Conformity?

I’ve just realized that I’m well on my way to becoming what I’ve tried to avoid for a long time; a stereotypical girl.

I have five bags and two purses (I never used to know the distinction between them!). I have eleven different pairs of shoes; including running shoes and “nice tennis-shoes” (?!). Not to mention a makeup bag (who needs that much makeup?) Luckily, I have never used it all at once, but still, just the fact that I have all that scares me.

I’ve always thought of myself as a nonconformist (I play the bassoon for heaven’s sake), but I think I’ve come to think that it’s not so bad to conform sometimes, if only to mix in with society better, or to not stick out so much.

I don’t necessarily believe that having bags, purses, and a horde of shoes makes me a conformist though. I’ll put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before I’ll even consider wearing a dress (unless of course all my jeans are in the dirty clothes hamper… like today).

But then again, I’m a conformist because I don’t wear dresses, you see? Because I’m conforming with other nonconformists; and when I wear the dress, I’m a nonconformist to all the nonconformists. You see how complicated it can get? Almost everyone is some sort of conformist/nonconformist. It’s very hard nowadays to create any truly “original” style because we’ve been influenced by what other people have done in past decades and centuries.

I've slept since then

What makes life fly by? I don’t even really mind that it’s flying by so fast, if only I could remember it! I have vague ideas about what I did yesterday, and I could name a few specific instances, but I can’t remember everything about yesterday (much less last week). I have this journal that I’m supposed to write in for my Elissa class, but I’ve gotten to where I’ll write anything in it that I want to remember, or I’ll write down a particularly good day, or bad, depending on how bad and if it seems important. In fact, I just finished writing about my Saturday, because I was too tired Saturday night. And, going back to my forgetfulness, I had to really think about what I did so I would remember everything, and even then I forgot some key moments in my day which I had to add on as an afterthought.
Oh, and you know that expression “I’ve slept since then?” It’s totally a legitimate excuse. I’ve gotten to where I go to bed late then take a nap during the day after class and I swear, it feels like it’s the next day when I wake up, and I can barely remember what I did that morning sometimes. I should probably try to go to bed earlier so that I don’t get tired during the day, but that would have me going to bed at 9:30 and that’s just unrealistic if I want to have even a semblance of a life, so I don’t and I’ll sleep whenever I’m tired (unless I’m sitting in class, then I generally try to stay awake).

Baby Mama

I went home this weekend to see my baby niece... and my parents of course. My sister had dropped her off with my parents so she (my sister) could move all her stuff from California to Florida without the added stress of a baby (and so our parents could watch her… of course).

Anyways, I went to Wal-Mart to get some things for my dorm (a swiffer and a hand vacuum) and I had Addy (my niece) with me in the little cart. I was walking down the aisle looking for the swiffers (which turned out to be all folded up in a box – who would have thought?!) when this lady comes up to me:

Lady: She’s so adorable - her blond hair and blue eyes
Me: *smiling* yeah
Lady: How old is she?
Me: Just turned a year in September
Lady: *stares at me with a pointed look at my hand* Her mother must be so proud
Me: Yes, she is... I'm her aunt
Lady: oh of course…

I guess I can understand her thinking that Addysen was my daughter (and I’m a little flattered, because she is one of the most beautiful babies I’ve ever known), but her stare was pretty rude. So if Addy had actually been my baby, would she have judged me by what she thought my age was (because she certainly hadn’t asked my age)? I mean, who gives looks like that anymore?!

Ok, but can I really judge her for thinking badly of me? Because not only do I look young (ok, maybe I am young), but I also wasn’t wearing a ring, and she was probably one of those “sex out of wedlock is evil” people (which of course is me judging her now)

You see how convoluted judging can become?! By her judging me, I began judging her, and the cycle goes on. Everyone makes split second judgments on other people, but my new goal, for this week at least, is to try to suppress my judgments and keep an open mind. We’ll see if that works out…

What makes a home?

Where is my home? I have called my parents house home for as long as I can remember but now I have another living space that I have started calling home: my dorm room. I do live there, but it doesn’t have nearly as many of the qualities my parent’s house has, so how is it a home as well? I have heard people say that they have “made their house their home” after they have lived in it for a while, but I don’t like considering my dorm home because it is not what I would want in a home.

What makes people accept a living space as a home? Why can some people call the dorm “home,” when it makes me flinch to call my dorm home? I have called it home, if only because I live there and I wish so much that I could consider it home.

Does a home need to be an actual house? Are there certain elements that distinguish a house from a home? Because according to my thesaurus, the two are synonymous.
Why do I have such a problem considering my dorm my home? Is it because my home has my loved ones in it, my dog, my bed, my past?

Most people like having a place where they “belong”, and I’m no exception to that generalization. But can one person have multiple homes or places they belong? Is that possible: to feel you belong in more than one place? Because if it is, then I have a home and a temporary (if lacking) home.