The Art of Texting

I have never been a big fan of texting.
When I was younger and texting first started becoming more popular, I hated it because I didn't have people to text. As I got a little older I thought it was boring. Then I was just too lazy to type out everything I wanted to say. Now I hate texting for the simple reason that it will never be good as a real life conversation. Texting doesn't truly convey my meaning or personality. For example, in real life I can get away with saying dark, sarcastic stuff, because I do it with a laugh. I come across as bitchy during a text conversation.
I think I've become a little better about texting, mostly by becoming more self-aware. Recently I was seeing this guy who really loved carrying on long, meaningful conversations over text. I have learned how to text my peers, using the right emojis and the correct lingo. But I am always nervous to text someone new, especially if I don't know them well.

Emma and I on the town this week!

I am especially worried about this now. This week I have sent in New Jersey and last night I went out to hit the bars in Philadelphia. While at a bar called the Tattooed Mom, I met this guy and we just really hit it off. To be honest, we hit it off so well that if we lived in the same state... nevermind, let's focus on reality. The point is we don't. And so if this friendship will continue in any capacity, it is going to have to be through the use of 21st century technology. And since it's 2018 and not 2000, it's going to start with online messaging, not a call.
Since he reached out to me first by adding me on Facebook, I feel that it is my turn to reciprocate by messaging him first. However, there are several factors that I am extremely worried about:
1. While we hit it off, and I honestly know a lot about him, I don't know him well enough to feel like I know exactly what and how to text him. This one if pretty minor since I have this problem with everyone.
2. The only way we would ever see each other again is if we so incredibly hit it off via text that we agree to meet up. Other than that, there is no chance we're just going to run into each other. Therefore, if I mess it up over text, there's no easy way to make up for it in person. Refer back to my come off as a bitch over text, even though I have a pretty cute personality in real life if I do say so myself.
3. There's a pretty significant age difference. What if guys his age hate emojis and I use too many? Will he see me as juvenile and just decide it's easier to forget about me?
I don't know why this feels so important, but it does. Here is just the perfect example of when a technological advancement that should be making my life easier just stresses me out all the more.

Coming to a Conclusion

This week is Dead Week at the University of Oklahoma. In other parts of the country, this week before finals is often marked by having classes cancelled and students studying furiously for finals in the library. Not so here. At this institution of higher learning on the prairie, students are expected to go to class, be turning in final papers and large assignments, while also studying for and dreading finals week.
We continue to call it Dead Week, even though campus is not "dead" from the lack of students the way it is at other universities. I think it's because every student here is mentally done. Campus is filled with zombies chugging coffee and popping adderall.
However, for Jillian, this is a pretty chill week. Out of my 18 hours of courses, 9 are finished. Either they are online and I have reached the minimum points to receive an A, or it is a class without a final and only asked for a paper which I already turned in. For my other 3 courses I have, I have one professor who teaches 2 of them and he cancelled class this week. Praise be! The third is a pretty chill, easy class for me. I don't have any more projects, and only need to prepare for exams which I am not worried about.
I honestly don't know where the semester went. it seems like yesterday I was looking forward to my classes and living with my best friend. Now I am approaching the official half way point of my senior year. So many things accomplished, enjoyed, and experienced. So many things I wanted to do, but did not.

Me blazing through this Dead Week without a care in the world.

This week I am sending out all my positive vibes to those who have a less forgiving Dead Week. While others frantically write final papers, I am calmly reflecting on my semester and planning for the future. It's a strange feeling being so relaxed at this time of the year, but you definitely
won't hear me complain!

Romanticism

"We are... disappointed romantics, scraping the hearts from our sleeves." -Passenger

     This past Monday I had my first counseling appointment of the semester. We talked about a lot during this session, but I got very annoyed that my counselor seemed fixated on discussing my romantic life. Normally I would talk about how I have nothing to share. I told him how I am sort of seeing someone, but it's very casual. I wanted to move on. Talk about something else. He didn't.
     Part of me didn't want to talk about it because I felt like we could be talking about something more important and pressing. The more I think about it, he might have been onto something. Because while one part of me said, "Let's not talk about it because it's not a big deal." the other part of me was screaming, "Let's not talk about it because it's not a big deal even though I want it to be."
     I had this realization when driving to school today and I was listening to Passenger's song, Fairytales & Firesides. I have always loved and related to this song. However he came to the line where he says, "We are coffee house cynics too righteous, too rigid to believe. Disappointed romantics, scraping the hearts from our sleeves." And I had to rewind it and listen again. I've heard that line hundreds of times. But this morning it particularly spoke to me.

     Today's culture praises people who can keep their emotions in check. It praises people who can go out with others, hookup, and not "catch feelings". People walk around saying "I don't want anything serious" as if wanting something serious is wrong. But what is serious? And what is the opposite of serious?
     I told myself I didn't want anything serious. I told myself I just want to have fun. But that's not me. I have watched too many Disney movies, read too much Victor Hugo, and recited too many Shakespearean sonnets. I ache for beautiful love. To love and be loved in return. "Just having fun" isn't fun for me. It gives me anxiety. It makes me fidgety for something better. It makes me want to kick that "fun" person to the side, or hold on too tight. But hanging on loosely by a thread, reeling him in every once in a while, that's not fun for me. It may be fun for others, but I must accept that that's not me.
     I don't want anything serious. I'm not looking to commit for long term. I'm not trying to get married in the next  years. I don't know where I'll be living in the next few years.
     But I want something serious. I want to have meaningful conversations. I want to have a love that makes me happy. I want someone to go to sleep thinking about me. I want to have someone I can call when I don't want to be alone. Someone who is more than a friend. Someone who gives me more than benefits.
     I don't know if I am in the wrong time or place for this. Maybe I'm too young or I'm dating people who are to young to think like this. But I must accept who I am and what I want, or I'll end up stuck in what I don't want.

A Blank Page

     Many say what an author fears the most is a blank page. The daunting task of filling it with words clutches their creativity, holding their talent hostage.
     I have the opposite problem. I have so many ideas, so many threads that need to be sewn into something beautiful. So one might wonder where the problem could possibly be.
     The fear of ruining what was once perfect. A blank page, free of blemishes, is so much more than what it may appear to be. It is untarnished hope. Hope that someone could fill its page with beautiful prose, poetry, plans, or any other wonderful things we can do with this gift of written language.
     What if someone better than me was meant to use that page? I'm not worthy. What if I write a terrible story, or I have a story, but lack the prose skills? Was the page not better off left blank?
     But I woke up one Saturday and went to staples. I checked my bank account to ensure I had the $4.86 necessary to buy the notebook I had singled out from the hundred others. I took it home, and it sat in my desk for months. When this night came, and I had the urge to write, I reached for the forest green notebook with large, beautiful, college-ruled pages. I stared at the page, wanting to write, but not wanting to tarnish its pure beauty with anything unworthy.
     So I wrote about the page itself. If it finds this writing vulgar, at least it will know I acted with the best of intentions. And while I mourn the loss of a perfect piece of paper, I do not regret that I poured a piece of myself onto a page, rather than sit in silence, thinking those thoughts which have plagued my mind these last few months.
     And as I come to the bottom of the page, I must thank it for being my sanctuary for the last 10 minutes or so. Between your lines I found solace and peace, though fleeting, never unappreciated.

The aforementioned page.