This is what happens when I attempt to clean [ February 22, 2006, 11:19 pm ]

While frantically trying to clean my apartment for the fabulous soiree that I'm hosting tomorrow night, I attempted to shove more things in the storage container under my bed. Finding that it was nearly jam-packed, I investigated, to see what could possibly be taking up so much room.

The answer? Pictures. And lots of 'em.

Pictures of my sister and I. Pictures from my family's Disney vacation. Pictures that were covertly taken during the John Mayer concert in Green Bay concert. Pictures of me with every person I've ever known. Pictures that spanned my entire college career.

And an album. An album from my sophomore year at NMU.

The first picture in the album is of Joe and I laying in my bed. That was the year that we solidified our bond and he became my one, my only, my gay fiance'.

There were snapshots of me with fellow government cronies. Sophomore year was when VA had a ridiculously huge hall government and anyone who wanted to be on e-board got on with some random position or another. (I was co-social chair. There wasn't one social chair, but two. As well as an intramural chair, a fundraising chair...get the picture?)

Some photos showcase me in my favorite Halloween costume as Zorrita. They show me beaming alongside my cohorts from the all-girl Aspen Haus.

The album showcased me at Homecoming events, hall mixers, getting into random adventures (read: trouble). The common theme in each one was that I had the same beamy smile on my face. (I was also a LOT thinner, but honestly--who doesn't think that when they look at older photos?!?) I looked so happy, so content, so in-the-moment.

I don't think I have that same smile anymore.

In my mind, a debate rages: was I really that euphoric? Or was I just mugging for the camera?

In pictures that I take today, anyone can tell if I'm happy. There's more than one picture where my smile is so big it makes my eyes squig up into teeny lines. There's a lot of photos that my friends have taken where I'm full-out, head-tilted-back, showcase-all-my-teeth laughing.

Sophomore year was a great year: I fell for my first college guy (I think I may still carry a small torch for him), I made friends with people that I still talk to on a consistent basis (and who are going to change the world, I'm certain of this), I gained a gay fiance', I charted my academic path and I had a good time while growing more into who I was. Part of me wants to be back there--curled up on my bed with a couple of close Aspen Hausers, discussing the latest developments in our love lives (or lack thereof) or with Joe, talking about classes and our futures. Another part of me wants to be bitch-slapped for thinking that, though. College was great--there's no denying that. But I can't long to go back or recapture it; it's silly, it's stupid, it could be self-destructive, really. I don't want to be the person who lives in the past. I want to live in the moment while looking forward to my future. It's what I did when I was in college. It's what I truly need to start doing now.

Ciao, dahling!

~*Krissy*~

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