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Good morning, internet!

Welcome to my world.

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Don’t you hate it when…

you make big life decisions and everything changes? I’ve decided to switch majors and Theatre is now only a minor. BUT FEAR NOT! I have another blog that I’ll actually be using, and because it’s still such a big part of my life, my ongoing adventures will be there (including designs).

I’m still doing design work and building, but it’s been waning as of late for various reasons, all of which I’m sure I’ll rant about here.

It amazes me that people still look at this after it’s been inactive for so long, so thank you for your views! I hope you switch over.

Ta for now! =)

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Bad Dream or Nightmare?

How can you tell them apart? Nightmares are obviously much worse, but where is the line drawn in between and how can you tell one from the other? I wish I knew the answers to those questions. I do, however, know that last night I had a horrible nightmare, and there was no question about whether or not I was sure…

I got home from school yesterday (finally!) and decided to start in on my large stack of “Books I’d Like to Read This Summer!” books (and I’m happy to report that I finished two yesterday when I started at 3:30ishpm and finished at 4:23isham with breaks for dinner and a trip to my grandparents’ house). The one I finished at 4:23isham was Hourglass by Claudia Gray (an AMAZING book, the third in a Vampire series, but unlike Twilight, these books are incredible all the way through **coughBOOKS2&4SUCKEDcough** and absolutely no one sparkles). Before I continue, it should be noted that I am a very emotional person when I read books. Not giving too much away, but two very important people die in this book, and I was crying HYSTERICALLY. I fell asleep shortly after and had one of the top two most frightening nightmares I have ever had the displeasure to remember:

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I was in a dimly lit, dark room with tattered blood-red velvet antique furniture sprawled about the room. There were cobwebs everywhere, and I stood in the doorway looking in, horrified at what I saw:

A young man was hunched over my boyfriend, draining the blood from his body after he had ripped his throat open with this teeth.

I was rooted to the ground with fear and grief, my mouth open in a silent scream as tears streamed heavily down my face. The man turned around with blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He tried to wipe it away, but did nothing but create a red smudge that spread to his cheek. He gave me a toothy smile and with an evil glint in his eye, he stood.  He turned again and jumped out the window, his long black coat rippling behind him as he landed and ran off into the night.

My mind registered that I needed to move so slowly, sluggishly, I went to stand next to the crumpled body of the person I love most and my knees gave out. I reached out with a trembling hand to touched his cheek, the tears streaming even harder, and cupped his face. I pulled his body onto my lap, cradling his head, sobbing uncontrollably. Feelings of grief, helplessness, and despair crashed over me, and I could do nothing but cry and scream. A pain sharper than anything I’d ever experienced pierced my chest; it was as if my heart was shattering slowly and I could feel every piece splintering off and hitting the floor. The pain was so great, it woke me up. I lay there on my couch shaking uncontrollably and sobbing heavily with the book laying open, face-down on the floor next to me.

I’ve lost someone I love before, but I’d never experienced anything so soul-shattering before. My heart felt as if it would give out and implode, and I wanted nothing more than to call my boyfriend to make sure he was okay. It was early morning at this point, and I knew he’d still be asleep, so I waited to contact him. He had a long day of work ahead of him, and I didn’t want to mess up his day before it had even started.

Somehow I managed to fall back into an uneventful sleep and woke up with a text that read “How you doin baby girl”. I almost cried all over again, but this time with relief and happiness, responding with “I’m good. I love you.”

Have any of you ever cried so hard it hurt to breathe? That’s how I woke up after having such a terrifying nightmare. All I could think today once I finally calmed down was, “What’s wrong with me??” Seriously, who has dreams like that?? Apparently I do. I don’t think I would have reacted so badly if my dreams weren’t always so vivid. Sometimes, I can’t tell my dream world and the real world apart when I’m asleep, and on occasion it’s a tad bit frightening…

Like last night, for instance. I’d never felt so lost and alone.

If you read this, love, just know this:

I know we get into stupid fights sometimes and we say a lot of cruel things when we’re mad, but please don’t forget how much I love you. When you handed me back my trombone key chain in the theatre that day, I couldn’t breathe after you left. If felt like a part of me was missing and I couldn’t function without it. The tears wouldn’t stop falling, and I thought I’d lost you forever, but after last night, I know I was wrong. Please remember how much I appreciate you being in my life and how much I care about you. Coming to Seton Hall has become the best decision I’ve ever made because it led me to you. Thank you for always being there for me.

Okay, enough mush, I promise. I think I’m going to head to bed and see if my subconscious can bring me sweeter dreams tonight.

Good night.

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Don’t You Hate It When…

you’re at a friend’s house and you leave your keys there? Keep in mind, you got a ride from someone else’s parents and have no way to go and retrieve them and that person can’t leave their own party to bring them to you.

Yeah, me too.

At the moment, I’m locked out of my dorm room and taking refuge in Seton Hall’s college radio station, WSOU. The people here are kind enough to let me stay for “Dooley’s Last Show” (if you don’t know who that is, don’t feel bad. I just met him. Listen in if you read this before 1am!!) while I wait for my friend’s wonderful mother to bring me my keys. Oh the shenanigans I get into….

I’m a little sad. The friend whose house I went to is leaving for Disney until January. She is working in retail and taking classes there for the next 6 months or so. She’s excited to be going, and I’m happy for her, but she’s going to be greatly missed.

Meanwhile, it’s slight chaos in the station. Last shows are always a bit hectic (not that I know from working at the station, but I was at Scarecrow’s) and going by the two I’ve been to, there’s always food.

Everyone knows what happens when college kids see free food, right?

For those of you that do not, it’s a race to see who can eat the most the fastest because who knows when you’re going to get free food again?

Three members of the managerial staff just bolted out of the DJ booth for Little Caesars pizza. Oh college… How I don’t ever want you to end.

Life here at the station always seems to be… well, rocking out. The metal station is always thriving off of the music and each other. I don’t think I’ve ever felt negative energy come from this place. Sure, drama happens, but where doesn’t it when there are people you see every day all the time?? They’re one giant dysfunctional family and it’s wonderful to watch.

Life here is always loud as well, and with what’s happening tonight, I think I’m going to stop here for now. Not being able to hear myself think is probably counterproductive to typing out my thoughts.

So, ta for now and TUNE IN TO WSOU for DOOLEY’S LAST SHOW!! If you don’t know him, don’t worry- NEITHER DO I!!

Maybe it’s a good think I left my keys behind…

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It’s All Greek to Me…

In Ancient Greek (Attic dialect): ὅπως γραφειν ἐν τῷ ‘Ελληνικῳ λογῳ οὐκ ἐπίσταμαι, ἀλλά πειράσω ἐμόην ἄριστην μανθάνειν.

Translation: “How to write in the Greek speech not I know, but I will try/attempt my best to learn.”

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Does anyone out there in Blogger Land know if I’m right?

I’m not sure so much about the last part of the sentence or the word order overall (and I may have made up the endings of “my best” to make two adjectives an adjective and a noun), but that’s what I can do so far after trying to fit a year’s worth of Greek into three weeks. We’ve (aka my Greek class and myself) gotten through a little over a semester’s worth thus far, but we only have two days to finish the other 19 chapters in the 50 chapter book. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

It’s not going to happen.

We can try our best though. Greek is turning out to be much easier than I thought it would be. I’m surprised at how quickly I’m picking up the basics of it. I know I need to work on memorizing vocabulary, but the endings are coming along well enough. Look at what I can do already!!

Maybe I should explain my sudden urge to learn the ancient Attic dialect of Greek (that’s right, it’s not even modern day useful Greek)… I decided that to be a good student and graduate on time, I would be proactive (that word may be the only thing I learned in my University Life class Freshman year) and take summer classes to further my studies in both of my majors. I’m taking Greek for Classical Studies and Mass Communication for Theatre. I love my classes- both are fun, interesting and taught by amazing professors, but I have one right after the other.

Stop whining!! You chose to take summer courses so don’t complain about them!!

Ouch, thanks a lot disembodied italicized voice, I’m aware of what I signed up for. The problem is not that they are one after another, but that when combined, I’m sitting in a classroom for 5 hours straight.

But learning must be had, so onward I trudge through the long hours of declensions and copyright infringement laws!!

Listening to The Sugarhill Gang certainly helps though!! ::gives an enormous toothy smile::

Having the lights turned off on me in the library doesn’t though. So, onward I trudge to my dorm room and THEN through the long hours of blah blah blah… you guys get it.

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That Header?

Don’t be too impressed. It was designed by a guy named Joe Gourley. He’s a set designer in Brooklyn, NY that I’ve worked with twice now through school. It’s the set for “God’s Favorite” by Neil Simon, and though the design is not mine, I did help build it. That was my first taste of theatre and how much fun it could be.

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Nothing in my life has gone according to plan. I was set to go to my first choice college (Fairleigh Dickinson University) with a half scholarship when I got an email one day from Seton Hall University telling me, “It’s not too late to apply!! A free application is waiting online for you!!”

Joy spasms.

This place had been emailing me for about a year and a half starting in the middle of my junior year of high school. They seemed pretentious and boring and like the last college I’d ever want to go to. Something about them didn’t sit right with me about them. They were the Seton Hall pirates asking, “Arghhh you ready to be a Pirate??”

NO.

But my parents, determined to make me do the college thing right and apply to more than two schools (FDU, my first and guaranteed, and NYU, my hopeful reach) forced me to apply. I looked over the application and thought, “Sure, why not? I’ve got nothing to lose and applying doesn’t mean I’ll go here.”

I got in and to top it all off, they offered me the same amount of money as FDU. Well, FML.

Dad was so excited, he called to schedule a visit right away. The person on the other end of the line told him enthusiastically that Communication Day was coming up and as a Journalism Major I’d be getting the invitation in the mail!! Was I excited?? Not so much… In fact, I was more than a little annoyed I had my first choice school accept me with a generous amount of money attached to the “Congratulations” envelope. Why did I need to visit a school I’d never go to?? I didn’t even want to be a Journalism Major, but it was the closest thing to Creative Writing on the application. I got in the car, not excited in the least to be going.

If one person asked me “Arghhh you ready to be a Pirate??”, I’d punch them in the face.

We got out of the car and separated into groups. My parents were gawking at everything, going, “Ooo, Jessy, look at that!!” every. five. SECONDS. I didn’t know how to tell them I just didn’t care without breaking their hearts- they seemed so excited whenever they took me “college shopping”. I didn’t want to disappoint them, so I smiled and pretended to be happy as we walked around, taking in the sights of Seton Hall.

I wasn’t really paying attention to the tour guide or anything we were stopping at until we reached the Seal. I looked down at it and vaguely heard the word “green” from the tour guide. I looked up and noticed we were in the middle of this giant grassy circle with webs of paths shooting from the cobble-stoned center with the seal as the pinnacle of it all. Surrounding the grassy area were beautifully constructed buildings begging to be explored, some looking at least one hundred years old with their stone work, others looking brand new with shining metal and glittering glass. I stood there in the center of the Green, transfixed by what I saw.

The trees, the buildings, the feel of the campus- I couldn’t help but fall in love.

I paid attention to the rest of the tour, which consisted of the two freshman dorms, the cafeteria, the theatre, and the financial aid building. I asked if there was a band of some kind I could play my trombone for, and the promise that they had a Pep Band excited me to no end. However, the theatre is what sealed the deal for me. Some actors from the Theatre Council were there explaining that the actual theatre was the only Theatre-in-the-Round (affectionately known amongst the students as the TiTR or The Round) left in New Jersey. I still don’t know if that’s true or not- a part of me never wants to find out and ruin the magic- but I do know that while they played ice breakers with everyone else, I was memorizing the curve of the building, the way the stage floor was cratered so when you sat in the stadium-style seats it felt like you were peering down into the world of the performance, the way the sound of the actors’ voices carried throughout the space… I knew that the theatre was something I wanted to be involved in.

Sitting in the car that night as we drove home snuggled in my new Seton Hall hoodie, I thought about how life had gotten much harder. FDU was in the middle of the woods, had my Creative Writing Major, and was everything I ever dreamed about in a college. On the other hand, SHU just felt… well, right. There was something that dragged me in once I got to the Green. Everything felt like it clicked into place. FDU doesn’t have a band of any kind, and I didn’t want to give up playing my trombone. Band was the thing I loved most in high school and to stop in college didn’t seem right. I knew if I went to FDU, I’d have to start a band there, but since SHU had one, my decision was made.

I knew I was going to Seton Hall, but something still didn’t feel right about it. I wasn’t sure what it was, but something was nagging at me and I know now that had I paid attention during the tour, I would’ve known right away what it was. I didn’t find out until Freshman Orientation when I saw “mass” on the schedule. Mass?? We have a place for that on campus? I walked into the space in the University Center reserved for mass that day, and when it was all over, the head priest Father Bob thanked all of us for picking a Catholic University.

F*@k.

I had been going to Catholic school my ENTIRE LIFE and I thought college was my escape, but no. God had me in his clutches and he wasn’t going to let go. Not that I minded too much, but I was worried they’d spring the uniform on us at some point and cackle maniacally with a, “AHAHAHA AND YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD ESCAPE?? FOUR MORE YEARS OF PLAID FOR YOU!! AHAHA” I shuddered in my seat, waiting for the horrible news, but it never came.

I only add this last part to my story because had there been a uniform at Seton Hall, I would’ve transferred to FDU immediately. Thirteen years of not having a wardrobe was enough for me, thank you very much.

A year went by, and I made a lot of new friends and (I’m convinced I’ve met) the love of my life. My freshman year was a little rocky- I’d had a harder time adjusting than I thought I would- but I was still looking forward to the next semester when I’d take my first Journalism class. I’d started to get excited about my major, but when the class came, I was horribly disappointed. I HATED writing journalistically. There just wasn’t enough creative freedom for me. I ended up failing the class because I stopped doing my homework. I had no passion for it, so I didn’t see any point in continuing with it.

By this point I had started volunteering at the theatre building and painting sets. It was an incredible feeling and having a new creative outlet and I renewed passion, I switched majors. After doing some crew work for “Arms and the Man” and building for “God’s Favorite” (the set in my header where I met Joe) my boss (Professor Reader of the Theatre Department) hired me. I suppose I had proved that this was something I really wanted to do. I felt completely at peace when I was working. It became my escape from everything when life got to be too much sometimes. I had also been taking some classical studies courses: Greek and Roman Drama and Word Power-Greek and Latin Roots. I knew my parents would never accept my theatre major, so I decided to double, hoping the Classics Major would placate them.

It didn’t. Not in the least.

But I’ve learned since to ignore them and they’ve learned since to accept that they’ve raised an independent, stubborn, strong-willed daughter who doesn’t want to be a lawyer.

Since I’ve switched majors, I’ve been much happier and much more involved in theatre. Fate threw me together with a student director in the middle of my Fall 2009 semester that had a vision for his set in mind, but no way to go about getting it. I had picked enough up about set design from my boss to know how to throw flats up and make things look pretty. It was touch and go for a while, but by the end of Seton Hall’s production of “Love, Sex, and the IRS” I knew what I wanted to do with my new major. Nothing feels more natural to me then sketching out what my world should looking like and then creating it. Mind you, I’m not very good at drawing, but that only erases the disappointment of my sketches looking better than my final product. Always look on the bright side, right?

Anyway, here I am with two sets I’ve designed and at seven that I’ve built overall under my belt, and I can’t wait to keep going. I still have my Classics major as a backup plan, but I don’t know what could draw me away from my shop, my sketchpad, or my world of possibilities.

P.S. No one had asked me if I was ready to be a Pirate. They must’ve known.

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