Allow me to reintroduce myself.

First, let me apologize for my post yesterday. I realize it was a meandering start to something which, I admit, is still not fully formed. It probably didn't provide you with much direction on where this blog is headed - it certainly didn't for me.

But now, please allow me to backtrack a bit and explain some of the reasoning behind why I even decided to begin this blog.

It began two weeks ago as an assignment for my Honors English Colloquium, and after my first attempt to post to my professor’s blog failed and several classmates complained about technical difficulties, my professor abandoned the project altogether. Now I’m stuck with an empty blog and nothing to do with it but what blogs were originally intended: candid writing.

I’m a magazine journalism major. I love writing. It’s the one passion that has been with me my entire life. From the first bedtime story my dad read to me (one of the Bernstein Bear books), I’ve always wanted to be a writer. The way my mom tells it, as soon as I was old enough to understand what stories were, I wanted to write my own. Even before I could write myself, I would dictate little stories to my mom, illustrate them myself, and take them to preschool for my teachers to read (whether they did or not, I can’t really say). That love of words has stuck with me and will hopefully lead me to a life-long career if I work hard enough.

Journalism is what I want to do. Of course, I’d love to be a novelist, but I’m not that creative. So instead I follow my brother’s advice to me: “God gives you the story. You just need to tell it.”

And that’s what I’m going to try to do, in my reporting and in this blog. Hopefully this blog, however, will be a little more free and creative than my news stories.

It’s actually a very good thing that my professor’s project didn’t pan out. I’ve wanted to start a blog for years, but I never had the time or the motivation to figure it out for myself. Mainly though, I never knew where to begin.

Now I have a starting point, and that’s good enough for today, I suppose. I need to run and grab dinner before a meeting with my editor. I have no idea how frequently I will post, or what this blog will become. I have a sickening feeling this blog won't see more than a handful of posts each year, so forgive me.

I don't have a true mission, other than to make this a snapshot of my life in some way; just me and this life as I view it.

So good evening, friends. And welcome to this piece of my world.

A Hurried Beginning

Today when I logged into my e-mail, the first message on the list — followed by deadline reminders from my editor, reports on my transcripts finally arriving at my university, and coupons from the frequented locales of my past life — was from the Dean of my university. This e-mail was sent to all freshmen (but it was personally addressed to me by some computer, no doubt) in congratulations on making it to the official one-month mark since the beginning of classes.

Following this pat on the back, was a list of all the ways to get involved on campus if you haven’t done so already.

After reading (or throwing a quick glance at) these friendly notices, I sat back for a moment and wondered where the past month has gone.

I love college. And why not? I live by my own rules, for the most part. I made friends much faster than I had anticipated, and I’m always busy with interesting tasks. (Except for my music appreciation lecture, which I’m sitting in right now pretending to take notes.) It has been one month of freedom from my parents’ rule, of living on my own and managing not to inadvertently die in the process.

I did my own laundry last week and cried as I watched an incredible sum of money swallowed by a machine which merely provides water to swirl my clothes in and nothing else. I still have to provide my own detergent and fabric softener. After recovering from the initial heart attack I suffered upon seeing just how much it costs to wash a load (the term “load” also seemed to encompass a far greater amount of dirty clothes when I lived at home), I did what any mature college student would do in this situation: I called my mom. I called to ask just how certain my mother was that I could not, under ANY circumstances, wash all of my laundry at once without separating by color. She told me not to be so stupid. I then asked whether it would be feasible to wash my laundry in the sink in my dorm or better yet, to jump in the shower fully clothed at the end of each day in order to ensure that my clothes will always be clean. My mom — loving, blunt woman of zero patience that she is — told me to suck it up.

"Welcome to the real world," she added.

Sometime later when my laundry was finished and I brought it to my room still warm, I texted my mom to let her know that this important task had been successfully completed, and that I basically expected some kind of praise.

"Good girl," my mother replied via text.

That was all. Clearly, she didn't find the occasion nearly as momentous as I did, although I honestly cannot see why not.