Room 402

Tonight is my last sleepover with my roommate in Wilkins Hall, Room 402. We have spent the last 9-months eating together, sleeping across from each other, studying together, and so much more. I am trying so hard to not start crying writing this because I am so not ready to say goodbye to this place or the memories we made here.

You always hear roommate horror stories that terrify you in advance of leaving for college. It’s true, you cannot truly know someone by reading their Facebook bio and creeping on all of their Facebook photos. You really can’t know anyone until you meet them, and even then, you don’t know someone with complete certainty. Even people I thought I knew best ended up becoming someone entirely different.

This year has taught me one important thing: you don’t know anyone until you live beside them. I have only ever been used to living with my family, and my roommate is the first person I have lived with outside of them. This was the first time I ever lived without my family, and the first time I moved into a “new home” in 18-years.

Much like my own family, my roommate knows me best. I didn’t think that anyone could know me as closely as my own mother; I was wrong. I didn’t think that you could find your forever best friend in 9-months. Once again, I was wrong. This place, as much as I’ll miss it, means nothing without the person I shared it with.

My roommate was what made this place home. It wasn’t the decorations or the fact that we paid to live there; it was that SHE was always here. When she wasn’t, I didn’t want to be there. It’s sad that this summer I’m moving back “home” but missing the newest addition.


 

Although I will miss many parts of 402: the overwhelming heat, our couch, and the bathtub…

I will miss you more.

I’ll miss binge watching Blacklist, Bates Hotel, and Friends with you. I will miss our Monday and Tuesday designated Voice nights. I somehow will miss your spontaneous organization of the bathroom, and how you never tell me where you put my hairbrush. I will miss your sometimes obnoxious heavy breathing while you sleep. I’ll miss listening to some of your less than intelligent questions, and answers like Canada being a continent. I might even miss your stupid protein shakes and when you refuse to eat pizza with me. I’ll even miss the stupid elliptical you moved into our apartment and when you exercise as I binge eat dove chocolates.

I didn’t know that going into this that I’d find my partial twin, and future best friend. Thank you for responding to my Facebook chat, and believing in my fake bio claiming I was moderately clean. Thank you for being your emotional self and crying when hearing any sad story. Thank you for not being a complete hugger, and for sharing my same semi non-girly attitude. Thank you for telling me to not send that text.

Thank you for being sometimes too chill, and allowing me to mom you when you aren’t getting your shit together. Thank you for laughing at everything I say even though I’m not that funny. Thank you for bringing me home from the bars (most nights) and not killing me. Thank you for not getting mad at me after losing my key twice, and having to get the locks changed.. twice. Thank you for almost calling UMPD for me when you couldn’t find me. Thank you for throwing crackers back in my face when you’re under the influence and I try to feed you. Thank you for cleaning my dishes when I’m too lazy to get up and do it myself. Thank you for dealing with all of my relationships; literally all.

Thank you for basically being the best roommate a girl could ask for, and thank you for becoming a part of the place I call “home.” I know we are living together next year too, and probably the year after that, but I will always remember this year the most. You will always be my home away from home and I’m counting down the months until we share an actual home again.

Basically, I love you woman. Thank you for walking into my life; I promise, I’m never letting you walk out.

Here’s to room 402 and the best friendship its made. Room 608, here we come.

 

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back…again?

Since I haven’t blogged in months and my life has turned back into an uneventful, summer bliss I figured it was time to get back into the writing game.

Unlike sophomore year summer Emilee, junior year summer Emilee has a minimum amount of complaints about her life.

Life is good. Really good. Annoyingly good. Good enough to make me unable to write the things I used to, and process emotions the way I used to. I hate to say it, but I’ve become one of those people; a person who is annoyingly talking about the joys in her life.

My parents are great… in fact, greater than ever. We get along? I don’t know how that happened within the span of a year, but I’d like to think that my anxiety meds had a GREAT deal to do with it. Thank you Prozac, you’re the shit. Since we’re on the topic of prozac, my dog used to take it too. He died, but I’d like to think the pill made both of our lives much better. RIP Baxter, I miss you. You were also “the shit.”

My friends… now that’s a subject that seems to never drastically change throughout the years. A lot of work as usual, but luckily I have a boyfriend that gives me the power to avoid most of them 99.9 % of the time. If I could redo anything starting from the beginning of my freshman year, I would choose befriending on close manners MORE than 5 females.

The thing that’s wrong with befriending ONLY 5 females is, they also only befriend 5 females. Therefore, you have the same friends. All the time. No breaks. With more and more and more shit piling between you over the many years. And what’s even worse than your 5 female friends, is your multiple male friends. The chubby, weird, AWESOME guys I befriended back in seventh grade have now learned to think with more than their brains. Instead, they now uses their penises.

Okay, okay, but now I’ll skip back to the positives. I mentioned earlier I have a boyfriend.  I love my boyfriend. He’s better than prozac, he’s like my savior. He rubs my head and gives me back massages when I’m tense. He deals with my anxiousness and awkwardness on a daily basis and still treats me like I’m the best thing ever (I’m so not). But what am I then? LUCKY. I’m lucky that I learned what I didn’t want and finally found what I did. Someone who’s kind, adorable, attentive, and most of all imperfect. Perfect is a word meant for the oblivious and ignorant. No one will ever be perfect. But damn, he’s pretty close. But what I have learned about love is, the imperfections become your favorite parts. You love someone for all the things you actually do LOVE about them, but you also learn to love the things you hate too.  I wouldn’t change a single thing. I mean I wouldn’t change a thing other  than the fact that he’s a year older and leaving me for college next year. That’s going to be a large, large, large, large, did i mention large? BUMMER!

Lastly (for today), I think that I’ve grown up. I learned my priorities and kinda, sorta what I want from the world and people around me. No, I’m not necessarily getting it. But I do plan to, someday. My life is full of somedays. But I like somedays because they give me something to look forward to. I can’t help but hope for that big journalism career, or going to the schools that are unattainable for me. I can’t help but dream of my perfect life with my three adorable boys and beautiful, kind husband. Someday sounds pretty good to me, of course if I make it there.

 

Authenticity

I spent my MEA weekend with some great friends, and my awesome family. Usually, these trips end up in somewhat of a dramatic spin. Luckily, this one turned out with not one at all.

A large portion of our weekend was spent telling stories. These stories varied back to our childhoods, and even to our parents college years. Each one of them having some type of comedy or lesson involved.

A lot of our stories related to family, and often there were strange ones about them. But the awesome part about it was, we embraced it for how it is. Our strange (believe me) extended families are a huge part of our day to day lives, and how we view things today. I can’t, and on most days, wouldn’t change it.

After these stories, I ended up sitting with my dads best friend from college, Stacey, talking about backgrounds. What the conversation came down to was this: Backgrounds are what make us authentic.

I never had really thought of it that way until she said it. Authentic means real and genuine, and that’s exactly what I look for in people.

I’m attracted to people (friends & significants) who are real. Who embrace who they are, and have a real sense of where they came from. I love people who actually have a background and can see it for what it is. This is what makes people different, and interesting. I don’t know what could be more compelling than those two words.

What this conversation taught me was no matter what your background is, it’s authentic. It’s a part of who you are. As much as you hate, or love your family, they are a huge part of shaping who you are today.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is this:

Authenticity isn’t just something you should be noticing and looking for in objects.

Authenticity is branded into people as well.

Real and genuine are two things that have always stood as a major importance in my life. I think that’s mostly because I come from two parents who lived two very different lifestyles. I love and respect that. I think that’s something that makes people interesting.

Basically, authentic is something we should all strive to be. Whether you’re background is 100% clean, or entirely dirty, it is a always a part of you.

I rather hear the truth about someone’s story all day than a pile of bullshit. Different will always be better than boring.

Being who you are is what makes you authentic, embrace it. Wherever you came from is too, and that’s something to be acknowledged.