My English professor played this video in class the other day. The moral of this story: there is no substitute for proofreading.

Hello, summer semester.

I’m certain this post will elicit great pride from my past composition teachers, but only if they like incoherent rambling from someone who is this close to passing out from exhaustion. Forgive me.

These past two days have been filled with alarms going off at 5:30am, lectures, and questioning my sanity as I struggle to stay awake. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this indicates that I have officially began summer semester. Credit it to my insatiable desire to learn, or my inability to live spontaneously, for the most part.

I’m taking a music class, a fitness class, and a composition class this summer, if you were curious.

Anyway, I’m procrastinating packing for my mini-vacation with my best friend. We are going to a nice, little island for our four-day weekend. I’m very excited to be getting out of this wild town, but I’m not excited for the long drive.

Well, I hope your next four days are enjoyable, as I’m forcing mine to be. Good night, good night, and au revoir until I find myself with internet again next Tuesday.

Goodbye to sleeping late.

For the next two months, I will be in classes. Tomorrow is my first day back after a nice three weeks of break. I, of course, am only slightly excited, since I will now have to wake up at 5:45 in the morning again.

Pomp and Circumstance.

Two years ago today, I was graduating high school. On the 28th of this month, it will have been five years since my brother graduated high school.

Has it really been that long?

Time stood still.

My brother and I drove the sixty miles from his place to my old university today so I could talk to the manager. As soon as we stepped into the main building, I looked up and saw my ex. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in nearly a year. He looked over at me and suddenly grabbed his phone, texted someone, and left the building. Needless to say, it was a less than pleasant moment in my day. In all the times I’ve visited friends out there this year, I have yet to run into him until now. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see him again after everything that’s occurred between us, but no such luck. Thankfully, that’s the last time I ever have to go out to my old university.

Anyway, a highlight to my day: As soon as we got into the city, my brother and I stopped to eat lunch at one of my favorite restaurants out there. I had fourteen dollars in cash and my card. Our meals totaled to just over fifteen dollars, so I began to pull out my card. The cashier guy asked how much I had in cash, so I answered, and he said, “It’s no problem. I’ll knock the cost down two dollars.” I, of course, thanked him. He was a very nice guy, and it’s people like him that remind the world isn’t completely terrible.

Awkward situations will ensue.

Did I ever mention I like guys with nice smiles? Did I also mention my brother happens to have a very cute friend with a very nice smile?

Truth.

I should get an award.

I decided to be a really awesome sister today and clean my brother’s place. Do you know how long that took? Four hours.

I’m really not insane.

“He thinks you’re pathologically insane,” he said. I laughed. It was all I could do at the moment. I was supposed to be on vacation, enjoying myself in the Florida sun. Instead, I was learning all of the reasons my fiancé had managed to disappear from my life from his best friend while sitting poolside.

“I am what I am,” I responded, fighting the desire to cry.

“He’s just one person in your life, Kit. Don’t let his opinion of you get you down. Someone is going to think you’re absolutely amazing, okay? You know, I don’t think you’re insane. You’ve never given me a reason to, so you shouldn’t worry. Not everyone will think the same thoughts of you as he did. You’ll be happy one day,” he soothed. He knew I was hurt. How could I not be?

“Thanks. I really mean that. I know it probably doesn’t sound like it now, but I do appreciate what you’ve done for me. I wish you all the very best. If there’s anyone I know that deserves it, it’s you,” I said and ended the conversation.

Another person come and gone. Another person thinking I’m insane. I knew I wasn’t. I always knew something was wrong with me, but I had no idea what. I couldn’t put a name to it. I couldn’t give myself any credibility.

Now, I can confirm what I have always known. I can explain why ten years of random symptoms don’t make me insane. I can give a name to it.

What do I really want to do, though? I want to look at everyone who has ever thought I was insane and say, “I told you so.”

Some days, I'm good at comebacks.