The Blog

What are our expectations and how do they get set?

There is yelling outside of my apartment...A girl is yelling at a boy-A boy is laughing. Tires are skidding.
The other night I was out walking down the sidewalk with friends and someone threw a glass bottle out a window onto the sidewalk and it shattered into uncountable pieces.
Everyone is always talking on their cellular phones when walking to and from class. It is as though they cannot stand to spend that 10 minutes of walking alone.
People asking if they are annoying; giving ten thousand apologies for something that's motive was very clearly understood and forgiven before an apology was begun.
Deadlines, surgeries, sickness, tears, uncertainty...


Are we really the land of the American dream? Maybe it is the American dream that is hurting us. "You can be this, you can be that..." Exactly-It's always "you can be", " you can be"- No one saying "You are..." Always stiving to be something; failing to see what we already are.

I yelled at you because I wanted to finally be heard. I laughed because it was the easy way out. I squealed my tires because I was trying to run away. I threw the glass out the window because I didn't feel like walking to the trashcan. I called you because I felt so alone walking among people who had their cellular phones out. I apologized just in case if I didn't you might walk away.

What if we had to explain every action?

I love when you have a window open and the breeze blows the curtains all about. It makes me think of peaceful spring evenings. I feel like I should have a lemonaide in my hand and a good book in the other. Tonight I have no lemonaide and rather than a good book I have a book in my hand that leaves me feeling restless. The book is Winesburg, Ohio and it is about a small town full of normal people. Maybe that doesn't seem that it should be a book that makes you restless, but it is indeed. The book reveals the insides of these people-the things they hide from other people. Mostly the people in the book desire more and feel this is impossible. Of course the story never tells it outright about them, but in a well written way reveals it through their actions. The people crave love, but of course they never recieve it in any true form. It is depressing and leaves me feeling extremely restless-ready at any moment to run away to a place I don't know and to people who don't know me. I think this book leaves me feeling that I am just another one of these people stuck in that town looking for something more. The love I see around me lately seems unauthentic and the love I give sometimes seems selfish. Perhaps this blog has become morethan I want to go into really. It's not a conversation you post for the world, it's one you discuss over coffee.

Oakland is becoming home more quickly than expected. I am still addicted to watching the hustle and bustle of the people. I have found delivery way to convienent. I dropped creative writing because the teacher made me grit my teeth and have taken up Myth and Folktale where my teacher talks as though she knows King Arthur and Lancelot. I finally have full use of my bathroom from the toilet to the shower. I am pleased to have a fully stocked kitchen and free wireless.

Here I am. In a new city, a new campus, a new apartment. Pittsburgh.

Today I was washing my hands using the ever refreshing Dial soap and I rejoiced as I watched the water escape quickly down the drain. The last (I hope) of many quirks to be fixed in my apartment. Before today I could not wash my hands without having the sink completely fill with water-nothing is more unamusing than having to stare down at the dirty soapy water with with you just cleaned your hands...I won't even go into what brushing my teeth was like. The good thing is now I no longer have to pace myself on washing my hands ("no, no jess you washed your hands an hour ago-the sink will still be full"), I can wash them whenever I want.

Classes. I have not even had a complete week of them yet. I feel as though I have already attended at least three weeks of classes. It is strange to me to sit in a class where more than one person raises their hand only five minutes into the class. This reminds me of kindergarten when you raise your hand and bounce up and down because maybe if your hand is a little higher than the next kid's the teacher will surely notice you first and you will get to answer. This is good for me because the anxiety that I will be called on ceases to exist when there are twelve students with their hands up WILLING to present their insight. Ah, I love big schools. Perhaps I may be in over my head, but the fact of the matter you aren't learning if you know everything you are being taught already.

Big schools mean lots of students and lots of students means lots of people watching. I love to sit on my balcony which is shaded by these large pine trees and just watch the people go by. I am amused by their styles, their conversations, their strides, their habits, their pace. I wish sitting on my balcony was worth three credits. I still need some good tea though to complete the practice. I bought some chai tea and it is horrible.

Last night a friend took me up to Mount Washington for the panoramic view of the city. I think in that instance I decided I really do like Pittsburgh. Perhaps this makes me shallow for basing my like of a city on it's amazing night-time skyline. Maybe it is like basing your opinion of a person on their looks. Either way I am embracing this new habitat with open arms.


Perhaps this country girl has a little bit of city in her after all.