You're something like a phenomenon...

Alright... I've been composing an entry about those things for which I give thanks for a couple of weeks. It's largely stored in my head, but the thing is, there are so many things I'm thankful for: so many of them are obvious, and so many of them have much more meaning invested in them than is readily apparent.

There's no way to just write one of those exhausting (but by no means exhaustive) lists of "things I'm thankful for." It was a lot easier in elementary school when all anyone really expected was for everyone to say "mommy and daddy, my dog, my cat, my brother, and uncle stan," in some combination or another.

It's wierd, but it was an email from Marcus that made me start thinking about all this. Marcus edits the yearbook and he sent me an email with all these questions about what it's like to live off-campus. Hold that thought.

Now, in case you don't know, I'm HEAVILY prone to nostalgia. I LOVED highschool, and I think about how much freedom I had back them with a little bit (sometimes a lot) of feelings of... erosion... every now and then. All I did in highschool was paint, collect music, watch movies, write poems, act, staple things to my wall, draw, and run around in my panties with by two best friends. I didn't do my school work because it was so easy I didn't care. I ditched class every single day and passed with A's and B's. I somehow managed to balance my desire to be subversive (I was CONSTANTLY in detention or playing 'good cop/bad cop' in the pricipal's office with Trina–sorry Mr. Beard) with my need to feel like I was filling the world up with art and aquiring an other-worldly sort of knowledge. They couldn't hate me for ditching class and yelling at the teachers I thought were "ignorant" (sorry Mr. um... Interim Math Teacher?). I was in student government, I edited the Newspaper, I volunteered to tutor at the middle school, I went to every sporting event, I kept my boyfriend out of trouble.

In short, my highschool was the perfect environment for me because it gave me the time and the reason (however small and insignificant) to get passionate.

So this email from Marcus got me started thinking. Some mornings I wake up in my house and feel this remarkable feeling that this is the LAST place on earth that I belong. I haven't writen a poem since I was in France... I draw only when my headaches are too bad to do anything else. I never paint. BUT... BUT.

But people give me money to read books all day, to live in a house with great friends, to have dinner parties and sleep until noon if I want to. If I ever feel opressed by the amount of responsibility I have, I chose all that myself. And that choice is a luxury.

All the luxury of choice is what I'm thankful for. I had the choice to move into this beautiful house that overlooks my college, where I can learn whatever I want, where I am even free to disagree with what I'm told as long as I can produce evidence. I eat ramen only as an afterthought. If I run out money to pay my (luxurious cell phone and cable) bills, there are more loans available to me.

I may not have a car, but if I have an emergency, Tim won't be fired for leaving his job to take care of me. The hardest decision I make everyday is which t-shirt out of my collection of hundreds to wear. Oh. Oh the pain.

So if I don't have time to paint, draw, or lay around and think about the existencial crisis that much, it's my choice to be that way. I trade that for good grades and taking the time to learn the things my professors try to force-feed us everyday, despite our resistance.

And I live with Tim in a house with lots of windows, where people stop by everyday, and the porch swing is sometimes in the sun. That is a luxury, if anything.