Okay, enough ranting. So, I'm still at it with the job-hunting. Nothing yet. My highest prospects have yet to contact me (since they were like "we'll call you" and stuff), so I think it's time to take the initiative and contact them. What's the worst that could happen by disobeying their calling standard? They blow me to smithereens?
I guess that would be pretty bad. As for other news, there really isn't anything else to report to the general public except that I've needed to pee for the last hour and a half and I haven't gone yet. And that I finished my FAFSA (took me long enough), and that I've yet to return a couple of phone calls to siblings who have called me this weekend. As you may know by now, my weekends get pretty full pretty fast. There are probably a few precious waking hours that I have to myself on weekends, and I guess I should text/call you guys then and hope for the best.
I guess I can share a couple of childhood memories with you all. I've been thinking heavily about the past twenty years of my life and some random memories have been uprooted in the process. And why not share them, just for fun? I have nothing else to report.
I remember softball games as a girl. The exhilaration as I put on my uniform and shoes and my hat and driving to Cosmo park to play whatever team was lined up. I was always so nervous to bat, afraid of disappointing my team and my parents. But I loved the feeling of being in the outfield, scuffing my shoes against the dirt, pounding my little fist in the glove, and squinting towards the batter, urging that ball to come towards me, daring it to escape my grasp. The thing I looked forward to most, funny enough, was not winning, but the refreshments afterwards. No matter if you won or lost, there was always a cooler of Sunny D or Capri Sun and some sort of snack like granola bars waiting for you. I'd put my drink and snack in my glove and walk with my parents back to the car, pleased as ever, talking about the different plays and what I did well or didn't do well.
I am so grateful that my parents let me do as many things I as I wanted while I grew up. I dabbled in many sports: softball, basketball, track, tennis, and fencing. I also did dance classes, theater, voice-lessons/choir, band, orchestra, many different things. Hardly any of them stuck for very long, but I have many fantastic memories of going on band trips, getting lost when we first went to my fencing class, my love/hate relationship with the violin, getting head-shots for my "acting" career, and (as seen above) my short-lived future of being a sports star, whether in softball or basketball.
I particularly remember being so excited to play basketball on my Friday evenings at the elementary school. That was when my city team practiced, and we were easily the best team around. Every year, our team would win within our age group and I'd bring home a shiny metal donning the "1st place" lettering, proud as a peacock (are they even proud?). We would have these random competitions within the team to see who was the best three-point shooter. And, most often than not, I was the winner. I remember winning a glow in the dark basketball that really didn't dribble well, but it was cool and I WON it with my sharp-shooting. My coaches were parents of one of my classmates and they treated me like their own daughter. I remember they couldn't pronounce my name well, so as a nickname they called me Kris. I didn't mind. It's a nickname that I don't use anymore since it's the inappropriate shortening of my name.
So many fond memories of my childhood. So many I don't even remember until something sparks up a thought. It's amazing how twenty years feels like no time but a lot of time all in one. And I have a long way to go before my life is complete.
I should be a philosophy major. I feel like I'm taking really simple concepts and making them into something complex (which I am). Anyways, that's all for now.