Homesick

I am having a blast during my vacation week from camp. I drove up to Maryland to spend the week with my best friend, Rachael (Yep, that's us at our senior prom).

Anyway*, Rachael, Christian and I have been frantically apartment-hunting since Friday with lots of potentials, but no luck yet. We've been on site to some places to check the safety of areas out in person and have been emailing people like crazy and I think I've visited craigslist way more often than I've visited facebook this week (seriously).

Anyway, for a much-needed change of pace, I got to go all the way to downtown D.C. by myself like a big girl today (I officially have a smartrip card!). I arrived at the steps of the Natural History Museum to meet up with Kenny, Corey, Jailee, Louiza and Andy (who are friends from camp that decided to spend their vacation week house-sitting near D.C.). While Rachael was at work, I shopped around D.C. with my campy friends pretending that I wasn't about to be homeless in exactly a month...I bought coconut ice cream from a hot dog car and selfishly purchased the cutest dress from H&M (a clothing store that everyone in the world has been to but me). Also, whilst at Urban Outfitters, I got to witness a real-life shoplifter get arrested. It was actually super depressing and sad because the woman was crying and looked like any other person. The situation was simply all-around uncomfortable and humiliating. Urban Outfitters is really, really, really expensive though.

Anyway, on my crowded, but solitary, metro ride back to College Park, I began thinking more and more about my new and different life scheduled for the fall. What will grad school really be like? Will I get good grades? How stressed out will I be? What kind of people will I meet? What about boys (just kidding)? What kind of part-time job will I get to slave away at? Will I make enough money for rent? What about for food? Will I be happy? The latter is worrying me most. I know that I will be happy, but I don't know if I'll every be as happy as I was these past two years. I know I've always complained about Elon, but ever since I stepped foot into the ceramics room and got to working with Mike, I've had some kind or sense of inner calm.

I know that sounds silly. It really does. But I COMPLETELY mean it. The daily struggle and triumph that I experienced working on my ceramics and sculpture made me feel so special and unique. I would tire physically at the wheel, wedging the clay, feeling it in my arms, shoulders and, even, abdomen. I'd get weird looks walking around campus because I'd be so mentally involved, constantly thinking about art, that I wouldn't even bother to clean the dried clay off of my pants, hands and even face. Needless to say, I absolutely LOVED every painstaking minute of working on my thesis. I loved even more discussing the things of life with faculty and peers. My happiest days were at the end of April, installing the senior art show. I hadn't eaten for two days, hadn't slept for the same amount, but I was all giggly and bubbly. I didn't want to be anywhere else. All I wanted to do was stay in the art building.

What I am trying to say is that today on the metro, it hit me. It hit me hard. I am not going back to Elon this fall (which I am okay with). Rather, I am not going back to the ceramics room. I won't get to see Mike's face every day. I won't have clay under my fingernails. I won't get to walk around the maze of Artswest, passing friends in the hall. I won't get to judge the bad art in the bathrooms. There are other things that I won't get to do, but mainly I am jealous that I don't get to make more art full-time. I hope that at the Corcoran I will have enough studio time to explore more with my art. I hope that I find the faculty and students as fun as I found my cohort of art kids. I'm not worried. It's more that the Corcoran experience I am about to embark on is being held and judged against my Art/Honors experience. Mainly, though, as much as I don't want this summer and camp to end, I can not wait another day to get my fingers back in some clay and my brain wrapped around someone else's art.

Love,

Monica

*I like this word.