College is a'comin

Oh dear, I have to go to college this week.
Well bless me, that's quite a puling thing to say isn't it! Oh no, I have to go get an education and make lasting connections and achieve a dream of 1% of the world's population, what on earth am I going to do? But I don't think you understand. I'm petrified. I just know I'm going to be the Kevin of the campus, or even the Durko, if I'm very unlucky, and there's nothing I'm going to be able to do about it. I'm trying to make myself talk to the other people in my special Honors Group™ and it's really hard! My roommate seems to be quite a chatty soul, so I'm fine with talking to her over Facebook, but I feel like when I meet her in person, it'll be a different story entirely. And she's only one of what, a thousand? I don't want to star in a modern setting of The Glass Menagerie! How in the name of Andrew Jackson's underwear am I going to pull this one off? I fear I've reached a point I cannot pass, and yet I must pass this test, or life will pass me by– kind of like the ship of Theseus of the academic world, actually– and there's no way out but to live! That sounds like quite a fine statement, incidentally. I wonder how I thought it up. Maybe it belongs to a famous poem and I'm merely demonstrating my ignorance here. But that's good I suppose, since I need to be prepared for that when college takes me by the soul. This whole debacle still doesn't seem real! I feel like I could be fourteen years old again, living in fear of starting high school, and without another care in the world. I certainly look like it. Oh shoot, will that pose a problem? Maybe people will discriminate against me because of my youthful looks! Should I pack mature and sophisticated clothes to circumvent my potentially puerile impression? Or maybe I can wear baggy sweatshirts and jeans and poorly-fitting tennis shoes all the livelong day and people won't look at me twice to judge me. Sadly, I don't own any of those items, so that might be a bit of an issue to work around as well. Oh, no, I guess I do own one sweatshirt now. Jackie gave me one on the last day of AP Lit, because it had the Ohio State insignia on it, and she's going to UCR. It's roughly the size of the Appalachian mountains, but it's soft and fuzzy, and it will keep me warm in the obscenely frigid mid-Western temperatures, which, according to my ever-helpful roommate, reach the low twenties by November. And here I was thinking it was practically Dis on earth when it got into the forties this January. Wellp, I guess I won't have to worry about having a chill time; if I can be as cool as everyone there, that would be very ice. No for reals though, what am I going to do? I have one leather jacket from Forever 21, one white fleece coat from the thrift store, several unsubstantial sweaters, and now one Gargantua-sized OSU propaganda garment. This winter won't be fun in any wise, no sirree, I wonder if I'll actually get frostbite and die. Roomie Melissa would get a free 4.0 (at least according to Hollywood), but somehow, I don't feel that altruistic. I mean, she was in the National Honor Society in high school (much like me); I don't think she'll have any trouble keeping up her grades. Should I buy pants? I don't think I want to bother. Strangely enough, they don't keep me as warm as a couple layers of tights do, and I feel so extremely uncomfortable in them that I'd really rather brave the wrath of the Frost King than wear them. By the way, the Frost King was my very favorite fairy tale when I was younger! The girl marries King Frost, and everyone else dies. It's very uplifting and fun, and so Slavic it gives me chills (I've good company in being chilled, I suppose). But where was I? Oh, yes. So, I've never been comfortable in pants for as long as I remember; I was kicked off my soccer team in first grade for refusing to play in anything but a skirt, and the few times I was persuaded to outfit myself in one of the few pairs of pants I owned, I would manufacture spills so I could change out of them. I suppose it might be unwelcome socialization, but I don't think so. Mom wore pants quite a bit, especially around us kids, and I never partook of anything with a message detrimental to feminism in any way, since that was something on which Mom and Dad were very strict. So pretty much, I'd say it's just my preference, and that's where we stand today. And if anyone tries to tell me that I'm the antithesis of progress again, I will personally write to the IRS and ask that his or her income taxes be doubled each year in a lovely exponential spiral of despair. Ooh, I'm so villainous! I should get a big cloak and swirl it threateningly! That might be useful for Ohio, actually. Hmm.
I got a new bag for college when we went to Chinatown on Friday! It's so cute. It has smiling peppers and milk and sunflowers and bunnies and all that sort of thing on it, and its zippers are rainbow-colored, and there are pockets for everything! There are even two water bottle holders, one on each side. Now, tell me that isn't the lap of luxury! I think I'll be able to fit Daisy Bell inside, and it's big enough for all my cute notebooks and Hello Kitty pencil case and pink strawberry folder and decorated graphing calculator (actually no, not that I guess, I'm leaving it for Kitty) and everything I need to look like the requisite Daisy Buchanan of the class, which is, of course, the foremost of everyone's priorities. I can even fit any book I care to bring with me in there and take it along for the ride! And you know what that book will be? Why, A Shropshire Lad, of course! Mom and Kitty bought it for me yesterday, and I love it very much. It's small and light, so even though I promised myself I wouldn't bring any books with me, I'm going to bring it with me. I've wanted it for two years (possibly three), and I'm not giving it up so easily now. I think I have all my school supplies (except my textbooks), so I'm prepared on that front, but do you know, I haven't started packing anything yet. Oh Jasmine, you crazy kook! I hear the voices say. Are you up to your old highjinks again? The voices are quite right. I am. I haven't even gone so far as to take a suitcase out of the garage. I did start making a packing list the other day, but I got distracted by the books in my room and skived off to compare the analyses of Prometheus Unbound in my swap meet book and my Barnes and Noble one. Now there's a very beautifully decorated, but not entirely helpful, half-finished packing list reposing under my pillow along with enough paperwork to practically furnish another library of Alexandria. I've been hoping it will seep into my head whilst I sleep and give me motivation, but so far it hasn't worked. But since I leave early Friday morning, I really need to get started, so tomorrow I'll finish that list for real and start on my packing. Let's go!
I did accomplish one excellent feat today. See, Mom has given me her favorite dress from when she was my age, and it's so beautiful and delicate-looking, and I love it. Unfortunately, it was way too long. So this afternoon, I pulled out the straight pins, and got to work. I had to measure it on Sungmin (who is almost my size now), poor boy, but eventually I got the hem where I wanted it, and I set to work with some white thread, a suspiciously small-eyed needle, and a good deal of energy. It wasn't hard after the sorry saga of my Chamber Singer dress, but it wasn't easy either, and I can assure you with a fair amount of confidence that I will never be a professional seamstress. Frustrations and tangles aside though, it's all done, and it looks perfect (to me anyway). It's a lovely tea-length now, and I'm going to wear it to CKC this week so Austin can see the fruitful work of my hands and respect me as the Dagny Taggart of the land (since she did once fix John Galt's shirt). Oh right! He's been coming to CKC these past few weeks! And every time I see him, we both get less tongue-tied. At this rate, I reckon we'll be having ordinary conversations by Christmastime. He says he wrote a song for me, but he can't find the right time to sing it. I'm very curious about this song, and I can't help wondering if it's any better than Francisco's, which is terribly crass of me of course, but you can't kill curiosity. I also want to hear him sing, because I haven't before, and I'm sure his voice is charming. Just like him, bby.
Well now, I think this ol cowpoke's rambled enough. Time to get back to the ole ranch house and get me some shut-eye! Tomarraw gon' come bright'n'early, and we gotta steer the steers to Alabamy. Goodnight now pardner!
I mean, good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow. Of course.