So, I’m currently sitting in the lobby of an automotive
repair shop waiting on an oil change. I
know, I know, I really do need to
tone down the excitement in my life, but speaking of life—it’s getting pretty
real.
Time is practically sprinting by as per usual, but you know
what? You really gotta give it to him—if
there’s one thing you can learn from time, it’s that he’s a persistent and dedicated
little bugger. He’s got the endurance of
a marathoner and the can’t-stop-won’t-stop attitude of a post-Liam-Miley. It’s rather impressive, really, but I guess
this is neither a new nor exciting revelation by any means. In fact, it’s as old as they come—but it hits
hard and mercilessly each and every time a goodbye is set to rear its fat, ugly
head around the corner.
In complete and total honesty, I have absolutely no idea
where this post is headed. And you know
what? When I think about it, and even
when I don’t, I could say the same about my life. But, in a strange, sick, and stupid way, I’m
not pulling my hair out with worry. I
probably should be—I’m a broke and unemployed soon-to-be graduate with
unrealistic optimism about life outside these gothic walls. I believe that things work out as they
should. I have faith in lady luck,
knowing that she’ll be a lady tonight, tomorrow night, as well as the next. I’m hopeful that chance is chipper, and that
fate is fun. What’s meant to be will
happen, and what happens is usually nothing less than great, and if it’s not,
then there’s quite a bit of happening yet to happen. Love is good.
Life is great, and the combination of the two—loving life, well, that’s inevitable. You could say that I have a very warped idea
of the world and how it works, which is why you may be wondering how my whole
head of hair is still intact. Why,
Kimberly, have you not already tugged your hair out, strand by strand?
Well, I’ve thought about it, but not for too long, partly
because one, I actually like my hair, and I’m not too sure how I’d feel about
bald spots, and two, because there isn’t the time. There really isn’t. As of today, I’m down to one week. Did you get that?! I would repeat it, but the thought is too
heartbreaking to even be thunk-ed again.
One week—in other words, 7 days—in other words, 168 hours—in other
words… there really isn’t the time to be bogged down by the fears and funnies
of the future when my pea-sized mind is too preoccupied with the fun and
feelings of the present.
It’s a funny thing really, change. I mean I’d always known it to be constant, and
in a strange way, I guess I’d always found that consistency somewhat comforting. Change, like a deliciously spiced, patted,
and rubbed pork butt thrown into a slow-cooker, has always been a gradual
process, and the results a good amount of tick tocks later have always been
better than you or I could have imagined or expected—tender, satisfying, sweet,
and delicious. Slow and gradual, change
is a delicious thing. Unexpected change,
on the other hand, is anything but.
As sudden as spilled milk and burnt toast, unexpected change
may be up there on the list of horrible things, wedged nice and tight in
between “postponed trips to Disneyland” and “hunger”. And the worst part may be the knowing—the
expecting. In a sick way, it’s like one
of those horrible mazes at Knott’s Scary Farm.
You know, the ones filled with all them twists and turns…the ones where
you know a stupid monster-beast-ghoul-creature is lurking around each and every
corner ready to scare you stupid, yet no matter how well you prepare yourself—no
matter how much you puff your chest, narrow your eyes, and strut your shtuff,
you just know that the stupid monster-beast-ghoul-creature is going to do
it. He’ll scare you straight stupid, and
even more so than had you been caught off-guard. It’s the knowing and the expecting that does
it. How twisted is that…in preparing
yourself for the worst, the worst somehow manages to get even worse.
And so, to successfully prepare myself for the worse-than-worst,
I simply won’t. I’ll lock my pea-sized
mind up in the present to properly remember and reminisce on the past. I have 1 week—7 days—168 hours to live in
denial. With goodbye’s ugly head turning
the corner any second now, I’ll simply refuse to look. I’ll turn around and head the other way. I’ll retrace my steps. I’ll take a quick walk down 4 year’s worth of
memory lane to remember the things I never want to forget, and then when the
time comes, I’ll turn around. I’ll let goodbye
catch me off guard. I’ll let him scare
me, but scare me stupid? He won’t.
With that being said, now having turned around, where should/would/could
I even begin? I honestly can’t even
remember what happened a week ago from today, let alone even begin attempting
to remember the past four years. If you
haven’t tried it, let me tell you, it’s incredibly daunting—how do I even begin
to tackle four years’ worth of experiences?
Four years of stories? Four years
of shenanigans? To keep the expectations
low, I’ll just say it. I can’t. This isn’t and this won't live up to anything
you’d expect, simply because it can’t.
These past four years have been an absolute dream—an epic adventure, and
trying to explain it—trying to get it down on paper would be like trying to
explain the color yellow to someone who hasn’t been blessed with sight. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never do
it justice, which absolutely sucks, because if anyone or anything deserves
justice, you know it’s the color yellow.
Despite that fact, however, despite the fact that I won’t ever do yellow
justice—despite the fact that I may not be able to accurately relay how much
these past four years have shaped, changed, molded, and meant to me, doesn’t
mean that I won’t. I have 1 week—7
days—168 hours left to give it the good old college try, and you can bet that I
will, starting with my time in Peru. Here's to my attempt at yellow.
To keep it short. To keep it sweet, and to keep it stupidly simple, I'll let the pictures do the talking.
It was a beautiful trip full of beautiful people and experiences!
Just a fair warning, with the onset of graduation, come to expect a fair amount of emotional-feelsy posts to flood this blog. Within a week, you'll be wishing that I kept it stupidly simple with pictures rather than thoughts and emotions....but until then...
Kimmy
