Warm and tired.

I had a great weekend. And it was a good thing too, because work last week was busy and upsetting and good, but not very enjoyable. Still working hard pushing this investigation through with DHS. I don't know; maybe we're getting somewhere now. But we won't know for weeks now that it's in the hands of yet another department, yet another aspect of this gigantic system.

I tell you, it's more and more absurd to me as time goes on that we have created and perpetuated such a huge, complicated machine to rule our lives. Look at taxes. Why should we have to hire someone to navigate the tax system for us every year? Why should it be so complex? And law. Why do you need to hire a lawyer in order to take part in justice? We all know that rich people can afford better justice than poor people, but why do we keep it that way? Why haven't we changed this yet? I don't get it.

At any rate, weekend was awesome. We had a cook-out on Saturday. And, oh jeez, I need to call Dad. We grilled those deer steaks he gave me at Christmas and, oh boy! They were awesome. Did I mention that this weekend was the warmest since mid-September? Fun fact courtesy of the Chicago Tribune. On Sunday Michelle and I went hiking at the Starved Rock national park. Also awesome. It really was just a perfect day in every way.

I'm all tired and sunburnt and sore today. It's great.

Back to work today. This week will be tiring in a way, too, because we'll have our MAC dispense and we'll have 200 heavy boxes of food to get out. But that too is a good kind of tired. The kind that leaves you a little more hopeful afterwards that good still comes.

peace.

Getting Old

I know. I'm 24, going on 28. I am not a very old person. But I guess since the failed attempt at my second marathon and my realization that my knees would never let me make a third attempt, I've been on this kick to enjoy certain things now, before I can no longer do them.

When I was a teen and I was sure that it was migraines I was getting and not just headaches, I thought about my mom saying that chocolate became a trigger for her when she was in her mid-twenties. I realized this would probably be the same for me, and I therefore made a point of enjoying chocolate while I could still eat it. And I did. Now I just enjoy the smell of it. Boy, does it smell good.

Anyway, I work with a bunch of seventy and eighty-somethings. And tougher people you will not find. These ladies, eighty-three years old, unload the truck, move boxes around, come in every week to help us get the food ready and out to the people. Socorro's been sick a lot this year, she said she's not sure she'll make it to next year, and it doesn't seem to bother her that much. I try to imagine a time in my life when I really feel that way, when I don't have to remind myself not to be afraid of death. When it really is just okay with me.

Among other things, the older volunteers may have trouble (or may have lost the ability) bending their knees, raising their arms up above their heads, walking fast, turning at the waist, or doing any detailed work with their hands.

So I pay attention to these things I can still do. I make a point to move my body everyday in ways that I can. I rotate my shoulders and stand on my tip toes. I squat and kneel and pick my foot up in my hand and hold it at my waist. I hip-check my roommates when we're playing around and... and...

Well, here's the thing. I started sewing a skirt over the weekend. I could use a skirt, and it looks like it'll be pretty, but even more than that, I needed a project. I needed something relaxing and monotonous to do. Michelle was laughing at me for making a skirt that I'm not entirely sure will fit me. I didn't use a pattern, I just used Emily's skirt as a kind of guide. Michelle said, "You're hand-sewing all that? You can use my sewing machine."

I said, no, I don't want it to go fast, and I don't want it to be results-oriented. This is a project for the sake of a project. I want to hand-sew it. I want to figure out if I can make it fit me, and if so how. I just want to take some time with it and see what happens. It's nice to focus on something right now that's separate from my job, separate from the volunteer program, separate from grad school, separate from the big move.

Here's how it ties in to getting old. I've hand-sewn clothes before. And sometimes my hands will cramp a bit, but yesterday? Yesterday. Yesterday, at age almost-28, I had to rest my hand every 20 or so minutes because it would get to where I couldn't hold the fabric between my fingers. After a time, I could no longer press my index and middle finger together to hold the fabric in between. I could put them next to each other, but was unable to add pressure to that mix. And if I ignored it and didn't let my hand rest, I wouldn't even be able to put my fingers next to each other.

It was a wholly new sensation. And I thought, wow, this kind of thing must be really frustrating for people with arthritis.

So today, I'm enjoying the use of my hands. Hands are awesome. I love the way fingers work. Three cheers for hands!

Yeah.

The Big News

A.K.A. "Kati is the Luckiest Person on Earth"

So, it turns out that I'll be going to grad school at the University of Hawaii this fall. And yes, that IS the one that's in Hawaii, oddly enough. This fall, Michael and I are moving to Honolulu. I'll have a teaching assistantship and a tuition waver and we'll be living in paradise. And Michael will be able to get in-state tuition immediately because of my assistantship (employee of school system, and all).

I really just can't wrap my mind around this one. I'm getting all the practical concerns together, but it just doesn't quite seem real. People keep saying that Michael and I are the last two people they ever thought would live in Hawaii. And I keep thinking, Dude, no kidding. How can this be my life? It doesn't make sense.

But it's so exciting. And I guess because it's me, I think about things like how expensive it'll be, and it makes me feel better, like I'm not just going to float around in heaven for a few years. Like I'll still be earning this really awesome thing, somehow.

I'm elated with this. I'm insane with excitement when I dream too much. I mentally scroll through my things and figure out what I'll take, what I'll donate to the pantry, what I'll box up and throw in my parents' attic with our books. It's wonderful times we live in. And lucky for me, I'm the lucky one.

peace.

Research

The cold comes again. It's been 60s and 70s for a few days, and sure we had rain... but man it was warm. Now it's Pantry Day and we're expecting another snow. I'm so ready for it to be done snowing.

And I can't help but think of the weather... well, you know where. I'm days (like, maybe tomorrow) away from knowing about funding, away from it being official. I'm crazy with anticipation. I focus on work. I watch movies at night. Anything to make the time go by. I am so ready for tomorrow to happen. Or the next day, if it's gonna happen then. Oh god.

In other, but related news...

Clark University had been my first choice school since I first found it online. I was invited out to interview, and went out to Worcester Massachusetts on quite possibly the worst day to travel ever. But, as luck would have it, I made it out on the only flight that left Chicago toward Boston that morning, and came back on the only flight that left Boston toward Chicago that night. 24 hours of travelling. The weather was so bad that not everyone could make it in to meet me. But I met the key people, and it was great. I talked to the van drivers that took me from Boston to Worcester, learned about local life. I learned all about the school, the program... and...

Well, for practical reasons it stopped being my number one choice. Still love the school, the program. Am enamored with the profs I'd have worked with and the research they do. But practically speaking, living options for the next four years wouldn't be great, and getting Michael into a school he'd thrive in just might not happen either. It just didn't... seem... to... fit.

On the upside, they decided that about me too. Liked me, what I was doing, what I wanted to research... but not as a first choice. And their first choice candidates all accepted, so they never got down to where I was on the list. No worries, though. Especially since the director of Cultural Psych program contacted me to say, Sorry, but no. But... remember that research we'd talked about? Would you like to work on it with us? And get a publishing credit for it?

It was the absolute best rejection ever. Because it is pretty cool research. I'd been quite excited about it when we talked about it. And... doing it here in Chicago will have the added effect of being able to help out the neighborhood I've spent most of my four years working in. Which is awesome.

The closer I get to leaving this program, the more I realize that I've been here for four years. I know that, as excited as I am for the next step, that there will be some sort of 'grieving process' when I go. I'm going to miss an awful lot about the Claretians, the neighborhood, the work I've done, the people I've known, and Chicago. I want to leave something behind. Something lasting. Something that will help on into the future.

It's why I've started the foodstamp interviews. (those are going well). And it's why I'm so excited about this research. I think it could help the community in a variety of ways, once it's done, once the information reaped is sent to key people in key places. And to think a rejection letter dropped this opportunity into my lap. How crazy, this world.

In the meantime, fingers crossed and prayers said that funding is a go, and that I'll be going to grad school at... well, you know where.

Update as soon as I know for sure.

*hopes hopes hopes...*