my father discloses small pieces of information about his mother's suicide and I hang on every word. alice walker says we are our grandmothers and I feel a very close connection to mine even though Ive never met her. I think I am supposed to take care of her unfinished business, fight the fight for her because she wasnt strong enough to do it herself. I have her blood in my veins and when I look my my father I see her face in his. I see his little boy feet on the linoleum at the kitchen counter watching her mix the cream of mushroom soup into the yellow bowl that we still have to this day but we never use it.

its like when pastor wayne delivered the eulogy and told everyone how my mom died. I was glad he did it. no one wanted to talk about it. we were all skirting around the issue, walking on egg shells, pins and needles, whatever. people are so afraid to talk about what really happens.

I felt my throat get tight because he never talks about IT and when he does I dont want to miss a word, a quiver in his voice, a nervous twitch in the muscles of his face. I want to know about it all.

the bolles school is all grown up and getting married and I am struggling to look myself in the eyes. in 1995 I was in 7th grade and this boy really loved me. he would write letters to me every day and I saved them all in the bottom drawer of my night stand. back then, I still had my old white wicker bed positioned in the middle of the wall to the right of my door and I collaged magazine artricles of bands that I loved or advertisements that I thought looked really arty. I had three huge smashing pumpkins posters and a framed picture of parker posie. its funny how being young allots for a certain level of ridiculousness. I think I really miss that feeling of unabashed egocentrism and self-discovery. I think Im thinking a lot more about this because Im being forced to rediscover/dig up/unveil my SELF. not to mention I am chornically nostalgic. in group, we were discussing different ways that people process themselves and the world around them and I am definitely one who looks to the past....probably too frequently. more on this later.

it is 7:17 AM. I got two hours of sleep last night thanks to my fraternity brother neighbors. That's okay. I am blaring elastica as loud as I can. Good morning gators!

I am writing paper after paper dealing with the issue of WHO AM I. Sounds pretty simple, but it really isn't. I am sifting slowly through a quarter life crisis, which I'm sure is not what my professors are anxious to hear. Granted, I don't think this makes me any less qualified to become a therapist, but most people tend to possess differing opinions than myself. We will see. At any rate, I am playing things safe as far as my answers go. Here there is a rather large emphasis on being open and honest, as we (students) are continuously role playing to practice our counseling skills and I guess (of course) being open and honest facilitates the entire process and makes things genuine and real. It's funny because I think I have always considered OPEN and HONEST as interchangeable terms, but lo and behold there is a significant difference. I have been open, to the point of public ridicule (blogging doesn't stop me), about events and facts regarding my life, but I am admittedly wary of sharing the emotional processes that underpin them. This program is going to be a real challenge to my comfort zones and I will have to really dig deep into my FEELINGS and my views on subjects that I tend to avoid, such as....dun dun dun....relationships and love.

I guess the last 5 years of training myself to be an emotional zombie will have to be undone for the sake of furthering my career as a genuine and authentic human being. It's a scary thought. I tend to be cynical and fatalistic about most things, although I prefer to call myself a realist. There isn't much place for that here. It's strange being the only daria in a sea of martha stewarts. I don't really want to conform, but some amount of conformity is necessary and probably psychologically prudent at the end of the day. Anyway, it's very surreal to be a part of something demanding. Undergraduate work was a breeze and so far the work load as a graduate student isn't so intense that I can't deal, but more so the work demands a closer look at my convictions. It's like deconstructing the novel that is me. I feel, but feeling isn't enough. I'm learning to draw a map of each feeling, each insecurity. One of my professors said that once I finish this program, if I could meet myself at the beginning of this program, I wouldn't recognize myself at all. That's also a scary thought. I wonder how things will be when I move back to Jacksonville.....I say this only because I view Jacksonville as a baseline level. Not much changes there and I don't anticipate moving back (even if I only stay for a minute) to find much change at all. So it will all be a very interesting process. Interesting and exciting...as long as I can get used to the role playing,

I'm on fire.

Last night was an interesting first night all by myself in my apartment. I came home to a rather hot and sweaty home, as the window air conditioning unit in my studio broke at some point over the weekend. The fan was on circulating hot, humid air. Being sick and fevery did not help the situation at all. I took a trip to Wal-Mart and purchased a fan for 20$ and cuddled that fine piece of machinery during my three hours of restful sleep.

This morning my property manager arrived promptly at 730am (impressive) and returned again at some point this afternoon while I was orientating to grad school with a brand new DIGITAL air conditioner. My apartment is still a bit uncomfortable, but my new shiny ac is chugging away. Things should be back to normal by tomorrow, I'm sure. Kitty appreciates the new ammenities for sure. He is up and running, playing with various TV cords and the like at this very moment.

Orientation was.
I am taking intro to counseling, professional ethics in counseling, counseling theories, and group counseling. I don't have class tomorrow, but Friday is a doozey, as I have two classes scheduled on that day and I will be on campus from 830-350. The walk from my apartment to my building is very short. It's nice to not have to rely on a car. I really like where I am and I hope to stay here fir the next three years of my little life. Oh yeah, that's another thing- I realized today that there is no getting out of here in two years. I need to start bracing myself for the long haul.

I am missing a lot of people in Jax, some more so than others. =) For now I'll indulge in a little escapism and pick up where I left off in my book, Middlesex.

start with this: