Second week; still alive, and still in good spirits. Of course I've had my moments of craziness where I needed to just punch something and then hide in a corner, but for the most part, I'm still sailing along. Last night The Village People softball team played their first two games in the intramural tournament. We also had our asses handed to us in both games. Very rarely did either of the two teams we played hit anything that didn't soar into the outfield; it was unbelievable. Not to mention we are the only co-ed team in the entire tournament--every other team is just guys. And on top of that, we have a huge variety of experience and lack thereof. But that's okay! We still had a really great time and everyone was really supportive of each other, even when they were giving Aimee crap for watching the one pitch go by her...I was three for three and got on base all three times. Unfortunately, I was also up when we had two outs, so I never got any further than second base. : ( Tonight I'm on duty and have to take my dinner break to go to the Blaze meeting at about 5. I also have a meeting for center complex tonight so being here on duty doesn't mean all that much! But after this entry I need to go back to studying my floorplan so that I can actually write it all down from memory and prove to my CC's that I know my residents. Classes are still going well. My government class is an absolute bore; today was groundhog day of last Wednesday. Same lecture, same stupid arguments from the class, snooze! I'm loving my writing classes though. I read my short conflict scene for my playwriting class and re-wrote a monologue for my fiction class because my first draft was far too theatrical I realized that right after the first three people read theirs. I haven't read mine yet so I'm hoping the teacher won't have a problem with me submitting a different one. Anyway, I like it better. I'm also reading Huck Finn for my fiction class. I read it summer into freshmen year of high school and absolutely drug through it. Now I'm speed reading it in small glimpses of time in a span of two weeks and am getting so much more out of it. I guess my professor is right in presenting it to us now as the backbone of the typical novel. Anyway, I retract any previous statements I may have mad denouncing my likeness for the book; I don't hate it. I'm actually quite fond of it. Speaking of fondness, Kristofer and I doing fine. I've come to the realization that every now and again we're going to have a sucky day, we'll talk about it for a good 30 minutes to an hour, and then we'll go back to being our usual mushy selves. I know we're in a great spot compared to last year, but we're still having distance issues and this time the miles are metaphoric. But we talk and we hug and every day I am reminded of how much I love him and why I'm so glad the guy who means the world to me is him. I know it's early and premature to say so, but college seems easier this year. Maybe because I already know what to expect; I know what I have to take time for and what I can just read through hallistically. Truth is, I like being an RA. It gives me an excuse to sit at a desk or be stuck in my room and do homework; it forces me to get out there and meet residents; and it makes me plan events and be involved. I swear it, the big decisions that I wrestle with for weeks on end are usually the best decisions I'll ever make. Like marching band, for example. : ) Carrie PS: Here's the rough draft of my monologue for my fiction class. I think it needs a bit more, though. My aunt Gertrude may have been right. Her arguments for Reynard's infidelity appear now to be perfectly legitimate; "A man that good looking and that generous is not living off of his own humanity, but becoming the dream that gets women wet." Aunt Gertrude didn't have much of a knack for phrasing things politely. Picking out p.c. words was just throwing a bone to the elephant in the room and calling it a dog. She insisted on telling it like it is, which can sometimes be a rather admirable characteristic on her part. On the other hand, my Aunt Gertrude also had the reputation of being the black fly in your chardonnay. Acrimony was a denizen on her mind. When I first announced to the family that I had 'met' someone, the room immediately reacted with gaiety. "Oh, Allyson, that's so wonderful!" "Yes, yes, we've been hoping you would stumble upon someone soon!" But on the other end of the table, with her dark, condemnatory eyes and her sharp, justly nose, Aunt Gertrude painstakingly laid her fork to rest and with absolute astringency asked me to please pass the salt. Rather speechless, I picked up the silver salt shaker, handed it to my cousin, and watched it travel down the family tree to Gertrude, who, upon receiving it, gave a little smile and said, "Thank you." I think it may have been that very reaction to my news of having met someone that drove me to so badly want the infant relationship to work. Reynard and I met in France while I was studying at the Louvre, or La Musée du Louvre, as Reynard had insisted I call it. He found my French accent imitation to be adorable. We spent a blissful week together in Paris under shooting stars and fireworks. There were expensive dinners, romantic kisses beneath the Eiffel Tower, long walks around the city that stretched into dawn, and full-frontal snogging on every corner. Reynard knew everything about France and, I discovered, he had also become quite the accomplished holiday escort. Reynard and I planned to meet in two weeks when I returned for more research. For those two weeks, my heart fluttered with absolute romantic chaos. Even my dreams came to me in le francais, Reynard's baritone voice enchanting my fantasies. By Thursday I couldn't wait any longer. I decided to change to an earlier flight and surprise him by arriving a day early. Horrible mistake, on my part, for when I caught up to mon amant, I found him snuggling a young blonde, complimenting her on her 'adorable' Wisconsin accent. I received pity sighs from the family between forkfuls of cherry pie. But on the other end of the table, sitting in righteous poise with her long, chiding fingers curled around her dessert fork, Aunt Gertrude chuckled. Several glasses and utensils clanged to rest as the entire table turned their eyes incredibly on Gertrude. Completely unabashed, Gertrude popped up her eyebrows and explained, "What are you all so benevolent for? You all knew it would end badly. Oh, Allyson, it's nothing personal, deary, it's just that you're never very chary with your heart. I mean, really, dear, he's French." And that was Aunt Gertrude. Just telling it like it was.