I leave for London in 11 days.

Woah.

As my departure quickly approaches, I find myself teetering back and forth between two extremes: extreme excitement and extreme anxiety. It's been my dream to live in London since before I can remember and now that it's actually happening I'm not quite sure how to wrap my head around it. I mean, I'm going to be in an entirely different country in a week and a half. That's heavy stuff. Plus, I'm going to be alone. Well, okay, not alone in the literal sense. I'll have roommates and program advisors. And I'll be working full-time so that'll be a nice distraction. But it's the small things that are starting to get to me.

You see, I grew up in the country. I live on a ten-acre plot of land on a dirt road behind a ginormous horse barn. You can't get more country than that. Unless of course I was living on said horse farm. But let's not get crazy. The gist of it is that the closest I've gotten to city life is living on a university campus that neighbors a corn field. It's safe to say that I'm a bit nervous about being plopped in the middle of one of the most famous cities in the word with just enough money to get by and spending most of said money to rely on public transportation. I'm no germaphobe but, again, the only real experience I've had with public transport was my college's jank bus system and a three-day trip to NYC four years ago. Supervised.

Jeepers.

I'm already predicting severe homesickness. I love my family and my bed and my crazy half-clean room. I also love my friends. I've been hanging out with them a lot lately since the beginning of summer had us all in a tissy schedule-wise and thanks to that I'm reminded of how much I'm going to miss them. International calling is no fun for either party and the time difference doesn't help even if I am on Skype whenever I'm at my flat. It's going to be hard to keep in touch and, honestly, I'm hoping that I'll be so busy enjoying the experience to forget about it. Because that's what usually happens, right? Right?

On the bright side, this will be one of the most amazing experiences of my life thus far, if not the most amazing. I'll be living in freaking London, gaining work experience abroad, and travelling around Europe (hopefully) all before my 21st birthday. I mean, that's a pretty big deal. At least that's what I've been told. Still, I've always struggled with homesickness and am afraid it will take precedence while I'm there. Plus, I'm kind of terrified of finding my way from the airport to my apartment. I've always been horrid with directions.

While it looks like the cons are outweighing the pros here, I really am struggling with being both excited and terrified. It changes hourly. Hopefully, as the date approaches, I'll gain some clarity and it'll kick my butt into gear.

You're going to London, kid. Stop being a wimp.

The best conversations happen after midnight.

Recently, I had a talk with my cousin/roommate about where we were going to be a year from now. At face value, we'll be picking up our cap and gown and finishing our last college finals as undergrads. It's a scary thought. It became even scarier when we started thinking about our careers and how we were going to fair after graduation. Scratch that - it became terrifying.

My cousin is a Therapeutic Recreation major but she has plans to go into an accelerated Nursing program after graduation. Even with a relatively steady profession like that, she's still nervous about where the future will take her. Where she'll end up, if she'll succeed.

After talking with her, I began to realize just how universal uncertainty is when it comes to a person's career. I've been told time and time again that it's only something people majoring in the arts deal with (myself included). But really, everyone goes through it. With all of the stories about the economy failing and job security becoming rarer with each passing year, all professions are being affected. It's your job to make yourself more marketable and gain experiences that will make you a better candidate for whatever you want to go into.

As a writer, I have a lot of dreams. But the most important one to me is getting a book published. I've have one of my short stories published in an on-campus journal, but other than that I know next to nothing about the publishing world or how to make myself stand out. And since I want book-writing to be my main source of income one day - with my work hours clocked in my own personal library, typing away at my computer - realistically, I'll need to find "normal" job first. Naturally, I want that job to be writing-specific so I won't hate going in to work every day and be using my strengths to their fullest potential. Call me greedy or what-not but I really don't want to work in retail for the rest of my life.

So, I'm trying to get experience that will make me marketable to magazines. Or maybe even newspapers. Anything to make me a prime candidate.

Yet as a writer, I am constantly hearing and reading work from people who are much more talented than I am - much more accomplished. While that serves as a sort of fuel to get me going it can also be my greatest drawback. I'll read short stories from fellow students and be like "Wow. This is amazing. How can I ever compete with this?" The same goes for my reading habits. I'll read a book and marvel at how amazing it is and how I'll never be able to write like so-and-so. It's really depressing, honestly, and I find myself fishing for compliments from random friends and family members to make myself feel better - not caring if they're telling the truth when they say they love my work.

Today, I gave a three-minute reading in front of a class for my final. It was a humor piece and my goal was to make everyone laugh, which, strangely enough, I did. After that, a classmate came up to me and asked if I considered to apply to the Lanthorn (our college newspaper). I'd been tossing around the idea for a while but didn't think I would be a right fit. I'm no journalist.

"Well, you should apply in the fall," the classmate said. "If you wrote for them, I'd actually read it."

My face reddened after that. It was a compliment I didn't ever expect to get - especially from a classmate whose work I admired.

For background: The Lanthorn, along with any college newspaper, doesn't get a lot of traffic with students. Sure, some headlines catch campus-wide attention but other than that, most don't take the time to read it. I'm guilty of this. I mean, I pick up a copy every new addition but I only graze the articles and look at the comic. There are editorials also, usually written by writing majors, but I never read them for fear of feeling inferior. No joke. I'm pretty petty.

So when someone suggested I apply to write those same editorials, I was pretty floored. Flattered beyond belief - but mostly floored.

Getting a compliment like that really made my day. Any day when someone compliments anything about my work is a good day. Just a simple "I really love your writing style" can mean a world of difference to me. And I'm sure the same would go for anyone else.

If you like someone's writing - tell them. If you think their dress is cute, tell them. If you think they're funny or liked what they had to say in class, tell them. Don't back down on account of sounding creepy or fearing that they won't appreciate your compliment. Chances are it'll make their day. Personally, I was having a pretty crappy start to finals week, worrying about deadlines that were approaching too quickly, when someone came up to me and told me I should write for the Lanthorn. With no fear of sounding cheesy, I can confidently say that the sun shined a little bit brighter on my walk to the bus stop.

Moral of the story: Make someone's sun shine brighter. Make them feel confident about their job choice. You never know what could happen.

A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep.
- Walt Disney's Cinderella, 1950

Dreams are weird.

For the past year-and-change, I've been keeping a dream journal. I try to write in it every morning but usually only have the patience for it a few days out of the week. It's taken many forms. First, it was a tiny little spiral notebook I found on sale at Meijer with little pink and brown stripes. Then, it was the fraternal twin of journal #1, only this one was polka-dotted. Now, it's my used Gender Studies notebook. Don't worry - I ripped out the three pages I used for the class.

Through these journals, I've learned a lot of weird things about myself. Supposedly, the purpose of a dream journal is to "familiarize the person with their dreamscape" and help people become lucid dreamers.

(lucid dream: a dream where you know you're dreaming)

I can definitely attest to this theory. I don't have lucid dreams every night, mind you, but I have them a lot more often since starting the journals. Even then, I don't realise for a while. I'm working on that bit. But they allow a nice escapism. The rest of the time, I'm left at the mercy of normal dreams. Which is usually fine.

Usually.

I  don't have nightmares often, thankfully, but I have been having some lately. Normally, I would just disregard them. But since I don't usually have nightmares, I figured I would try to pinpoint the cause. After some thorough research (and by that I obviously mean clicking on the first link on Google) I found the answer.

Stress.

What a shocker.

A few days ago, I was talking to a friend about a breakup. The two had been going out for a long time and he was pretty devastated. Obviously, I felt horrible for him and tried my best to comfort him. A few nights later, I had a dream about him retelling me the story and his ex stalking us around a building. The nightmare progressed into something out of a slasher fic. It was horrible.

I woke myself up, terrified, and wrote down everything I could remember. It was so vivid. So fresh. So freaking terrifying.

I went through the rest of the day in a sort of haze. I was tired and generally felt very down. The nightmare had seemingly sucked away all of my energy. I couldn't focus on anything. The haze built up until I was forced to pull an 8-hour homework binge because I had neglected to finish it earlier.

The point is, I went to bed stressed. I was stressed for my friend. Stressed about my own personal stuff. They were the last things I thought of before going to sleep.

Well, that was a mistake. And I have the journal entry to prove it.

It's my belief that dreams tell us more than we realize. They reveal how weird we are, how we think, and what's really hidden underneath all of those song lyrics. I've realized a lot about myself from rereading old dreams I wrote down. They were telling me things I needed to hear. They also revealed the times when I really needed to take some time for myself.

I believe my nightmares were telling me to calm down. To take it easy. I have a lot of stuff going on but that doesn't mean I have to stress out about it 24/7. I'm allowed to have some me-time. And that goes for everyone else as well.

I recommend that everyone try keeping a dream journal. If anything, they'll be therapeutic. They also might tell you things you hadn't realized just yet. And isn't that what we all want, really? To know what we want?

Recently, I've been struggling with the idea that I might have to give up something that has been a part of my life for close to twelve years.  Like leaving any part of your life behind, it's rough to picture things without it - but the fact is that you can. You can see your future without its comforting presence clearer than you ever thought possible. It's scary. Terrifying, even. But it's there. And the fact that it's there has got to mean something, right?

I've been in choir since I was a beaming little fourth grader. At least, that's the last time I can ever remember choosing to be in it rather than have my teacher usher me and the rest of the students to our half-hour block of music class. Since then, it has been a constant part of my life, especially in high school. The only way to describe it is, well, that I found my second family there. I also found a hidden talent that gave me what little confidence I had growing up. In that little choir room in the corner of the school, hidden in the confines of the secluded music hallway, was my haven. Sure, most of the time it smelt like feet and the clocks were always off and the band kids nearly always blamed us for their transgressions but some of my fondest memories took place there. Practicing for competitions with our horrendously out-of-date cassette tapes, waiting anxiously to audition for our dream role in the winter musical, lining up to make our big entrance through the stage door and sing our hearts out for our friends and family. It was our little piece of the world that we loved and held on to with all of our might until it was time to let go and watch it join the others in the jigsaw that was our life.

My passion for music grew through the years and I continued that passion when I started college. Back then, I couldn't fathom my life without choir. It was blasphemy. Where would I be without the concerts or the Stroope or the thousands of renditions of Gloria and Alleluia? Hell. I would have been in hell. I was already in the scary new world of college - it would do me good to have a sense of familiarity.

Now, as I grow older and my life becomes burdened with more responsibility, I plan for my future career and am faced with a choice that hurts just thinking about it. Leaving choir. Leaving behind the rehearsals and the music and the people. Just graduating high school three years ago, knowing I could never return to the choir room in the corner was heart-wrenching enough. But life moves on and you either move with it or are dragged along by it. Continuing choir would mean neglecting my responsibilities and postponing other accomplishments I want to achieve by the time I graduate college. I need to focus on other things in my life. I need to move forward.

It's no surprise that I feel like this. I knew the day would come eventually. I just never thought about it. Now that it's here, I almost refuse to believe it. It's not yet official or anything but it feels as though I'm already done. It's really ending. But I need to stay positive. I need to think about all of the great times I had rather than yearn for them to repeat themselves. No matter how much I crave it, the past is the past and it is better left there. I had a good run. I accomplished many things and created everlasting memories. I sang the great songs. And did it well.

Alright guys. It's time to get serious.

I was watching E! News the other day (Don't judge... it's my guilty pleasure) and they were - shocker - talking about celebrities. In particular, Justin Bieber. There was some scandal involving him, I don't remember the details, but the point is that one of the anchors felt the need to say that he is a Bieber supporter - and I don't think he meant his music.

It is no secret that half of the talk about Bieber involves some type of hate, whether it be about his music or his scandalous reputation. I, for one, don't understand any of it.

If you would have asked me a year ago - no, maybe even a month ago - for me to make a list of the five celebrities I hated, I would have done it with no hesitations and probably with accompanying stick figure doodles. But it was E! News and a few online gossip articles that got me thinking about what hate really means. Hate is a strong word. We really take it for granted. We point it at food that tastes funky to us, we use it to describe our feelings towards homework, but most often we associate it with other human beings.

I do believe that there are instances where "hate" can be used to describe your feelings towards someone. But the only instances that involve that are when you have a personal relationship with that person or know them through association with others. They may have done you or someone you care about wrong and that, I believe, is a good reason to use "hate," albeit sparingly. Don't use it if a guy broke up with your best friend - call him a jerkwad or the slew of other creative nicknames that come to mind.

Hate in relation to celebrities is an entirely different case. There is a strong chance that the celebrity you claim to hate is one who you have never spoken to or even seen in person. It is understandable to forget that they are people sometimes. They appear on our televisions and on the glossy covers of tabloids, far away from our mediocre lives. They are entities, they are larger than life, they are rich as hell and we constantly wonder how that is. But they are also people. People with feelings. When you write a blog about how much you can't stand Miley and her obsession with twerking and how much you hate her for getting all this attention, you don't realize that there is a person on the receiving end of that rant. Think of it this way: Would you tell the head cheerleader at your high school that you hate her guts and wish she would die because she was a slut and had everything you secretly wanted? In most cases no, you wouldn't. If you are the person who would do that, congratulations. You're about as mature as a fourteen-year-old.

If you genuinely don't like someone, that's fine. If you don't like an artist's music, that's fine. If you don't agree with some of the things they're doing, that's fine. Everyone is entitled to their opinions. Everyone is entitled to share those opinions. But think before you talk or post about it. Think about if you really hate the person you're talking about or just get a bad vibe from them. Hate is a strong, hurtful word. This can apply when you're talking about someone in your life or someone as far away as Beverly Hills. I can do a whole other post about cyber bullying so I won't talk too much about that - I think you get the gist of that issue.
Moral of the story: Think before you speak. Do unto others as you would do unto yourself. Or your best friend. Or parent. Put a face to person that you're talking about and imagine them reading what you wrote or listening to what you said. Put yourself in their shoes. Does it feel good? Do you enjoy hearing people say they hate you without even knowing you?

When I started college, I expected to make a lot more friends than I did. Don't get me wrong - I love the friends I have here. It's just not what I was expecting. Especially with all of the stereotypes that go along with "The College Experience." You're supposed to meet the friends you'll have for the rest of your life and, in effect, never really talk to the friends you had in high school. For me, the opposite happened.

I have a handful of good friends here at college. I love them to death and they help me through some really tough times. But I also have more friends scattered around the state, going to different colleges or setting up their lives. Those are the friends I made in high school and - guess what - we're still as close as ever.

20 years ago, this would be a rare thing to hear. But, thanks to Facebook, texting, Skype, and good old phone calls, I talk to nearly all of the friends that I had during the four years I spent behind bars in high school. We also get together during every break and try to visit each other during our crazy college semesters when we have the time.

My parents think it's the oddest thing. They rarely talked to anyone from their high school years when they went off to college. And even now, my brother, a freshman in college, is going through the same thing that they did even with the technology he has at his disposal. That leaves me to wonder - is it really technology that keeps us together or am I just some rare case in a sea of forgotten high school relationships?

I like to think it's a mixture of both. I use technology regularly to talk to my friends but maybe that's not what's really keeping us together. In fact, I hope it's not. I think I got very lucky and formed the bonds I was "supposed" to make in college while I was going through puberty. Keeping those bonds is continually aided by 21st century technology. Without it, I would lose out on these everlasting friendships that range anywhere from six to fifteen years.

Did I know I was making friends for life in high school? No. But I hoped we would all stay in touch when college started. And then we did. Now, I can't ever imagine my life without any of them.

I think the moral of this post is thus: Don't give up on friends. Whether it be childhood, high school, college, or work friends, give each of them a chance to be in your life. We have the technology today to make that stuff happen. If they're not meant to be there, then at least you can say that you tried.

So last weekend I had the pleasure of going to Artprize for the third consecutive year. Let me tell you, it just keeps getting better and better!

Sorry I haven't posted in awhile, guys! I've been sorta kinda busy with - wait for it - grown-up stuff.

Inception-style-BBBBBRRRRRAAAAAAAAAA.

Let's make a list of what has transpired this past week and a half, shall we? And some of them are even documented!

1. I turned 20. Enough said. Goodbye teens, hello twenties. Gulp.

2. One of my best friends got married. I was in the wedding and it was beautiful. But I still couldn't shake the surreal feeling you get when one of your childhood-turned-adulthood friends is the first to get married. It was just plain weird. But still a pretty good time.