Waiting for Go-dauren
Molly returned about an hour ago, so I am free to be happy again. Last night could have been horrifically unbearable, but thankfully I had my Chronicles of Narnia soundtrack to lull me to sleep. Thank you, Anna! I really needed some soft noise in the room. Molly never snores or anything, but I missed the sound of someone else breathing in the room. I felt noisy breathing all by myself, like I shouldn't be breathing. It's irksome, it is.
Actually, to say I was all alone would be a falsehood. One, I'm surrounded by dormmates. Two, Molly and I got a pet last week. He's not so much a pet as he is a plant. Our daffodil. A daffodil we named "Pooter." My friend Lauren inspired me when she told me about her dogs at home. In total, her family owns three and nicknamed one of them "Pooter." That's a name I can never say without smiling, so I figured that's the sort of name a daffodil should have since it's so pretty and yellow and smile-inducing. So Pooter kept me company, and I appreciated him very much. I also appreciate the Kroger from which he came.
Now I should probably tell my happiest of newses because I'm sure my dad is anxious for my blathering. Honestly, I'm still so stunned by my good fortune and loving parents that I find it difficult to believe any of this.
It all started the day my grandpa died. Bad way to start a happy story, but these were the circumstances. Since we would not be returning home before Christmas, we all agreed to each take one gift to open in Texas. On the way out of town, Dad said he needed to stop by one of his partner's houses. We parked in the partner's driveway, and Dad got out of the car for whatever it was he needed. Morgan and I chatted in the back of our huge van because we'd been fighting for the past few days and were now in the process of reconciling. Then my dad opened the car door and asked me to get out and help him. For a moment, I sat dumbstruck (and slightly indignant) because "help" implies physical labor for which Morgan should be employed. Grumbling inside my head, I hopped out of the van and turned around
to see
my
Rav!!!!
Face reddening, I started laughing even as I fought against it. I mean, my grandpa had just died. How in the world could I be so happy when I was so terribly sad? But my Rav! It was the red I had longed for, and it wasn't in Centre's parking lot. No, it was my red Rav--in Owensboro--for me. I had to hug it, so I threw my arms across it and stroked its shiny exterior. But we had to cut my celebration short because the daylight was fading fast and we needed to get on the road. Leaving my Rav behind after just receiving it wasn't as painful as losing my grandfather, but it certainly didn't make me happy. I dealt with it pretty well, though, and it actually helped me to deal with our loss and the upheaval of our holiday. Knowing my Rav was safe in Owensboro helped keep me sane, I think.
It's a beautiful Rav, too, if I didn't say so before. I'm used to driving it now, and my favorite part about it is how quickly and efficiently it stops. Those brakes are fantastic. After my wreck I'm pretty fond of brakes. Those and my door-beeper. Not only do I have THE key to the car, I have the automatic lock-and-unlock device. It rocks my world with its little beep-beep-beep. I'm still working on a name for my Rav, as well as a gender. Both will come to me in time. One day my Rav will deem me worthy of the knowledge and will then tell me its most personal secrets. Until that time comes, I must be quit gentle with the gear shift. After all, I do not want to assault my car if it is masculine.
Actually, to say I was all alone would be a falsehood. One, I'm surrounded by dormmates. Two, Molly and I got a pet last week. He's not so much a pet as he is a plant. Our daffodil. A daffodil we named "Pooter." My friend Lauren inspired me when she told me about her dogs at home. In total, her family owns three and nicknamed one of them "Pooter." That's a name I can never say without smiling, so I figured that's the sort of name a daffodil should have since it's so pretty and yellow and smile-inducing. So Pooter kept me company, and I appreciated him very much. I also appreciate the Kroger from which he came.
Now I should probably tell my happiest of newses because I'm sure my dad is anxious for my blathering. Honestly, I'm still so stunned by my good fortune and loving parents that I find it difficult to believe any of this.
It all started the day my grandpa died. Bad way to start a happy story, but these were the circumstances. Since we would not be returning home before Christmas, we all agreed to each take one gift to open in Texas. On the way out of town, Dad said he needed to stop by one of his partner's houses. We parked in the partner's driveway, and Dad got out of the car for whatever it was he needed. Morgan and I chatted in the back of our huge van because we'd been fighting for the past few days and were now in the process of reconciling. Then my dad opened the car door and asked me to get out and help him. For a moment, I sat dumbstruck (and slightly indignant) because "help" implies physical labor for which Morgan should be employed. Grumbling inside my head, I hopped out of the van and turned around
to see
my
Rav!!!!
Face reddening, I started laughing even as I fought against it. I mean, my grandpa had just died. How in the world could I be so happy when I was so terribly sad? But my Rav! It was the red I had longed for, and it wasn't in Centre's parking lot. No, it was my red Rav--in Owensboro--for me. I had to hug it, so I threw my arms across it and stroked its shiny exterior. But we had to cut my celebration short because the daylight was fading fast and we needed to get on the road. Leaving my Rav behind after just receiving it wasn't as painful as losing my grandfather, but it certainly didn't make me happy. I dealt with it pretty well, though, and it actually helped me to deal with our loss and the upheaval of our holiday. Knowing my Rav was safe in Owensboro helped keep me sane, I think.
It's a beautiful Rav, too, if I didn't say so before. I'm used to driving it now, and my favorite part about it is how quickly and efficiently it stops. Those brakes are fantastic. After my wreck I'm pretty fond of brakes. Those and my door-beeper. Not only do I have THE key to the car, I have the automatic lock-and-unlock device. It rocks my world with its little beep-beep-beep. I'm still working on a name for my Rav, as well as a gender. Both will come to me in time. One day my Rav will deem me worthy of the knowledge and will then tell me its most personal secrets. Until that time comes, I must be quit gentle with the gear shift. After all, I do not want to assault my car if it is masculine.