Two Weeks Notice

The bus driver waved, and I started crying.

Jim is one of the best people you may ever come across. He smiles, he knows your name and he knows it's your neon coat hustling across campus to make the bus--- and waits.

Today was my last day at school in Vermont. There's a lot of technicalities, but the long and short of it, is that I'm a St. Mike's Alum. The week seemed to be going okay, sauntering by and being gone before I knew it, much like the sunlight on a brisk Burlington day in December. And then it was gone.

I woke up today at 7:27. Right before the alarm, good work Jen. Except I had set the clock for 7:45. Oh well. I stayed in bed, motionless and thinking about things. I was up by 8, eager and dreadfully nervous at the same time.

Everything seemed to go wrong, but I made it to my 9 o'clock final, 5 minutes early. Matty and I bantered a bit, did the damn thing and busted out. I went around campus to return books and leave a few notes to some VIPs, and was off to pack my final bags into the car.

There are some moments that should be kept to the people I had them with. They will always be cherished and they will always mean the world. Always.

But one moment was unexpected, unexplainable and still rattles me.

I was at the light that turns into campus, in the left lane. The bus always rides on the right, waiting for the light to turn so it could swing into campus for the lucky bastards who had a 1pm final. I was creeping up next to the bus, craning my neck up and out the passenger window when I saw the waving hand. It was Jim's. And there was his smiling, sunglassed face, with the same defined look of pure happiness that I won't ever forget.

And then it hit me.

I am sad to leave the place, but most importantly the people. The moments. The professors who passed me based on my efforts and not my tests. The awkwardly cute freshman boy who would always hold the door. The people who I met at orientation- who still said hello and knew my name. The people like Jim who made it all worth my while.

I will miss you.

It's an unexplainable feeling. I am being selfish, but I need to be. I want so badly to do this for myself, but there are so many good things that have brought me to this point. I loved and hated all the hugs. I loathed the words "I'm never going to see you again." I am not dead. I am not sick. I am making a change and it has consequences. It has new rules. It is a new game and I must play it accordingly- with 100% of myself.

So here's to the hugs. The handshakes. The tears that streamed down as I shut the door behind so many of you, slumping against the wall and maintaining the silence.

I carry your hearts with me, I carry them in my heart.

6.5 Billion

11. I got ELEVEN days left in Vermont, and it's just hitting me. There's so much to do, so much to avoid, and so much to pack! So much to absorb. Whether it's moments or drinks with friends, here's to surviving.

I still have pretty mixed emotions about the event. There are people here that mean the world to me, people who make me laugh on a daily basis, people who pick me up when I fall off of chairs, hide my lul-moments at the Halloween dance, people who push me into randos at parties I don't want to be at. There's people who physically eat my homework, and people who stick Steven's Pass stickers all over my shit. People I go on plutonic dates with, people I survive early morning classes with. These are my people.

And I'm leaving them.

Sure there are new people to call my friends, and people I have yet to meet, a whole nother 6.5Billion or something if we want to get specific. And I won't know anything about them until I get out and try to meet them.

Regardless, the people on the EC are unlike any other. We're tough, we have to be. We have to have faith in the uncertain.The snow forecast. The Red Sox. The morning commute. We never know when the good will come, but we hold true to the moment when it will.

I never thought of myself as the type who would leave the East. I thought it'd be my place. Ski in the winter, beach in the summer. Sure the West has those things too-- it's just different.

There isn't even a Dunkin' Donuts in Utah.

Call me crazy. I think I might be.

ain't too frustrated.