And isn't it the quiet times when we recall all the laughter?

I can't sleep. I can't not think about high school and how much I am going to miss it. How much I already do miss it. The thrill of the first class of the year -- how many friends will you have to commiserate with? Will there be enough time to get from block 1 to block 2 within the break time? The smell of the freshly cleaned hallways mingled with the shiny metal locks of newbie grade 10s. The sight of teachers old and new, wearing the same old clothing from the previous years; the familiar pace of classes, breaks, lunchtime, bus schedules; the cafeteria; the cinder block walls; the security.



I didn't think I would feel this way. In fact, I had no inkling that I would be nostalgic let alone sad about leaving my secondary years behind me. And yet I am so unbelievably shaken up that my grief has taken me by surprise. Only lately has it began to strike me just who I won't see come September, or how I won't be forced to keep all my binders and textbooks in a tin encasement barely the width of a standard ruler. I realize the lame-factor is running quite high. For my sake, however, I think it serves me best to write about it and release my fear in some capacity or another. This is my blog after all, not your entertainment.

With "The Scientist" stuck in my head and humming through my lips, I nostalgically write this entry, trying to sort out and separate my thoughts from my feelings. My head from my heart.

With each passing day that I wake up, be it 5:30 am for my 6:00 shift, or 11:30 am on a day off or midday shift, I can't believe how quickly August is morphing into September. With breakneck speed retailers are latching onto the parents of latchkey kids and the like, vying for their money in order to get them suited up in proper fall attire. Back to school season is upon us, despite the 15 or so hazy, lazy, crazy days of summer left.

Every Old Navy, Burlington Coat Factory, and Staples commercial I see makes me -- almost literally -- sick to my stomach. No, kids, I'm not bahumbugging the commercialization of the onset of yet another school year; I am merely expressing -- or trying to express -- the consternation I feel towards starting my school year, off at UBC. It's going to be weird and wild and I am not ready for it. I don't know if one can be ready for something like that, moving up and away from friends and family and into the unknown. All I know is that people have been doing it for centuries and come August 29th, I'll be taking my first of many steps onto the Path of Enlightenment AKA The Road of Life AKA Impending Doom AKA Cold, Hard, Unceasingly-Raw Reality.

Is this what it feels like to celebrate a bat/barmitzfah?

Is this my official transition into adulthood?

Have I selected the wrong road? Did I miss my exit or have I turned too early?

When is it time to stop asking questions and just go?

Part of me hopes that even if I was attending the U of A and staying here (I hasten to call this city home, since it truly repulses me 99% of the time) I would feel this way. And yet I look around at my friends who are staying put and they don't have the worry wrinkles sketched upon their tanned and bronzed foreheads. They can't possibly be mentally recounting how many shirts and dresses they own and how big their suitcases are. I am, though. While they are out boozing up at the local clubs and revelling in their 18 year old glory, I am working shift after shift trying to make enough money to last me while I'm in school, all the while subconsciously calculating how many loads of laundry I can do for minimum cost and maximum sanitary satisfaction.

I do not regret my decisions that I have made thus far. I question them, though. I fully understand that it was selfish of me to attend UBC. Not only is it more expensive, but it removes me from anyone who cares about me. Despite this, I believe it was a good move in that I will be thrust out to discover all the dirty truths I have somehow been protected from thus far. I just don't know if I should be protected a little longer, or if now is the right time.

Then there is the issue of work -- Starbucks. Without a doubt in my mind, I am glad I decided to stay and work through the summer instead of quitting and slumming around. Not only has it kept me busy, but it has shown me just how amazing some people are, how wonderful and generous co-workers truly make or break a job. These people have made me love coming to work for 8.5 hours to serve the unsuspecting public trans-fat-laden, overtly sugary beverages and pastries. All of my fellow Starbucks Partners, in some capacity or another, make giving mall-goers adult-onset diabetes, heart disease and lactose intolerance worth it. For that, I am truly grateful. The downside to this high level of job satisfaction is that working anywhere else, be it another Starbucks in BC or an altogether different occupation, will prove conversely unsatisfying. I'm never going to find such a concentrated amount of amazing people ever again. Of this bold declaration, I am obstinately set and sure of myself. I have heard far too many tales of awful part-time jobs to know that what I have stumbled upon is a rare and delightful treat.

So in summation: (Amazing job situation + Fear of the Unknown + Leaving Comfort) / Excitation for stepping out on my own = gripping, insomnia-causing worry + anxiety-ridden blog entries at 2 am.

If I could go back 8 months and rethink my post-secondary conquests, I don't know if I would or not. I just wish I wouldn't have been so intensely set on leaving. It may have been the ultimate mozaltov, but it could very well be my undoing.