D-Day, day one, the beginning of a great journey in life, destined to be what many believe the best four years in life. And, after my first twelve hours here, I can’t say they are far from the truth. I’ve decided to write this for a couple of reasons: One, by writing down the experiences i’ve had, I can better remember them. Two, this will help me release some, if any, pain, homesickness, frustration that I may have in the future. Three, I’m sure that my parents and relatives would jump at a chance to see my feelings…every joy, exultation, stab of pain, or remorse that I may encounter in these upcoming days of the first eight of the best four years of my life. Simply put, this should, if I am faithful to the cause, be akin to a realtime experience of my life at UConn. Maybe it will spark some old memories that have receded past the new ones of familial rivalry and general in-the-house, day-to-day chaos. Let’s face it, no one wants to give up that eternal youth hidden in the depths of the looks in their eyes. When I arrived, I wasn’t sure what I felt, if I felt anything at all. Sure’s a weird thing when all those seminars seem to shine on the theory of the *overflowing* emotions. I guess, for the sake of putting a name to this emotion, this roiling whirlpool of activity behind the surface of my muscles, I’d say that I felt ready. Felt that I could handle things. Felt that for once, I could wipe the slate clean, act like I normally do and not attract unwanted attention. Felt like the phoenix of my past seventeen years had erupted in flame to give birth to a chick, featherless, and so ready to grow a new, healthier skin. As I hug my mom goodbye, I think,”Wow. Never envisioned this transferral to be so easy.” A warmth grew from my chest and rushed through my arms as I finished an embrace that held eighteen years of cherished memories, ripe with laughter, with love, with scolding, though strict, that had never been a step away from a hug, and a rub on my shoulder. I guess this hits me now as I write this, though it didn’t really before while still in the middle of saying goodbye.Then I looked at my dad, and in his handshake lived eighteen years of good-hearted ball-busting, advice, secret, sometimes dirty jokes about anyone that didn’t quite meet up with his definition of beauty, which, recent days told me, seems to be the image of my mother. Then, as his grip weakened, I looked at them both together, and felt a powerful aura of happiness, a goal reached, through thick and thin, to send their first kid to college. I watched them go back to their car, and I turned to head up to my room. I hadn’t told you yet about my little episode of bureaucratic BS.Nothing that would let my demons come out, but a little problem that would hinder my effectiveness as a student, had I not realized that all the problem really amounted to was a simple drag in the internet server. Following what my Dad told me, I and another student made our way to the Co-Op, thinking that would be the fountain of youth considering the internet connection hiatus. Step one of an overly long, dangerously hot adventure. A step, which my CA later told me, was not needed. Whatever. As long as I don’t gain that freshman fifteen. I get to the Co-Op. This is where the bureaucracy began. As soon as I put my laptop on the table, she pointed my two buildings across the street, to the McMahon resident house, where I should talk to the ResNet people. After stuttering awhile, forming my thoughts, *wait a minute-just wait a stinkin’ minute…Dad was wrong?* Not like it really mattered, no longer am I my parents’ marionette. I followed the techie’s advice, and went, with following friend in tow, to the dorm. I get there after turning my friend and I around almost three times, thinking that I actually know where I’m going, and the gust of fresh, cool air greets us just as eagerly as a warm hearth on a cold winter’s day. I learn at the ResNet desk that the problem didnt stem from a bad cable, it stemmed from a little snag, a little downtime in the system. Figures. Ya know what? I could have gone across the street to find that one out. I wouldn’t be adverse to let a well-placed curse penetrate that train of thought, except for the fact that I know that my parents are reading this…my grandparents are reading printed out copies, and, well, best not offend the adults.Problem solved though. I trudge back to the dorm, a walk that feels like half the globe existed between point A and point B, finding that the cool air in my dorm is just what I need. And a nice, chilled-to-perfection Coke. Sweet caffeinated love. I set up the DVD player, snigger at the cardboard rear of the entertainment closet, and travel my now-weary legs down to the game room where I partake in a game of pool. I win, can’t remember how, I suck at pool, and proceed to play a game of ping pong before the CA’s drag our collective, move-in-tired asses to convocation. Where I meet this girl. She’s a looker. Sweet fantasies swirl around the curves of her dress, my eyes envisioning what lays behind the folds of cloth. I shake my head. She said something to me. I was zoning, and didn’t notice her approach. I felt confident. Something that didn’t exist in high school. I might be able to talk to her, I think. And it wasn’t so hard, we talked for most of the way to convocation, choosing seats next to each other, any time I felt that something particularly funny had to be announced about the ridiculousness of these gowns, those embarrassing blue hats, crosses, I guessed, between a woman’s sun hat and an Imperial Navy Captain’s hat. Snippets of droning voice echoed under the realm of my conscience, I picked out only the stuff that would make the girl smile. I figure, what the hell. I’ll try my luck, see what these inexperienced, witty bones can muster, see how much I can make her giggle. The convocation ends, and we make like penguins to get out of there. The heat, again, seems to lay on us like a malicious glutton, and we wait in line to get something to eat. I listen to her friends, and listen to her, find that I’m kinda-sorta-not really listening, bringing back images of they way my dad looked when my mom talked during Orange County Choppers. Heh. Focus isn’t something I can brag about. Attention spans the length of my thumb to forefinger apparently. Whatever. I’m making a friend here. Some divine intervention, or a blatant act of Mr. Manly-Man on my part, leads me to get both me and the girl completely lost in the center of the damned campus. We walk and talk, stop, turn around, follow someone that I recognize, who’s lost but we don’t know it yet, so we follow until he walks right past us, and we laugh. Finally, through her, we get back. So much for the hairy chested image of the manly man. Guess I’m more of the sophisticated guy. With a knack for blundering about. Still talking like an intellectual, but goddamn if I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. I think I made an impression today, in my small little way. I think that’s a good place to stop. I have to brush my teeth anyway. Signing off.



Dark thirty, I’m hungry, and tired.

Aghh. I knew something like this would happen. Couldn’t just be easy. While my roommate contently snoozes, I can’t tell my mind to shut the &%*! up. He had a Coke the same time I did, and he’s still sleeping strong. Why does this happen to me? I wake up hoping desperately that its somewhere near some decent time to wake up. I’m wrong. Four thirty. Cursing to myself, I decide I’m better off sleeping on the top of my covers, so I get my pair of sweatpants on. I’ll make this clear, in saying that I really hope the fall weather is coming on soon, I mean it. The temperature in the room has to be around 82 or 83 Fahrenheit. It’s humid. And I need sleep that I’m just not getting, and its too hot to think about getting under those plastic sheets. If anything, I miss my bed at home. I miss the air conditioning. At least in my home town, if had a tough day at school, I could cool off. I might as well shove that memory down the poopchute. There hasn’t been a comfortable place around here. Air conditioning is half a snot away from being breath being blown on you. I’m thinking I need to purchase another fan, and have one blasting my feet or my face, and give the other to my room mate. Sleepless nights make me want to kick someone in the balls the morning after.¬†Well, I guess this goes with the saying that too much of a good thing is bad.

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