Life’s A Struggle When You’re A Muggle

 

I’m at a funny point in my life where about half the people I consider close confidants missed major milestones in my emotional, social and physical development.

For example:

My highschool friends and members of my family who I don’t see every day missed:

1. The hiking adventures that resulted in two pairs of ripped yoga pants. Not jeans, yoga pants, THOSE THINGS ARE STRETCHY.
2. My intense addiction to the Thai Peanut Dressing at work, quesadillas, and water with so much lime it’s like a non-alcoholic margarita.
3. Me as a person who does not run a bake sale a week. (It frees up SO MUCH time, for myself…and my parents.)

My college friends and individuals I have since informed that they are required to be members of my family missed:

1. My dedication to culinary school and running a bake sale a week (Mom, Dad, you deserve awards for dishes, patience, and grocery bills.)
2. Bedazzled jeans. (We all have regrets in life.)
3. Buck teeth and vampire fangs that the orthodontist (mostly) fixed.
4. The phase of my life where I was completely unaware of all social norms and cues and simply wanted to be a wood elf.

…wait…that’s still a thing…

I’m also (apparently, at only five days in) at a funny point in my master’s program where:

1. We’ve only just begun (the optional portion, classes don’t start for two weeks).
2. We’re already getting presentations about what to do after our master’s and how to start planning…which apparently should have started last week.

HOLD THE DIAL UP PHONE ONE FLIPPITY FLAPJACK SECOND.

Yes, that’s right, not only did I reference old technology and use words that were never cool, I also said that I’m supposed to have an idea what I want to do POST master’s even though I HAVEN’T OFFICIALLY STARTED.

HOW ‘BOUT THEM APPLES?!

*laughs hysterically* *goes for a run*

This is where you, my poor readers, begin (continue) to suffer. When stressed, aside from running/yoga/flying off to neverland, I have three habits which are bound to arise that negatively affect you:

1. I listen to exclusively Disney music. Hannah Montana meets the Lion King. Prepare for Disney memes. Also, someone please call Luba and let her know that I’m going to need her to update my playlist again to get me out of this funk.

2. I watch stand-up comedy while I cook. This makes me laugh, a lot. It also makes me talk to myself, even more. The laughing and talking makes me think that I’m funnier than I already think I am. Which means you have to read more blog posts filled to the brim with terrible humor, if it can even be called that.

3. I put on Harry Potter audiobooks as I walk to class. Which means everyone becomes a muggle and everything around me gets equated to Hogsmead, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, Privet Drive, etc.

You’ll wish a dementor had you instead by the time this is over.

Conveniently, the 6 o’clock bell rang last night, from the tower in a building that I don’t yet know the name of, AND IT RANG IN THE OPENING SCENE SONG TO HARRY POTTER.

IT WAS AMAZING.

I REVOKE ALL PREVIOUS STATEMENTS OF BEING OVERWHELMED

NOTHING ELSE MATTERS

THEY PLAYED HEDWIG’S THEME FOR A SOLID 45 SECONDS!

And then moved on to some inferior song that I didn’t recognize.

Here’s a behind the scenes look (…from 4 year’s ago)

Also, apparently this is McGraw Hall, which I call “Castle-esque building on the hill #1”

Instead of researching what to do post-master’s (I’ll leave that for an evening project when there’s no daylight for exploration) I explored Cornell’s Botanical Gardens (WHICH FEATURE A CLIMATE CHANGE GARDEN, but more info on that at a later date) and discovered the beauty of reading upside down on my porch.

A knobbly old tree (which reminds me of the Whomping Willow, obviously)

The vegetable gardens used for comparison to the Climate Change Garden:

When plants meet architecture:

A close up, because obviously I had to go sit in it:

Me enjoying my porch in the woods:

Ft. My lovely cuppa tea:

Math camp may be crazy, but life here is pretty, well…

Gorges.

With love,

Marley and Tea

So You Think You Can Pack

There are some things life can simply never prepare you for:

1. My Hogwart’s letter is OBVIOUSLY still lost in the mail. I’ll wait. It’ll come (eventually…)

1. You never have as much time to read as you have books on your summer reading list.

1. Taxes. (Just talk to any human come April.) Even tax accounts are upset, because they’re stressed, because everyone needs them, because no one knows how to do their taxes, because when we should have learned how to do our taxes we were being taught how to make low-fat yogurt dip (ew).

1. NAPS ARE ELUSIVE AND THEN FIX NOTHING. When you’re allowed to take naps, you don’t want them. You throw temper tantrums. When you aren’t allowed to take naps and have no time and never sleep and have like five spare seconds in the day (which you should probably use to like pee or do something functional) it ends up being taken up by small talk at the grocery store or checking your phone for the bazillionth time in case something “urgent” (who the heck is so important you need to respond within ten minutes…besides your parents…) comes up. AND THEN, you FINALLY find the time and location for THE PERFECT nap. The one you and your sleep deprived self have been (literally) dreaming of all week. And what happens? You wake up groggy and tired and upset that you can’t sleep for 6 more hours, because you only slept for 2 last night and all this did was remind you that you’re overtired and living off a series of nighttime naps since no one would call that hellishly short time “a good night’s sleep.”

1. The number of times you will have to pack up your life and move it anywhere between 300 feet and 300 miles +

I thought I was a good packer.

I’ve watched my dad expertly pack backpacks, suitcases, and cars from hiking trips, vacations, and conferences. I’ve watched my mom make sure no one forgot a single f’ing thing (I swear the woman has a foolproof electronic checklist in her brain).

This is my 13th time moving in the past four years.

Just let that sink in.

13 times I have packed up my entire life and shuffled it to another location, knowing full well that in the next 3 months-1 year I’d have to do it again.

AND THAT’S NORMAL.

No 20-something-year-old bats an eye at this, we do it without thinking. It’s the nature of this transitory decade of our lives (which is really more 18-35 than just 20-29, but still).

13.

They say it’s an unlucky number.

But my best friend was born on Friday the 13th, in September.

And she’s my kickass, change the world, keep me sane, love you forever plus, stuck with me always, I could hate everyone and would still love you, person. So in my book, 13 is prime.

…

…

Wait, it’s always prime.

(hehe)

(hehehehe)

(Are you giggling at my math joke yet?)

(WHY AREN’T YOU LAUGHING?)

But really, 13th time’s the charm?

You’d think I’d be better at this.

But apparently, at 22, having moved 12 times in the near past, I still don’t understand what is and is not required in my life.

So as I’m stuffing ball jars with tank tops to wrap in a pencil skirt to put in a saucepan (because that’s how efficiency meets environmentally friendly) I’m wondering if I should pack the shirt I wear approximately once a year because it’s scratchy but cute (for the first week when you’re more dedicated to fashion than comfort). OR if I should pack the book I’ve been meaning to read for three years now…to read when the semester is in full swing? What about the incense smell that I hate? What if I run out of my bagillion other scents and have to resort to the one that claims to smell “clarifying” but really smells like expired bleach? Because I’m apparently that desperate? (I have yet to EVER finish an entire pack, but obviously moving means I will).

HOW ABOUT! Those math notes from the 5th grade. I need those. WHAT IF I FORGET HOW TO PEMDAS AND NEED TO REREAD MY ILLEGIBLE SCRIBBLE FROM 11 YEARS AGO TO REMEMBER?!

My sewing machine from middle school?! OBVIOUSLY IT HAS TO COME. Because in graduate school you actually have SO MUCH free time that you donate every sensible article of comfortably fashionable clothing you own and sew your own wardrobe in a “Little House on the Prairie” fashion in an effort to prove that you’re actually well-rounded.

Logic has left the building.

You see, what happens in my brain when immense change is upon me is (chaos, insanity, a wish to run into the woods and never emerge) that I forget EVERYTHING I’ve learned in my past 12 moves. I revert back to highschool senior packing for college, the one who forgets there are stores in case you forgot your toothbrush. Or sheets. (I have yet to find one where I can buy a new brain with a booster sanity pack…suggestions?)

I pack backups for backups and then unpack (in a calmer state of mind) and wonder

WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?!

Without fail, I pack AT LEAST 3 pairs of pants.

I hate pants.

SO MUCH.

I will wear one pair,maybe once, and only because I feel some odd internal-but-blame-it-on-societal-pressure to wear jeans out and immediately regret it because I’m SO UNCOMFORTABLE that even if it looks good or is functional, it is COMPLETELY ruined by my shrinking so far into myself I actually become the size of one of those outdoor foldable chairs that comes with their own carrying bag (the kind you bring to your child’s baseball game when your child is athletic–aka coordinated–enough to participate in organized team sports–aka not me).

For those of you who are curious:

I am moving (this time) to Ithaca.

I will still be in the state of New York.

I will only be 3 hours from home.

My parents are coming NEXT WEEKEND to bring the rest of my stuff.

Which begs the question: Marley, why can’t you calm down?!

Finally, ITHACA IS A REAL PLACE WITH REAL STORES AND ALSO YOU LIVED OUT OF A BACKPACK FOR THREE MONTHS ONE TIME SO WHAT IN THE UNIVERSE IS THE PROBLEM?!

The problem, it turns out, is that I’m terrified*.

*excitedly

I’m beginning my master’s program in Applied Economics with a concentration in Food and Agricultural Econ.

Read: I (still) want to save the planet. I will use numbers to do so. I am the nerd who shows people how to make fiscally efficient environmental change.

Specifically in sewage.

I have dedicated my life to shit.

I’m serious.

No, really.

Just ask my dad how much he gets a kick out of explaining this.

The truth is (on the eve of my move, to every reader and facebook friend even though I like to pretend I’m writing to a great abyss of nothing but am also grateful you listen to me ramble incessantly):

I’m scared.

I feel unqualified, underprepared, like an accidental acceptance who is incapable of actually doing this.

AND

I’M SO FLIPPITY FLAPJACKING STOKED

I feel so excited I cannot stand it, like I worked my ass off to get where I am, like they world is my oyster, like I can and will change the world for the better, like society has no idea what they have coming. Mother Nature, don’t you worry, I’ve got you.

And none of these statements is me seeking reassurance or validation. I know all of these feeling are valid and normal and wonderful and real. And I am embracing them every step of the way.

So I’m moving for the 13th time in 8 hours.

I’m feeling unsure of myself and my future for the (zillionth time today) 13th time in 4 years.

I’m ready to move on with my life again (number unknown).

So Cornell, I’m on my way.

Planet Earth, you better believe I’m here to save you.

Humanity, GOODNESS YOU FRUSTRATE ME, but I want you to live on, so I’d like to help you thrive.

So, to:

Mom and Dad, you’re going to love the next phase of your life.

Biruk, my favorite, most loved and cherished person in the whole wide world, I can’t wait to watch you soar.

Family, thank you for all the love and hugs and pep talks.

Friends, thank you for making my family that much larger.

Everyone who doubted me: Don’t believe me? Just watch.

And finally, to myself (and everyone everywhere always):

Peace and love ❤

Dear Papa

You would be so proud. The little boy that you built engines on the kitchen table with is leaving for the Marines in two months. I still call him my little brother, but he’s tall and strong and the smartest whipper snapper I’ve ever known. He reminds me of you every day. Maybe it’s time to stop specifying “little.”

I leave for grad school in two weeks. I keep waiting for you to call and ask for a summary description of my program. I listen to the voicemail you left me when I was in JFK waiting (forever) for my flight to leave for Iceland. Thank you for always calling.

You are the most stubborn person I have ever known. In all of the best ways – Determination, Strength, and Dedication. I listen to Dad talk and I hear your responses, your words even. It’s funny how alike you two are – The magician farmer and the engineer. You would love to talk chemistry with him, you would love how impressive and astounding his creations are. I know you’re proud.

Mom tells the best stories. Of the PhD level discussions you would take us to, those legitimate lectures that smarticle people attend to get smarter, when she was just hoping you’d take us out for dinner. Biruk and I were so lost, and so hyper. In hindsight, I’ve never been so grateful to be so confused. I’ve attended similar talks in the years since then, and laughed at the mental image of us in the audience. And of mom meeting you for the first time, you in your PJs, eating cereal with ice cubes, her confused beyond belief. Thank you for knowing how to show her just enough of the crazy she was in for, and giving all of the love and support throughout the years. Your relationship with each other taught me a lot about family, support, love, and sometimes patience 😉 

Times are changing and so are we. Mom and Dad are about to be empty nesters, but that’s such a sad term. The world is theirs to snack and sip through, to adventure and explore, to find new places, spend time with each other, and enjoy the (hopefully) relaxing time that follows raising two headstrong, hyperactive children. Biruk is off to new adventures full of service and traveling (A travel bug we all have gotten from you).  I’m hoping to save the planet. 

You may not actually be able to call, but you’re the voice in all of our heads. Thank you for believing in all of us, for sending us on our way, and knowing that the journey is always

ONWARD.