it's a night of reflection

About Miss Utah, last year's trip with mi papa (duh, yo hablo espanol now) that was a dream come true (and as I peruse the pictures that I have (and I'm only in about 5 of them...), I'm heart sick for that time), how biting my writing used to be, just memories.

Cue Eye Roll. You're all doing it, right? Here comes Jen with yet another post grounded in nostalgia. But I am who I am, I can't escape certain parts of my personality, and I feel the most inspired when I look back. It's why I truly believe that aside from being a critic, I am meant to write memoirs. My fiction is pretty miserable, my day dreaming doesn't translate into fiction all that well, and I'm certainly not about to start writing biographies of random individuals, unless your name is Zachary Quinto (Or James McAvoy, or Henry Cavill, or Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, you get the idea) and I get to hang out with you at parties. Then I'm game.

I digress.

Although, this blog of reflection has no real purpose, no real thesis, no real direction, so you'll just have to roll with it.

It's been a tough week. Language classes move much more quickly during spring term, I'm learning far too much vocabulary, and chances are most of it is going in one ear and out the other, or becoming completely lost in the far recesses of my brain. 8 am class every single day sucks. Not knowing exactly where you're going to be in a year, or two, or three, is extraordinarily frustrating for my OCD personality. The past few nights I've found myself crying over silly things I watch on TV, or read in books. There are so many questions. There are so many questions people won't stop asking. There are so many questions that I cannot answer. (No, I do not want you calling me to see if I'm okay, that's exactly what's pushing me towards nail removal)

But to step into the Richards Building, whether it's to put on a pair of ballet shoes, or my Freeds, or my standard heels, and to place myself in the mental state that is required to succeed, well, the difficulty I am facing is smoothed over. Even if it's just for a couple of hours. At least I have some place to escape to. I would so much rather face the frustration of not being perfectly balanced in arabesque, or not being able to bevel over my shoe in echappe fourth as well as I would like, or even staring at my imperfect body in those all-too revealing leotards and tights, than to face the frustrations that I am currently plagued with.

However, I'd give anything to be back in Rome, again.

{borghese gardens. I'm defacing some old pillar. and we were so scared that some weird pillar saving nazi was going to swoop down and cut off my limbs, we went too fast for a good quality photo. but my dad and I took Rome and its pillars by storm.  and as a small matter of pride: No, my attitude position does not look like this.  this is purposefully incorrect positioning.  it's art, dude.}