The sun'll come out the day after tomorrow

It's not the original, but it's VICTOR GARBER and KATHY BATES!  Squee!!

It'd probably be more appropriate to write my "adieu" entry tomorrow, which is my last day here in Pikeville, but I'm bored and the sound of rain and thunder outside gives me the urge to write.  So, shut up and listen!  I'm almost completely finished with packing.  Lauren thinks it's extremely outlandish and unusual that all of my clothes can fit into one large suitcase.  I just . . . don't have a lot of clothes.  The last time I saw her and Kat was last summer, just over a year ago, and I've probably bought maybe two pairs of jeans since then and a handful of shirts.  Most of said shirts were bought recently in preparation for leaving.  Also, I only have . . . *counts* . . . five pairs of shoes, which is probably unheard of for a young woman my age.  Two pairs of (poser) Converse, a pair of those Earth Day-thing sandals, a pair of flip-flops, and a pair of high heels in which I walk like a drunk.  Which is ironic, since I only wear them to church.

Speaking of church!  Tomorrow is my last day at the Pikeville Branch.  Tragic, isn't it?  Not that I've been recently anyway, but still.  I used to be bitter because it's so small, especially compared to the other congregations to which I've belonged throughout my life, but now I've actually grown to like the smallness and the family-like atmosphere.  Guess it's a little late to start liking it, though, huh?  I still don't really like church in general, if we're being perfectly honest.  Many times I've had to be dragged tooth and nail.  I'll probably never be one of those spiritual people who have a preternatural glow about them.  I'll try to survive the heartache.

I'm nervous.  Extremely nervous.  Terrified.  My pessimism has been seeping into every crevice and pore.  Lauren thinks I think too much, and she's not the first person to say so, so it's probably true.  But the thing is, I live in Kentucky, so there's nothing to do but think or mow the lawn.  I'd prefer the former.  I love my two best friends to little tiny bits and pieces, but this experience will be something so new to me.  It's almost like when I went to live with my father and his family in Georgia for a little while when I was sixteen.  It was new, but, even though I hadn't lived with my dad in about seven years, he was still my dad.  He was still that rock of familiarity and comfort that I needed.  There's just something about having a parent with you in an unfamiliar place -- it's kind of like having a beacon of light in a dark cave.  Except now that I'm all grown up (ha!), I can't rely on anyone else to be my "beacon."  Lauren and Kat will be sources of comfort, of course, but maybe I gotta shine my own light.  But still.  There's just something about growing up within the next forty-eight hours, being responsible, being an adult, starting college that is completely terrifying.  Sometimes I wish I could just freeze in a sort of limbo when I see them again.  That way I can be happy, but I won't have to try to function.

Okay, that's it for the metaphorical stuff.  (Sorry.  I'm a writer.  I tend to talk like that.  You'll get used to it.)

Ah, writing.  It's fun.  It's always been my dream to be a published author.  I fancy myself being the next J.K. Rowling, because she is just so intensely magnificent.  Yet I don't have the guts to try to be a Creative Writing major.  Instead I'll go for French with a pre-Master of Arts in Education.  Or something like that.  Why?  Excluding the fact that I adore the French language and that it has, in the past two years, become ma vie and ma passion, it's because the prospect of being a French teacher, or even a freelance translator, is so much more likely than being a published author.  I don't want to focus countless amounts of money and four years into something that might always remain a dream.  I definitely want to take a Creative Writing class, but, as for a major, I'm just not brave enough.

Sail on, little toaster.  Sail on.