So this is it?

Packing is hard. There's like, bags and folding clothes and stuff. All over the floor.

But I should be at the airport in forty-five minutes.

You know what's much more fun? Brushing up on my college student skills, sitting on a couch watching cartoons, eating take-out chinese straight from of the carton.

I am an adult.

There's No Real Goodbye When you Mean it

Done; my time here in Germany is slowly winding down. I've been looking for the words to summarize it up for you all because I know you care so, so much.


But I don't have any words. Really, it was an amazing time and blah, blah, blah, life changing experiences and what not, blah blah. Insert a few broad statements about my internal transformation and ta-da! I'd have a sugary sweet post for you all. And I'd totally understand when you ran from the room sick to your stomach.

Because it was all lollipops and gumdrops. Hah!

Honestly, like, I'm giving it to you straight right now. There was a lot of crap. Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think I meant that metaphorically? No, no no no no nooo... Honestly, there was a lot of crap. In its most physical form. And I learned that many children use their feces as a type of, shall we say, biological warfare when they have trouble expressing themselves.

So that was great!

By the end of the last day, I was silently urging parents to drive faster, faster, faster. Please, people, I just need, like, forty seconds to myself. Grab your kids and run! I still stand behind my opinion that we should turn off the coffee machine after the kids pick-up time is passed. The information paper say that you can grab your kid from ten in the morning until noon. That does not mean you can sit and drink coffee until one thirty while we scurry about cleaning. News flash: We have homes, too.

Now that I've fully convinced you that last few camps were a disaster, please allow me to completely contradict myself: I didn't want to leave. 

Because stuff like this happens.

When I got there, that was my key for pick-up, all dolled up with a sticky note and a little flower.

Any other time I could just stroll into the office, shove my key into my pocket, and walk on my merry way, but not here. I left the note on my key the entire camp. It was very sweet of them. And that's the way this entire summer has been, small and thoughtful moments that just made me happy.

Saying goodbye was hard. Not only because expressing myself in another language is still a sticking point, but I'm not quite sure how I feel about myself and my summer yet. Just sort of inwardly content right now.

I've already started to forget the crap...'Started'. And there's the emphasis. Because I think the world is sort of full of crap. What am I saying? The world is full of crap, metaphorical and physical, but the best parts are still there.

Whoohoo! There you have it. Nicely packed in a quaint little bow.

What if the Hokey-Pokey is what it's all about?

This is going to be my writing power hour.


Ugh. Power hour sounds like something an aerobics instructor tries to talk you into after you've just eaten a cheeseburger. Time for the power hour! But seriously, I need to write a post. Too much stuff clanking around in my brain right now and it's like if I don't get it out fast enough, the dust will settle and I'll forget it all if I haven't already.

I'm laughing at myself for typing this as my fingers are moving, because I have lost all shame in the last few weeks. I learned a dance here at camp and in a store the song came on. It was a ritzy store, all shiny objects behind glass panes and whatnot. The type of store with hundred dollar trash bins. Why? Because it's a trash can that costs a hundred dollars, that's why.
Didn't stop me from dancing.

The store clerk followed me around the entire time and I'm still not convinced it wasn't to check for bulges in my pockets as I left and not just to ogle my hip-thrusting action in his kitchen appliance store.

To make up for my obscenities I later returned to buy a nice wine decanter.

You best believe I'm a classy lady.

But I know I can be a pain in the ass. (Pardon my French, Grandma, but there's no better way to say it.) The last few weeks have been eye opening. Truly. I've heard a lot about two days in life: the day you're born and the day you understand why you were born. I don't think many people live to see that second day; I know I sure as schnitzel haven't. But I'm working my way through this summer with a lot of light bulb moments.

Camp is where it's at, yo. Monstrous kudos to the WaldPiraten camp and their efforts. I take my ten days here, working with the kids, no not even working, it's just playing, but yet I'm shaping someones life. That's intense. At the end of the session a little bubble has sort of grown in my chest. I don't know what it is, but it grows when they lift some kid's wheelchair up on stage just so he can forget the jokes he had planned and spontaneously sings Lady Gaga instead. And it presses against my throat when I sit next to a kid and he asks me to wake him up, just in case he falls asleep during lunch because he's just so worn from chemo. And let's be serious. I don't even LIKE kids.

Sometimes I leave our little paradise on the hill and my bubble deflates a little. I can't explain it. Maybe I'm tired, too. But sleeping in on my breaks and waking up before noon still means I'm technically waking up in the morning, so I can't be that tired.

But that doesn't explain not wanting to talk to people, or not wanting to go out, or avoiding groups at all costs.

I never got it when I was back living at home. I hated, hated when my mom would look at me and ask me why I looked so sad. And I would always reply (say it with me, Mom...) "I'm not sad. I'm just thinking."

During my latest break, someone snapped a photo of me. I don't have it, maybe they'll send it to me to post, but I was just sitting in a cafe and people watching. I wasn't upset or angry or anything. Just sitting and thinking.

Ho, man! Did I look pissed off. And I was just sitting there! You know how some books describe characters as having sad faces or mournful eyes. I feel like I had some spectrum disorder and I've had to learn emotions from a book. This is a happy face. This is a funny face. That. That right there, is a sad face.

Please try and read that without using Gru's voice. You can't, can you?

"Do you think it's a coincidence people think you're sad?" I hadn't really given much thought to it, honestly. But now it's sort of in my brain like some measly little worm. A stupid thought worm that's burrowing around and turning my old brain dirt into new fertile soil.
 It's not been often in my life that I don't feel a little reserved. A few distinct people and places have pulled me out of myself, but for the most part I'm still all here. And that's okay.

In the very least I'm on my way to big day number two; which is going to take a bit more of getting to know me. So I leave you with this, Internet. Be kind to her. She's a teeny bit shy.

Public service announcement: Due to the constricted nature of blog writing abilities this summer, the number of wishy-washy philosophical/self-actualization posts will be greatly increased.