I was tired of that same old same, so I chased down my fifteen of fame, and I kissed goodbye to the boy that I called home. Then I changed in ways I can't express, I forgot that boy I loved the best was keeping me from feeling so alone. So I picked up that rug and swept it clean. Now I'm only saying what I mean, and I'm telling him that I'm sorry for my wrongs. And the moment that I see his face, I'll know if this is still my place or if I've been away for far too long. So you can have your Copenhagen, Odense's nice but I can't stay. Send my love to Czech Republic, but it's just too far away. I am headed for my love, I've gotta go. I am headed for my home in Ohio.

Today is a good day. I am sitting here enjoying the last class of the quarter, my last class at OU until 2010. It will be the last time I sit wedged between Lauren Miller and Lauren Yusko. They are graduating next week. I just said the word “last” three times within those first few sentences. But that is certainly not anything new for me. I’ve been experiencing a lot of “lasts” lately, especially since I will not be at OU next fall or spring. I tried to make a list of things that I would miss about OU. I thought I could list at least twenty, but I couldn’t think of a single thing outside the people and organizations I am a part of. It’s amazing that these things define my college experience, which I hold to be the best experience of my life. Honestly, it’s heartbreaking. My apartment has become my home, this town has become my haven, and my friends have become my family. The numerous cards I’ve gotten from everyone this week sit proudly on my desk. I read them habitually and I’m brought to tears every time. I’ve always excelled at school, but what about the rest of the world? Will all of my efforts and successes translate? I’m starting to doubt it. My attempts to secure an internship have been futile, mostly because companies are now only offering internships to post-grads for minimal compensation. But, oh well. I’m taking it all one day at a time. Opportunities always seem to find me when I’m not seeking them.

I have, however, had a first. Yesterday I worked out for the first time in about a year. My calves are still sore as I sit here. But the feeling is so gratifying; I can see why people have a so-called “addiction” to exercise. If time weren’t such an obstacle, I would do it more often. I find myself doing little things when I can, and it seems to make a difference.

Fun fact of the day: The price of a Jane Fonda workout videocassette on the black market in Moscow is $370

I cannot wait for the summer to begin. It will be quite the relief to pay off all my debts and spend time with my favorite people. Woot.

The world is entirely too critical. I spend the better half of my days having to defend myself against the critics, so it seems. Whether I am defending the mechanics of a photograph, the merits of an advertising strategy, or even the condition of my nails, it seems like someone is always nitpicking. What a waste of energy. Do I really want to spend the rest of my days in a career where I will almost certainly always be on the defensive? Or is that the challenge? The thought has bothered me for days, especially considering my newfound awareness and sensitivity to criticism. What was once on the periphery is now in focus, and I just can't seem to get the salty opinions out of my head. The reasonable side of me says there will always be negativity regardless of my profession, that it's simply a matter of people justifying themselves to themselves. The more impulsive side of me has taken the lead and pushed me towards a quieter, more fulfilling life as a schoolteacher... or something of the sort. Consider this my quarter-life crisis. I might even be tempted to get a new car. But regardless, I have initiated a habit of saying three positive things to three different people each day and I am consciously trying to curb any flow of negativity.

Every week, I devote hours and hours to my photography assignments. And despite the fact that it is grueling work, you literally have to get down and dirty sometimes, it is ultimately a very rewarding outcome. I will admit that when I'm finished with a take, I can and do spend upwards to an hour gleaning over my photographs, excited about the critique. It has come to me that photography isn't so much about skill with the cameraor how to turn the knobs just right, it's about finding disorder within order, capturing irony, clenching that decisive moment. A photographer is only as good as the subject matter. Something has to strike a chord, and I'm very discriminatory. So, really, the tricky part of photography is maintaining extraordinary powers of observation. I enjoy the challenge.

Before I almost used to think there was something wrong. Everybody else seemed to have the brakes on. A scene in a movie, a voice, a phrase was not for them volcanic. I never feel the brakes. I overflow. But I'm bored. Two words that I say aloud time after time and day after day. I'm sure everyone has heard by now. Although there is never a moment in the day where I don't have a laundry list of things to do, I find myself annoyed with the predictability and routine I have acquired in the past year. I used to be so whimsical when I had free time, I would explore, volunteer, EXERCISE, etc. But now I am confined to the contents of a one-page, albeit crammed, resume. I need a break, to say the least, yet summer is not going to be any sort of reprieve. Fall cannot come soon enough.

106 days.

And, I just have to mention, I had the best weekend with this guy. VVV