M-m-m-my Generation, The Who

This is the month of changes. Passive and slow changes all the way to fast and extreme changes. I've moved, and I'm preparing to move again. I graduate from the University I've suffered through for the past four years, I don't have a job and in 6 months I move out of the USA for at least 2 and a half years. And of all of this, the thing that scares me most is moving back in with my parents.

Don't get me wrong. My parent's are awesome. They're probably some of the coolest parents a girl can ask for. They let me have freedoms, make it so I don't like keeping secrets from them and have encouraged me to follow a dream. Yet, moving in with them has become one of the more terrifying things of this whole graduation game.

Let me give you a little background. I moved out of my college house on April 30th and moved in with my grandparents that same day. Unloading my car (well, my grandpa's aging, temperamental, dinged up car), I started hanging out with my grandparents. They made me sit on the couch and relax. I couldn't help cook, I couldn't help clean. The only thing they let me do was set the table and eat. I commandeered the kitchen to do dishes, but that was about it.
During dinner, I caught a glimpse of my future. I asked my Grandpa how he felt about turning 80 in about a month. He responded, "Well, I'm old. I'm falling apart. I don't know how much older I can get."

Now if you know anything about my Grandpa, which I'm assuming you do, since most of you reading this are either blood relatives or otherwise close, you know this isn't as morbid as it sounds. Yes, it's morbid, my Grandpa's an old man, but he's got a sick, twisted sense of humor that ties into his morbidity. It's just his sense of humor.

He continued, "My joints ache (he has some serious arthritis), I'm old and worst of all, my skin's getting flappy." He shook his arm to illustrate this.

My grandmother turned to him, "You have no idea about saggy skin, Chester (that's my grandpa's name). Look at this."

My Grandma proceeded to roll up her sleeves and shake her arms. "If I flap hard enough, I can fly!"

Behold, Friends, this is my future.

In case you don't believe me, let's look at the clues. I don't have flabby arms, but I do flap them around regularly. I am inclined to make jokes about flying, at my own expense. And the most important clue? This is my blood. I have always joked with members of my family that by the time I'm old, I'll have enough material to write a memoir with only embarrassing stories about my family. This is not even the worst I can come up with. This is my family, and you all who haven't yet met them, you can stop wondering why.

A few moments ago, I walked out of my last final of my undergraduate career. The change has commenced, and I'm currently moving forward toward it with open arms. However, I still have six months before my next true adventure begins. Within that time, I need to keep busy, occupied and doing things that I love. Writing is one of them, something I put off when I'm busy with school and in no need of remembering that part of my life afterward. But this summer, the preparation to go away from everything I knew for years, will be an important time. I hope to keep up with this again, to figure out what it is that I hope to get out of the Peace Corps experience.

Oh yeah, the Peace Corps. It's been something playing in the back of my mind for so long that I forget to remember it. I got nominated to the Peace Corps in January, and I've been waiting since then. Before, in school, I had a distraction, but now, now that I have all but graduated and am moving forward with my life, I have no distraction while I wait.

I've decided to start writing again. Writing to keep me focused on this goal, to keep me motivated and move me forward. Join me on that journey, if you will. If you won't, I won't cry. In fact, I won't know. That's the beauty of the internet.