Adventures in the common cold

What started as an innocent "meh, I don't feel quite right" has blossomed into a full-on rage-fest of germs, snot, puffy face and crabby mood. I may have screamed profanities at my gps lady when she led me in circles around the Hertz car return (which, to find in the off-site St. Louis airport location warrants a sense of traffic and navigation only possessed by people like Sacagawea). I also may have thrown shade at the man holding the B 29 boarding number trying to budge in front of me, B 23. I had barely paid for my Kleenex before desperately ripping it open to catch my runny nose. I am writing this from my window seat, with two nice people next to me who obliged my need to get up and drain the HonesTea I pounded with my decongestant. I do love listening to their banal conversation about Chase Freedom cards and frequent flyer miles. Then it turns to conversations about kids in school. And now that the woman next to me knows I work at a college I'm worried she'll bring me into the conversation. Which generally would be okay if I didn't look like this:

Not pictured: damp Kleenex I'm clutching for dear life.

I take off for Southern California on Sunday. It will require 100% of my mental and physical capability. I can still leave room for the occasional rage at stupid navigation systems, though. 

Fine to dine

This is my travel season dining companion:

Sure, my companion is quiet and isn't much to look at, but offers me the ability to awkwardly stare at my iPhone and update my blog, check work email, put out fires, etc. I used to be more self-conscious about dining with an empty booth, but now I relish in it. Primo service, sometimes little free things thrown in, and in and out in a flash. Can't beat it.

Of course, I'll always prefer a real human as my companion but I'll take what I can get. Also, see photo below and tell me if I'm supposed to drink this...? 

Gray skies and face masks

There's nothing like waking up in a hotel and feeling as if you were hit by a Mack truck. This morning, I was greeted upon awakening by that sore throat and stuffed head feeling. So lovely. But, oh well - it's boring to talk about feeling sick.

 Also this morning, I woke up in familiar St. Louis fall weather - gray, heavy sky, maybe going to rain, maybe not. I visited one of my favorite private high schools, with its beautiful Spanish mission-style architecture and curated art gallery near the entrance. Last year when I visited, the weather was the same but I was caught in a downpour. The friendly college counselor gave me an old umbrella from lost and found to take with me. The ratty piece of wire and nylon helped keep me relatively dry as I navigated the city for three other high school visits. Wet feet, damp hair, raindrops splotching my professional wardrobe. There's nothing like trying to pull yourself together while your face drips from the elements. I've been lucky so far with my travel season. I'm only two weeks in, but just as I start to collapse from being away, missing my Matthew and feeling disconnected from friends and my city, I get to go home. Traveling alone is a finely-honed skill, though, and one I'm proud to say I've mastered. It comes down to getting enough activity and eating relatively well. Yesterday, for old times sake, I got a Jimmy Johns sandwich and wolfed it down; then, immediately regretted it. I've really taken to the Whole Foods a few interstate exits away - at least I know the options there are delicious and won't make me feel like I ate a brick. Of course, if you feel a little lonely and miss talking to humans who know you, in person, it can all just fall to hell...

If I don't have people to see, I'll find places to have coffee or work on my laptop with the hum of others around me. I also have another slightly more non-husband-approved tendency: shopping. I can't help it. The number of schools I visit compared with number of actual students seen correlates directly with how loudly the local Nordstrom Rack or Sephora calls to me. If I haven't had success at a school or there's a lackluster fair, I somehow manage to fall inside a store and all of a sudden I'm buying the most comfortable sweater and a lipgloss that makes me look older than a current college kid (an important feature if my overall look). Other signs I've hit rock bottom? I zone out while emailing and all of a sudden I'm watching Big Bang Theory or Two and a Half Men...and LAUGHING. Or I start to consider Bravolebrities like Kim Z or NeNe my gal pals. TV binges are okay but it's probably good to break it up with a few phone conversation (ie checking to see if the Huz has fed/watered himself in your absence; checking in with parents when dad is recently retired and all of a sudden decides he's a chef). (PS Big Bang Theory just played a big laugh to a character saying "coccyx" in its plural form...).

That's about all I've got for now. I am being productive: working on eradicating whatever plague has invaded my face pores --

-- which I texted to my parents, eliciting a "oooo SCARY" response from my mom. I need to drink all the water possible to also clear up whatever is also currently taking down my immune system. It's all good, y'all. I got this.

12 years

Just as I'll never forget where I was when I watched the planes hit the towers (first hour art class with Mr. Hopkins, 10th grade), I'll never forget my first visit to Ground Zero. I approached the site with my classmates during an off-campus study program to New York City in 2007. It was our first full day in the city, and as we approached Ground Zero from Battery Park, the feel in the air was palpable. There's a sense of reverence at Ground Zero, and even with the New York white noise of car horns, sirens, and millions of rushing people that seems to hover in the space above, you just stop and stay still for a minute. I visited when the clean-up was still in progress in the giant footprints of where the towers were; there wasn't a clearly defined footprint or elegant place to reflect like there is now (according to photos I've seen). But, it was a powerful image of recovery and rebuilding. Large photos from the day circled the viewing area near where the PACE station had been; behind it and across the street, the little cathedral stood as a makeshift memorial. It held not just religious services, but around the perimeter of the chapel and narthex, left-behind memorials of plastic flowers and pieces of cloth with names written on them. Lots of "Missing" photos and signs, as well. I remember being especially touched by the incredible displays from other countries. It's trite to say, but no matter where you were - New Yorker or not - you were affected by this incredibly deeply. And you've been to New York since then, you'll agree that there is an intense resilience of the human spirit rising from the city.

tis the season

I realized just now that it's possible to drive a car where I feel, simultaneously, like I have the longest legs and the tiniest t-rex arms. I navigated this tin-can Toyota-something to a familiar suburban Hampton Inn in Kansas City, where the manager graciously allowed me to check in at 10:30 a.m. And here I sit, monitoring my student worker's coordinating endeavors, requests from bosses, and searching for creative Facebook content for our admissions page. It has to be close to 90 degrees outside, yet my room's air conditioning blasts and I'm freezing. I've found an afternoon mini-marathon of a show I've never seen, Rizzoli & Isles, but for background noise it'll work. Plus, Matt and I toured the Paramount lot this summer during our honeymoon where the drama is filmed. This is where I learned of Matt's long-standing crush on Angie Harmon and her soothing husky vocal tones. Today is a much slower than normal schedule, because the cheapest flight landed me in KC at 9:15 a.m. for a 6:30 p.m. fair. So I'm trying to keep up, plan ahead, and will get lunch soon with a friend in the city who is always great to see. Travel season has started, and as such, I'm going to try my darndest to update this here blog for my #1 guy. Our summer was a full one: our wedding, honeymoon, friends' weddings, moving into a new house and trying to unpack amid it all. And now I embark upon my annual fall travel season, which will be highlighted this year by voyages to both sides of the country, and not just in the middle. And, gone are the road trips to the Dakotas and Northern Minnesota. I'll miss the bright trees. I have chosen to continue writing here because as it turns out, I have 3240 other blogs I've half started that are bouncing around the internet somewhere. I'll try to include photos as much as possible, though, because we all enjoy visual aids to stories.

I finished up a day of application reading, which is great when I'm on a roll but mind-numbing when I realize I haven't stood up in 3 hours. As my mind wanders, I find myself looking through random photos I've saved to my desktop. The majority are work-related, but there are a few of ML and of my Ole family here and there. Then... I saw...

This glamour shot of the most magnificent baked item I've discovered over the last almost-decade - one look, my mouth waters. One bite of this "Ole cookie," a treat originating from my alma mater's food service, and I'm brought back to late night study sessions with soggy coffee cup in hand. I used to alternate coffee sip to cookie bite, which created this incredible caramel-chocolate-nutty flavor. The coffee's dirt-poop taste was also masked by the cookie, turning it into a snack accomplice, and not just sludge I drank to get me through the day. Those were great times. These days, the Ole cookie is a treat I gravitate towards when work days reach the afternoon drag. It is an offer of friendship and gratitude. I reward student workers with Ole cookies when they've blown my socks off with their incredible work ethic; I accept them from friends who offer to treat. They're to be enjoyed and savored, not inhaled. I don't have much else to say beyond the superficial nature of this post, but it's meant to act like the cookie itself in a way -- a break from it all for a second. Also, sometimes I'm just at a lack for anything that doesn't apply to reading applications, talking wedding plans, and seeing how many days I can go without a shower as I work from home.

I can't quit you, blog

Admittedly, I have become very rusty at blogging in this style. Usually, all my blogging efforts are work-related; I get used to using similar adjectives, quips, one-liners, word-plays, etc., which is fine - it just doesn't add a lot to creativity. And, you know, life gets in the way sometimes: I've given up creativity in the flurry of moving to Minneapolis, settling into a new home, commuting to work 45 minutes each way, balancing friends with boyfriend (er, fiance!) and trying to feed myself on a regular basis. My early 20s have given way to my late-20s, and I now find myself with a slower metabolism, desire for earlier bedtimes, and even on weekend nights out, a bedtime of 1 a.m. at the latest. It has been about two years since I updated this blog, and so much has changed since then. But, it was fun to read back on the NYE 2010 blog post and remember the time when I was snowed in at home in Casper. I had to miss "getting to know a new group of people" which consisted of my then-recently-determined boyfriend (a term I'm still awkward saying... doesn't that seem so high school?) Though we missed our 2011 NYE, after he proposed in late October 2012, it was decided that we would have decades of them left. Shucks. So, now we're onto the arduous task of balancing wedding planning with work obligations (hola, 13-hour reading days) and the task of staying calm and giving love and attention to friends and roommates. That, and life in the city, makes the days of my 5 minute commute and second family at the coffee shop seem like another life. This is all just to say that I want to start writing here again - even if no one reads it - because it's good to flex that part of my brain muscle.