" You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." ~Ray Bradbury. Part 2 of 5.

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Let's start from the beginning, that's a logical place to start, right?

I'm going to divide this up into weeks, although I'll start with that last Thursday and go through to the Monday after my second return home. Then I'll just have that week on its own and this week in one of its own, and a wrap up section. Ok? Ok.

Thursday, September 23 is the day I left off. That next day I had a test in my Shakespeare class (which went really well, which I guessed at the time, but later found out I had actually made 100!) and my Aggie Cinema interview. Which was...weird. Really weird. Like, sitting with a bunch of the managers literally in a circle around me. Can you say...INTIMIDATING? Because I can.

But, all's well, my dad picked me up on Saturday and we headed home to the farm...that was a lovely weekend at home. I didn't really get to spend much fun time with my parents, since all of us were sick, but we watched some movies, I petted my cat Tamu who I have had, no joke, since my birthday in 1994. He was born on my birthday, and he is 16 years old. I love him love him love him, and I have missed him so much in being off at the school he is named for. My mom and I played Scrabble, I got homesick, we had a garage sale, I slept a lot. It was an interesting weekend.

My parents brought me back on Monday morning. I actually missed my first class because we were driving. I unloaded, and got unpacked, and everything seemed ok. We watched Jon Stewart clips in my Poli Sci class. My Shakespeare grades came out. I spent a lot of time that week skyping my high school friends. I was so excited to go home and see my old haunts, to go back and see everyone, that the week passed in an absolute blur. I know one day that I was down one of my best friends sent me a video of himself singing "Sweet Transvestite" from Rocky Horror to cheer me up, which tells you something about my friends, and about me. I just wanted to be done. All I could think about was going home.

I did do a few things. I went to a town hall style meeting for APO (Alpha Psi Omega, the theatre fraternity, which I wince even saying but am joining in spite of it...). I also took the plunge and went to do a skills check at the Rec, where I was reintroduced to the lovely sport of rock climbing. Which went very well! Until I got my hand caught in the brake and it took all the skin off the web of my right hand. Scab's still there. It wasn't as bad as some wounds I've taken (drill bit in the finger, helloooo?) but it was ugly, and I hated looking like an idiot. I'm going back, though...I just need a climbing partner. So one of these days. I'm not bailing, I swear.

Honestly, though, most of what I remember from that week was...being excited about going home. So when it finally did come, Saturday morning when my dad picked me up on his way out of town, I was pumped. I was incredibly chatty on the way home, I know that. I stole a lot of my dad's music. I sang and danced and was generally excited. And we got there fairly early. Early enough that before I went to see the show, my best friend came and picked me up.

Now, my best friend in this world is a guy whose name will go unmentioned, but who must be described because it's just something you can't make up. My best friend dubbed himself my GBF our sophomore year of high school--short for "Gay Boyfriend". He critiques my clothes, my hair, my etiquette, my speech patterns, my taste in music, movies, and books, my taste in men (DEFINITELY my taste in men), and even the backgrounds on my computer. He is who I look to for advice and support for any reason, and in return I give him undying friendship and support, even when he (unintentionally) goes a bit too far with his critiquing. I am one of very few people who can endure his sharp tongue for very long, especially when it's turned on me, but his constant wit and criticisms are one of the most enjoyable things about him. I love him to death. I had not seen him since my parents moved out of the apartment we rented to get me through my senior year. Something like 4 months. We talk on Skype occasional. He's been the recipient of a few teary phone calls. He is, consistently, my lifeline.

He came to pick me up from my grandparents house. We had coffee. He took me to his dorm and showed me where he now lives, showing me his extremely stylish and tasteful accessories. He mocked me gently for my current background (which then read something like, "Boys are stupid. Throw things at them.") and complimented my boots, which is a damned big deal to me, since I think it's the first time he's had a POSITIVE comment about my wardrobe in our entire friendship. We talked. A lot. We weren't really out of touch--we'd talked on skype and on the phone, as I'd said--but it wasn't really the same. We facebook stalked a few people. He laughed at the guys I currently am crushing on (yes there are several, no I'm not revealing who they are...some things SHOULD still be private). We went back to Starbucks and met a friend of mine from theatre, who was going to the show with me.

This guy I have a...complicated...relationship with. He's a really good guy, I think, most times, but every so often he comes out with something that makes me not want to be in a room alone with him. I know he likes me, he always has, and I've never reciprocated (partly because of the not-wanting-to-be-in-a-room-alone-with-him thing). He is also one of few people that I trust implicitly with my secrets and my pains, and however much I may not want to be in a room alone with him, I often find myself (found myself, since this is another lifetime) comforted by him in a private setting when life got hard my senior year. I feel a very strange mix of comfort and unease around him, but I never want to lose touch with him. I think.

So, we all had coffee, which was nice. My bestie wrote love on my hand in Arabic, a language and script I am eternally fascinated with and really want to learn. And we went to see the dinner theatre at my old school, which was PHENOMENAL. And it didn't hurt that I walked in and my friends would put down what they were doing to run and hug me, and that one of my old directors pulled me backstage (much to the chagrin of some overzealous freshman who tried to throw me out, not realizing the hierarchy here) and then everyone ran over to hug me from the cast and crew. There's a picture of me on facebook somewhere being swamped by 3 members of the cast, throwing my laden hands into the air, one of the truest smiles on my face that I've had this year. No fear. Just happiness, just love. Love on my hands, and surrounded by it. There's times when I really miss high school.

The show was great. The girl with the lead is someone who I think of as a mix of best friend and sister. I feel the need to protect her, but we get along a lot better than most sisters. She's amazing and I miss her almost as much as I miss my bestie, which is a big deal, considering I've really only known her for a year--since the start of my senior year and her junior year. Sometimes I wish I'd graduated with her class, because I think we could have been best friends, and if we ever are in the same place again, I think we might still be.

Actually, thinking of that, there's several underclassmen from my high school days I adore. Mostly people from my senior year that I didn't get near enough time with, although one girl I've known since the 7th grade. I miss them a lot.

So, the show was adorable. And then me and a few of the other returnees went to the local frozen yogurt place and ate our hearts out. Mmmm. Pure Bliss, and my high school crowd, who I love and adore under every circumstance and even more when I haven't seen them in months? It was fantastic.

It was a great night. And I had plans the next day to be picked up by my Rocky Horror buddy to go to the Halloween store with him and my Kesha buddy, who, predictably, sings way too much Kesha. I love both of those guys very much, and I was looking forward to it. After I was going to go and see a community theatre production of School House Rock, a school I'd gone to for a few years before I got involved at my school.

None of that worked out. I woke up Sunday with a splitting headache and phlegm all up in my lungs. I could barely breathe, and I was hacking horribly. So my last day at home was spent sleeping and feeling like death. My dad got me home late Sunday, and I went up to my room and crashed.

I have written it out successfully, and it is 2:05 in the AM. My stomach is begging to be fed, and my eyes would like to have their contacts removed, and my head would like some sleep. So, that's where I'll leave you in my storytelling tonight...me sick, lonely, depressed, disappointed, missing high school like I hadn't yet this year, and wanting very much to be hugged. This is the point at which I entered Tim Miller's workshop, which will be the most important week in my life, I think, to date.

Until tomorrow, darlings.