I am very ready to go to California. Logistically ready, no. Tons of packing, money issues, book apprehension, ect...Otherwise - just put me on a plane.

But every once in a while, it still hits me hard. It still makes it hard to sleep, sometimes, whether or not I attribute my inability to lie down to the anticipated change. Such is life, however, and I really am looking forward to it. I'm just going to miss out on so much here. I'm not going to be able to be a part of people's lives as I have for the past year. I do not belong to this group anymore, at least not in an every day sense. That takes some getting used to. It's lame though, because my transition still doesn't seem half as bad as most.

I had a scare, though, about going. Some financial things weren't working out at the end of last week, and it almost looked as if I wouldn't be able to go to LA next semester. The thought of staying scared me more than the thought of leaving.

In short, I'm still going to LA. Two weeks from this moment, I will be in California. And I will love it.

Does Bernan Syndrome count for movie quote addictions?

"Then I saw her face - dun dun dun dun - now I'm a believer."

You people have no idea what's coming. Yay for Monday nights.

Last night I zonked out at 8:30, my sleep only interrupted by a phone call at 9 and at 11...something about unloading trucks and the person on the other end laughing at me...I have no idea what I said that was so funny. It was a good thing that I fell asleep though, because I had to leave the house before 6 this morning. I left when it was dark, and I think I won't come back until after dark. Interesting.

I'm in one of those moods right now where, if you were sitting next to me, I would be talking your ear off about all the happenings of the past 24 hours, the next 24 hours, and the two lines from Hellboy that I can quote. I'm in such a weird mood.

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3...Oh, and I'm waltzing in my head.

I catch up on sleep just to watch it run away again.

I want something profound.

I want to write some story that weaves in everything that I've learned for the past three years, leaving my audience to ponder for days. I want clever, witty, and deep. I want a perfectly crafted point that is vague enough to make everyone think, and clear enough that everyone gets it. I want to challenge the mind and create a struggle that presents a new level of understanding. I want that understanding to be renewed and seen in a deeper way at each telling of the story. I want that understanding to change the way people think.

But I got nothin'. Except for the line from Hellboy II: "You're in love. Have a beer." Only I'm not in love. And I don't have any alcohol. I don't even like beer. Or being in love...Wait, I lied. But my version of love would not involve beer.

How's that for profound?

"Stumble till you crawl, slipping into sweet uncertainty..." -Jimmy Eat World, Sweetness

Been kind of stuck on that song lately. No idea why. It's pretty old school, and all I own is a live version. I hate live versions of songs. But I am constantly listening to it in the car. Bernan Syndrome - it's our diagnosis for song addictions. Definitly have the symptoms, at least when I'm driving. And I almost always speed when I'm listening to that song...

On leaving ...I'm out in two and a half weeks. I used to wish for more time. There a song that goes, "If I could find another thirty minutes somewhere, I'm sure everything would find me." I feel like I spent the past few months looking for ways to find my extra "thirty minutes" here, with these people. I don't look for that anymore. I'm ready to go. I'm tired of preparation and goodbyes. I'm tired of anticipated change. It just needs to come. And I'm totally stoked.

Change is already here. It used to hurt to watch it all, but the more you try to hold on to something while it's drifting away, the more you miss what's drifting in. It feels good to just let life happen instead of worrying about things like that. I'm very much excited for my friends, too. I'm excited for those leaving and getting into the "experience of a lifetime" situations. I'm excited for the friendships and activities developing for those staying at here...Sometimes, with all the new relationships and the new things that are developing in the Columbia scene, I'm sad that I'm not staying to participate. Maybe, a more accurate description is that my insides kind of get panicky..."well, why can't I be involved in this?..and how come they get to do that?..and why the heck am I leaving...??" That's a dumb question. I know exactly why I'm leaving. Plus, most of these people are older than me, out of college by at least a couple years. I will have my turn to be 23, 25, 27 years old. I will have my own post-college life. Odds are, not here, not with them, and that's ok.

Right now, I'm 21. I'm still in school. And I'm going to California.


Bring it on.

Thinking about....

-how you meet cool people in the wierdest places.

-how, when you spend an extended amount of time with someone, you pick up some of their habits (facial expressions, ect), that still linger years later.

-how I haven't been this focused doing daily tasks since I worked on Remedy...the first time.

-how I have failed miserably at getting people copies of Remedy and am now adding it to my list of things to do in the next two and half weeks...

-how I'm ready to be in California, one way or the other.

-why I'm so jittery these days...?

-your mom. That's right. I said it.

"These seven souls have had a long history." -Garrick, during our version of a "group hug."

I was 17 or 18 when I met most of the guys. Maybe younger than that when Thad came into the picture. We've all been fairly involved in each other's lives for years, and at crucial points.

Garrick was about my best friend in the world for a few months after Josh and I broke up my freshman year of college. Garrick and I were together all the time, and it pretty much saved my sanity. He was a good friend to both parties of the break up, and, at least on my end, handled it well. There's always the time we all went camping...in January...in a tornado warning...two weekends in a row. It's probably one of my favorite stories to tell. I think I'll soon be posting some of the pictures on Facebook from that trip, by request.

Phil and I go way back. He lived with my brothers for six months or so when we were all in high school (wow - saying that makes me feel old). Being my wonderful, change-resistant self, I didn't like him very much at first. Three months later we were great friends. I don't know how it happened, but suddenly there was hackey sack and guitars and band practice, and I don't know what I would have done without Philip Gibson. We aren't near as close as we used to be, but I would go home and we would take long car rides and talk forever.

Thad, I wasn't too fond of, either, when I first met him. (I think my relationship with most of the guys started that way...) I always remember one time he was wearing a hat, I grabbed it off of his head, and a joint fell out. It got lost in Martin's yard and we made him find it so that the parents wouldn't freak out. Good times. The last summer I was home, I hung out with Thad about every other day. Another sanity saver for the college girl who could only find an 8-hour-a-week job.

Ben didn't talk to me for the longest time. He's just not the talkative type, unless he knows you really well. But one night at band practice, he asked me how I liked the music. I was so excited that he was actually speaking to me, and I'm pretty sure our friendship started about then. Now, when we get bored at work, we text each other and theorize about more entertaining ways to make a living. Our lastest: "FUNderwear: because it's better than naked."

There was definitely a history in the room yesterday afternoon, between Garrick, Ben, Phil, Martin, Thad, Liz and me. It was an odd feeling, though, because it had been a year, if not two, since we were all in the same room together. I am always afraid in those situations because I've changed and so have they. I suppose, though, change is needed. And yet, that doesn't change a lot of things.

I am sick of getting ready to leave.

Pack. Drive. Pack. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. "Breanne, will you go through these boxes?" "Here's the plan for the next month....no, wait, I changed it..." "When am I going to see you before you go?" More goodbyes. Homework. "Aw, honey, you're going to California..." And more guilt trip. "It's costing an awful lot of money." "Make sure you go see so-and-so before you leave, even though you haven't talked to them since you started college." More goodbyes. Big hole in heart. Organize. "Do these go in the attic or in the yard sale?" Anticipation. Anticipation. "Stop slamming that door."

I'm having a hard time keeping my aggravation under control on my last weekend at home. It didn't help that the second we were all in the room together after I walked in, my parents started spurting at each other about their plans to come to California a week after we go. If you get the adults involved, they always make it complicated. I shouldn't have agreed to their travel plans in the first place.

It's time to go.

"Breanne, if you EVER give up on ANYTHING that easily again..." --Nathan, last summer, in response to one of my many frustrations.

Decidedly, you can not drive a manual vehicle like you've been driving it for five years...on your third try. And maybe, if you're me, not even your fifteenth try. Some people weren't made to drive manual vehicles. Maybe I wasn't. And that's ok. I'll settle for the automatic, or at least the fact that I'll probably make a lot of mistakes driving stickshift for a long time. And that's ok, too.




Catch the life lesson there? It's a big one.