Christmas, you crazy, over-emotional freak... Yeah, as you can guess, calling myself names didn't really help matters.

Nonetheless, when I was in the safety of the bathroom, shutting the door to take a shower, pulling back the curtain, turning on the water... I could no longer hold back the tears that threatened their escape. They escaped and escaped and it took all that I had to not outright sob. I don't want her to go, I begged. It was suddenly the only thought I could form. The house could have been on fire, for God's sake, and I wouldn't have noticed. I had hoped this would be the easiest "see ya later" of all, and it was quickly turning out to be the worst. I let my tears run together with the water from the shower into one, salty stream and cried and cried waiting for the ache in my chest to stop it's pesky heaving. I then suddenly felt Jason's arms around me, hadn't even heard him come in, and there he was. Holding me in the shower, fully clothed, and not saying a word while I cried, and cried, and cried... Somewhere beneath all of those tears, and all of that ache, I fell even more in love with the man I am to marry. However, it's safe to say that my eyes have been so swollen today I can hardly see out of them. 

It might sound completely over-dramatic, but all of the places we went this weekend, the places we sat, the stores we shopped in, the restaurants we ate in, the streets we walked down... they all are going to remind me of her for awhile. The thing is, that every thing I do here still feels like a dream. It feels like I'm living in someone else's body, going through the motions, and waiting for it to all feel real. It felt real when she was here. Like a piece of home comfortably next to me wherever I went. It all wasn't so scary anymore. 

It feels like a dream again now that she's on her way back. Not to mention, I nearly lost it this morning on the light rail when I sat in the same seat she sat in less than 24 hours ago and thought to myself that I'm on my own again. I thought to myself that I'll sit in this seat every day and maybe sometimes pretend she's still sitting right there next to me, eyes wide, looking out the window. For right now at least, all that I'm able to think about when I see these places is how just hours ago she was right there - right there! - and now she's on her way to being 3,000 miles away again. And I'm back to having to be brave. I'm back to facing what I wished for with as much grace as I can muster because, again, I wished for it. 

I miss my mom already. (Was that not obvious?) I miss the familiarity of home. I daydream about what it will be like to move back there where my mom is merely minutes away, always ready for a shopping trip or a snuggly movie... I daydream about it in the same way that I dreamed about this place. How fucked up is that.

I don't mean for my Blog to sound like it was written by Debbie Downer herself, but my heart hurts today. And when my heart hurts, I write. I also cry, apparently.

Thanks for listening to these writings of my heart, whomever you are.

I'll try to write about finding my way again. You know, once I'm able to do that.

Xoxo,

City Girl From Cali

In short; trains, wine, and toilet paper.

Hey there, readers.

It's been quite a while since my last post. As you can imagine, adjusting to my new routine has been quite the, well, adjustment. It has taken time and a little bit of tears. (Okay, a lot a bit.) Regardless, I have slowly but surely gained a foothold in this East Coast way of life. Not to mention, I'm still working on gaining my foothold in this University way of life. It is much more difficult than community college ever was. Which is to be expected, I suppose. But I think the whole riding the train to the light rail to finding your way around a fast-paced city thing (especially doing all of these things for the first time) adds a certain layer of "difficult" to the already "more difficult".

Nonetheless, I am adjusting. However, I miss home more since school has started than I ever did in those first 7 months of living here. Which seems strange- right? Shouldn't my unbelievable ache for home happen during the time when I have nothing but time to think about how unbelieveably much I miss home? Now, I'm so busy I have to hold my breath because there's no time for irrelevant things like breathing and I miss home even more than I did before. 

It's the worst when I'm on the train. Sometimes I look out the window, listen to music, and pretend to live out my very own music video fantasy. Mostly, though, I just think about my mom's warming ways, my family's lilting laughter, and my beautiful bestie. All of whom I miss something fierce. Everytime I say or think this lately, I feel like such a broken record that I annoy myself. Like, okay, I get it. I miss home. Blah...blah...blah... But I did choose this, remember? Do you remember that part of it, self?

I chose to uproot my entire life and move across the country. Therefore, no matter how badly I miss home, I have to keep moving. I have to keep riding the train and avoiding the bums. (At least the ones who rudely get in your face when you tell them you don't have any cash on you... HELLO! I'm not lying! I'm a college student. If it weren't for FAFSA, I'd be on that curb with ya, Pal.) I have to keep paying attention in class and doing all of my assignments. I have to keep trying to appear as though I've got it all together, even though this couldn't be further from the truth. At least, most of the time. Sometimes I do have it together. Like when I'm shoulders-deep in a hot, candlelit bubble bath with a mason jar full of wine. That would be an occasion when I would say, yeah, I've got my shit together. Sure.

When I'm running to catch my train or walking in to my Management Skills class with toilet paper stuck to my shoe... Not so much.

Until I'm bursting with inspiration and too much to say...

Xx,
City Girl from Cali