There's a great big, beautiful tomorrow

If being home was weird, being in Disney World was weirder. Definitely don’t plan your trip to Disney right after your trip to Europe. Dare I say the magic is tarnished? I guess there is no shame in spending a little time wallowing in licensed merchandise, mass produced food, and subtle gender/race stereotypes. There really is no place more American. I won’t spill anymore bitterness all over Mickey’s spectro-dreams wishes and sparkle parade, but I will say DEFINITELY avoid EPCOT. The Eiffel Tour is way cooler in real life and your visit will not be narrated by Martin Short. When we were in Cordoba, we had to visit a large shopping center around Christmas and it was complete and total over stimulation. After about 5 minutes, all of us were inexplicably cranky and Helen turned to me and said “ Is this what going home is going to feel like?” And the answer is yes- if your roommates wear oversized white gloves and red shorts. Disney is a terrible place to reflect and get your feet on the ground. Mickey is a terrible listener, contrary to popular belief. Apparently they don’t have a lot of room for doubt and nostalgia among all the “spirit” and “magic”. The songs aren’t A Whole New World ( of Financial Instability) or I Just Can’t Wait to be Sing(le and Unemployed).

But Disney wasn’t all bad. I got a Darth Vader airbrush tattoo, had some emotional “return to music moments,” formed the core 4, and got to reconnect with a few very important people in a “Marist Lite” environment. Also it gave me and Poughkeepsie a little break as we get to know each other again. Florida is definitely not my state – bad coffee and bad foliage. Being home in Casa Fio is very nice too- my family missed me – even Julie! We had a very nice sister moment as we rapped Grillz and the Welcome to Atlanta Coast 2 Coast Remix together at a coffee shop. They are being very patient with my “Hansel and Gretel” life style. I leave water glasses, books, Cds, pens, and sweatshirts behind me all day. If I was ever implicated in a crime or went missing, it would be very easy to retrace my steps.

Alas, I seem to come home to even more undecided decisions and this new feeling that I have nothing to hide behind anymore- every responsibility and task before me this semester is significant. My classes are very relevant to that foggy career lurking ahead ( it appears to me as though through one of those misty 70s lenses) and there are less corners that I will be able to cut. My extracurriculars revolve almost entirely around ESL- something that kinda happened to me by accident but I take it very seriously. Ive said it before but we affect one of the most basic parts of life- language and communication. There isn’t busy work or pushing paper. Oh and then there’s band. A personal/social life and maintaining my health would be nice too. Phew- quasi adulthood is odd.

Cliché simile time! Landing back in New York, I felt like a brand new notebook ( buying a new notebook is sublime for me). It’s crisp and clean and not yet mangled by the tangle of things living at the bottom of your backpack. You pick it up and let the empty pages fan your face, inhaling all the possibilities. You promise yourself you will take really neat notes this semester. But eventually you have to take the new notebook to class. You have to scribble in it, shove it in your backpack, and hold it in your teeth while you unlock your locker. And someone will probably put their big soggy sandwich on your new notebook. It’s all part of the brutal reality of notebook ownership.

In the days before I actually return to school (not aforementioned simile school) I fear for my proverbial notebook. I don’t know if I feel like the take no prisoners, assertive Emily with time for seemingly everything and anyone that I was. I spent 4 months shredding my old notebook page by page and that notebook was an overstuffed mess. I’d like to be very careful about what I fill my notebook with now that I am home. Everyday as I look around at all of the things I’ve collected ( Dave Matthews Cds? Backed issues of Teen People? Really?), I can only think

“I don’t want this.”

I feel the same way about most of my emotional and mental things too. I don’t know how much I want back. No one leaves home to come back the same. So I guess you could call this the editing phase, which is probably not very much fun for my friends or my blog readers (weren’t we in Rome last week?). I have a tendency to act in extremes – so I am fighting the urge to reject everything or jump totally back into the flow of my pre Spain life. I’m afraid of a lot more things than I will ever admit publicly. I want this semester to be a recollection of sorts, getting ready to go out and make the life I want. Sometimes I wish I could just let all of these daily existential crises go and just suck on a smoothie at the mall, but I’m not ready to do that just yet. Feeling uncomfortable feels right and I’m going to do my best to make Paquita proud in the meantime.