Halfway through week two; it’s been three class days since I got lost on campus. I think that might be my greatest accomplishment so far.
I’m kind of reminded of when I was younger – preteen younger – when one of the ladies I’d adopted as a bonus mom would laugh and tell me how it was that my reactions to things were always extremes. I loved or I hated; there was no in between.
That’s kind of how it is now; I love or I hate everything I am experiencing. I love the atmosphere of my psych classes, and I hate the method my math reasoning professor uses to dominate his classroom. I love that I can feel my legs growing stronger from the two, three, four walks across campus each day, but I hate the feeling of sweat rolling between my shoulder blades and across my forehead from being out so long in the sun. I love the buildings built of glass and the reflections shifting across the surfaces, but I hate that it’s so easy to forget which twisting paths lead to which building, that it’s so easy to get turned around. I love the noise and the motion of the city, but I hate that I’m lost in the crowd.
There’s so much good, really. I’m really loving getting the hang of campus; I can’t wait until I get a minute to catch my breath and maybe get the hang of the city.
— and now it’s story time —
I’m filled with a little bit of rage right now. (What’s new, you ask!)
There’s an index card with seven bullet points on it, all issues with the apartment that need to be resolved. Four of the seven were supposed to be fixed the Wednesday of the week we moved in. One of the seven, one of the more recently discovered problems, is potentially life threatening.
Our oven caught on fire last night.
In hindsight, it’s funny remembering Tasia open the oven door (which doesn’t have a window, so we had no idea what was happening until we fed the fire with oxygen). Her face when we saw the orange flames coming out was hilarious.
But only in hindsight.
It took all three of us — actually, that’s a lie. Kat came in and grabbed the fire extinguisher, but we didn’t really need it ’cause the fire went out after a minute. So we opened the doors and plugged our ears to the shrill beeping of the smoke detector,
which is seriously sensitive; it went off a little while ago when I used the toaster.
That was when I got angry and stomped — yes, I stomped like a child — to the office and told them what needed to be fixed, at least what I could remember off the top of my head. I made the full list when I walked back in, crying on the phone to my mom.
That’s really all I have to say about the apartment, really. I’m waiting on the maintenance guys. I’m going to tell them what needs to be fixed and watch as they fix it.
I’m going to blog about professors and classes at a later date this week (i’m really excited about both; it’s going to be fun to write about) — I have some homework to do and the kitchen needs to be cleaned.