Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

On Wednesday night, my roommates called me into the living room to receive the previously mentioned special backordered gift. Wondering what it was had been driving me crazy for three days, but even more so, I was worried that after all the build up I wouldn't look excited enough. I'm not a great gift receiver, and never know how to properly show my gratitude.

In this case, I needn't have worried.

They had hastily wrapped it up in the cover of this weeks Flagpole Magazine. It was a small box, and I had no idea what it could be, until I cleared away the newsprint and saw the brand name on the top of the gift box.

I must have turned pale at that point. There is no way they actually bought that for me.

I opened the box, and they had, in fact, bought me the locket I had daydreamed about receiving for Valentine's Day.

Catie asked, “Jenna Tollerson, will you be our Valentine?”

It took just about everything I had in me not to cry.

Dear Apartment 6:

I don't know if I tell you enough, but living at Apartment 6 with you, my great friends, is the happiest I have ever been in all my 22 years. Not just the happiest, even, but the first time in my life I have ever been truly happy. The work and thought everyone put into my birthday is just one more reason I feel that moving into that apartment was the best decision I ever made. I love you.

I'm wearing that locket even now, as I sit in my sister's home office in Redmond, Washington. I've only been here 24 hours, and at some point there will be much to tell, but there has been so much airport-havoc-people-watching-meeting-people-and-dogs-talking-til-dawn that my head is spinning as I attempt to process all the details.

So I've been writing in a notebook for the past couple of days. Paper and pen, the old-fashioned way, and trying to jot things down, from my head, no self editing and none of the weaving into what would normally make it into the public domain. I'm doing this so I don't miss anything.

Details are, of course, what turns a series of events into a story. I continute to be, more than anything, in the business of Jenna Tollerson mythopoeia.

We at the House are not giving up cyberspace. You can trust that the stories will indeed follow. Soon.

I'll tell you a secret: I've woken up crying for the past three days. Woken up and just sobbed for 10 or 15 minutes.

This is strange behavior under any circumstances, but especially strange because today—the third day I've woken up wondering why I bother to ever get out of bed—is my birthday. I am 22 years old today. And I've been having one of the worst weeks I've had in awhile.

If it wasn't the crippling low, it was an equally crippling bout of anxiety that lasted for my entire workday on Wednesday—nearly 8 hours of tense muscles, rapid heartbeat and difficulty breathing—that only slightly let up after I got home and incoherently babbled to Abie about nothing that I can remember now. It's been not wanting to ever get out of bed, preferring to hide in the dark and not face the world.

Here's where I need to point out that trying to hide from the world and having a birthday at the same time are totally incompatible. Even though I didn't even think they knew about my birthday at the time, Crystal and Amanda showed up at my house on Saturday night (from out of state, no less) and forced me to go a show with them, even though I had no other goals for the night than to curl up into a ball on the couch and try to disappear.

I got out of my pajamas, took a shower, and put on a show of my own: the one where I am happy and normal and not incredibly depressed.

We went to Flicker. My roommates Emily and Melissa were already there. Michael Flynn played lots of mushy love songs. He's actually fantastic, but felt distracted and in a daze.

Between sets Abie showed up, and then Bill Carson played. He's equally fantastic, and writes really sexy music, and the whole time I was thinking about how I needed to get the hell outta there into the open air, away from the crowds. I did not want to be around people at that moment.

After the set I got up and dashed out, and Abie came and found me. I related to her nearly everything, how I felt like shit, smothered by my life, that things, at 22, where not going at all the way I wanted.

Saying it aloud did help, just a little.

Just after midnight we gathered roommates and house guests and all ten of us went to the Grill.

We were all being goofy, taking pictures of each other, generally making too much of a ruckus, when spontaneously all nine people seated with me sang me Happy Birthday. It was simultaneously special, embarrassing, and the exact opposite of imperative-be-ye-not-social.

I probably needed it.

I woke up late today. My Dad called me while I was still in bed, contemplating the work ahead of me, and invited me to Winder to have dinner. I told him I had too much studying to do. He said he would come to Athens and feed me on a study break.

I got in the shower, further putting off studying, and realized there was no way I was going to pass the test on Tuesday. I got out of the shower, got online, and dropped the class.

I called my Dad. “I don't have to study anymore. I dropped it.”

“You sound ten times better than you did when I talked to you before.”

My sister and I went to Winder to eat Zaxby's with Dad. Choices in Winder are slim, see. Being in Winder made me feel kind of relaxed for some reason. Sarah and Dad talked a lot about music theory. Dad made his usual quota of bad jokes, and Sarah talked about her recent admission to a fancy music school. It was good to not be talking about myself for awhile.

When I came home at least 3 roommates blocked me from the kitchen and told me I needed to get in my room. This is a customary Apartment 6 birthday greeting.

A few minutes later, they called me into the living room. You will never guess what my cake looked like. It was the Best Thing Ever.

After I blew out the candles Abie asked me to sit down.

“We have to tell you something about your present. We all went in on something for you but it's on backorder, so you'll have to wait.”

“You guys did that for me?”

It's really awesome to find out your roommates were planning something behind your back, as long as it's not your demise.

Allison: “If you want something to unwrap I can wrap something for you—like the Prince of Weasels.”

Catie: “The Prince of Weasels is not for giving away.”

Allison: “Oh.”

I love both my families. Not because they buy me things or make me iPod cakes or pick beautiful pink flowers out for me, but because I've got people pulling for me even when things seem dark and inescapable. They love me even if I am a grump for a whole week, and they think about me even when I'm not standing there in front of them. I've been up in my own head a lot lately and forgot that I'm in a lot of other people's heads too.

This week I was afflicted once again by bronchitis (probably). I ran a fever, kept a sleep schedule even more irregular than usual, and would get severely winded walking from my bedroom to the kitchen or even talking to my roommates. I had to miss two days of work, spend a rather ridiculous amount of time coughing, and skip a number of meals due to the unpleasant thought of trying to push any solid food down past my tightened sore throat and lungs.

Discounting shortness of breath and occasionally hacking up a lung, I was beginning to feel like I was on the tail end of it late Friday afternoon and volunteered to take Sarah shopping. We are sitting at the light in front of Target on the Atlanta Highway and everything's fine. The light turns green, we start moving and I hear a peculiar sound coming from outside my window.

“Is that my car?”

I find my way off the road, get out, and my rear driver's side tire is completely flat. I felt this was a very unceremonious flat—I still have no clear idea of how it happened. There was no loud popping, no loss of control. After I unpack my trunk and realize I'm missing a crucial element for this whole procedure—“How do I not have a jack?”—Sarah walks over to the nearby strip mall and solicits help from a father and son picking up their pizza. They drop what they are doing and come over and change the tire for me.

These are the times when I really love being a woman for real. Laying on the ground, wheezing with sickness while trying to jack up my car was not the way I had intended to spend my Friday evening. And I didn't have to!

However, I reminded that while being an ultimate symbol of freedom, Russo (my car) is also now a child I have to take care of, and children are so damn expensive. Their rubber soles wear out so much faster than you think they will, and a month later they need new shoes! Russo doesn't understand how broke his mother is.

This week I have also developed a pronounced aversion to people. Everywhere I go I feel extremely crowded. In my apartment, in the street, in class, at work, everywhere. I would just like to be alone for more than an hour and I am never alone. There is always someone there. Around every corner there is someone I know, someone who needs to say hi, someone who is a presence that is in my way, has to be counted in my train of thought. It is driving me crazy.

I have no rational explanation for this, of course. Mostly, everyone has been wonderful to me. All the people in my life have been friendly and sweet, my roommates have taken great care of me during my illness, my family's cutting me slack all around. I just feel closed in. Pressurized on all sides. Precisely because no one has done anything to make me feel like this, I am trying my damnedest not to explode onto anyone, not to let the sound of voices or the warmth of bodies get to me. I was planning a little “who knows where I'll end up?” excursion with my Sunday to shake some of this off, but seeing as how I won't be able to take care of the tire problem until Monday and driving aimlessly on a spare is probably inadvisable, I'll just have to find some alone time closer to home.

It could just be the illness, but my chest feels incredibly tight. I need some decompression.

...

J: “But I've decided he's just a friend.”
E: (with horrified look) “Why?”
J: “It's just better this way. Easier. He's totally out of my league anyway.”
E: “But you like him so much! No one is out of you league, Jenna.”
J: “The deal is I can keep obsessing or I can move on. I know that it's not going to happen. I can settle for having a friend. And we have the potential to be really good friends, it's there.”
E: “It's just so sad. It's like you are giving up on romance.”

This morning I was simply attempting to exit my apartment, when I opened the door and was greeted by a giant pile of construction flotsam and jetsam, sitting on our doormat, quite literally blocking my way.

I did what you would expect me to do it the face of such adversity. I yelled,

“What the hell?!?!”

and began moving some of it out of my way so I could just sidle around it, freakin’ leave and go to work. Is that really so much to ask?

Vin Diesel (as my roommates refer to the construction worker for his similar appearance) came barreling around the corner, apologizing profusely, looking very upset, claiming that “this will all be outta here in just one second”, and moved some stuff for me so I could get by.

I have to say, getting to righteously yell at someone first thing in the morning made me feel a little less powerless in this whole getting-fucked-by-my-landlord scheme of things.

I can't wait for the day when I can leave my apartment and get all the way to the street without having to move carefully around raw materials and say “excuse me” and back against the wall for the 15 men carrying bulky objects up the stairs.

Someday. Not today.

All my roommates are asleep.

This was weird to realize just after midnight on a Saturday, so I turned off the DVD I was watching, walked downstairs and trolled around the city for half an hour. The weather is mostly just great, but now that it has finally warmed just a little, I find myself longing for the hot tropical blanket of humidity that settles over Georgia in the summer. A Southerner through and through, that's what I love most about living here.

Of course, come July, I'll outwardly complain and turn up the AC, just like everyone else.

I've seen a lot of shows in the past few days—Bain Mattox, Borrowed Angels, Hector the Hero, and Tin Cup Prophette. All of these bands share members, some pulled right out of Jump. Sometimes it kinda felt like a Charleston invasion. In a good way.

These are all bands everyone should actively persue. In the bridge of the song Blackwater, Cary Ann (the sexy front woman for the Borrowed Angels) sings “I love you” in a way that makes me wish that I could somehow have a romantic relationship with her just so someone could sing “I love you” to me that way.

Unfourtunately, although I can't speak for Miss Cary Ann, I am hopelessly and unquestionably heterosexual. Ah well. Someday I will find a young man who can sing to me that way. Hopefully someday soon.

The boys who have just moved in across the hall are very loud in their comings-and-goings. Last night they kept me up til about 3:45 this morning talking loudly with slurred words, right on the other side of a door in mine and Abie's room. I think Abie was spared most of the yelling and running and doors opening and slamming shut because she falls asleep much faster than I do. Lucky. I need to bring some testosterone infused people over here to intimidate these drunken louts. Maybe I could get Kyle to unleash the fury on their asses. That would be very gratifying.

I have been feeling kinda down about some things lately (as some of you know or at least have guessed—and it's actually branching out a little into crazy moodswings). This is mostly irrelevant for the purposes of these pages, except that if you'd like to make me feel better, go fill out my application to date me. (if you haven't already). It in no way constitutes any obligation to actually date me. I just like to read to the answers.

If you are in Winder, and you come to 106 West, I'll see you tonight!

1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy

I'm in the new apartment (and using my roommate Alli's computer, I hope she does not mind to much) and I would post for you pictures of the place, but my computer is currently out of commission. Again.

It's a great place though, with big windows in the living room and secret loft spaces and hardwood floors. But best of all I have the best roommates in the world. They're all fun and soothing to be around and wonderful cooks and artsy and completely neurotic, just like me. I feel right at home here.

Yesterday Alli made English muffin pizzas and we ate while listening to the band the floor below us practice. Loudly. Catie set the face of her Fender amp on the floor and took revenge with a Squire Strat. It was lovely. Catie has mad skillz. Then the three of us walked down to Blue Sky and got hot chocolate (they got coffee), and when we saw a storm that could be coming we walked back up to our place and waited, but I don't think it ever came.

When we got home the band had stopped, so despite there being a bar open and people roaming the street two floors below, here it was quiet. I was feeling quite right with the world until, carrying my computer from the living room to my bedroom, I dropped it when it was just a foot from the ground. I opened it in a panic to inspect, and it seemed all right, and even the speakers, which haven't worked in at least a year and a half, started playing music. I thought all was in okay shape until I tried to run Internet Explorer and my computer became upset because I have bed sectors. Hopefully my dad can make it all right.

Come visit me! I promise you'll enjoy yourself.

I feel asleep at about 9 this evening, which would have been great and perfect if I had turned on the fan, put on my pjs or taken my medication. I hadn't done any of these things, so I woke up at midnight sweaty in my street clothes on top of the covers, my right ear throbbing like a mamma-jamma.

I knew I would keep waking up every hour on the hour if I didn't correct the situation, but I also knew that by getting up I risked not being able to go back to sleep all night. A paradox! I choose to get up briefly and take care of things and then lay back down and drift away! WaHoo.

Well, you are reading this now so you can see how well that plan worked out.

So now we are in my break from trying to go sleep. You know how if you try too hard at something, it won't work until you take a small step back from it? That's what I'm doing. Taking a step back from sleep.

I surfed around my roommates' livejournals and it made me remember how excited I am to get to live with them this fall. In contrast to a couple of weeks ago, I'm ready now for summer to be over. Sure I won't have my own room anymore, and I'll be stressed out by classes and deadlines and money, but I won't have to fight with my parents on a daily basis, I won't have to worry about gas money or a two-hour round-trip commute to work, and I'll have regained the independence that I relish so much. The awesome roommates are really just a huge bonus to all of that.

So I have a lot of preparation to do in the next couple of weeks. I have to put my name on the lease, move back to Athens, buy a bed, get my financial aid in order, and try not to hyperventilate. And thats just the tip of the iceberg.

Maybe that's why I can't sleep.

I'll be okay. I just gotta take deep breaths and dream of sexy rock stars.

Sleep sweet.

Today seemed short, mostly because I slept a pretty good portion of it away.

I barely willed myself out of bed this morning, feeling worse than usual physically—a weird dizzy headache stomach ache thing happening. But I managed to get up and go to Rock 'n' Roll History and learn about Cool and the Gang and George Clinton. Heh.

We ran over so I missed the first East-West, and ended up being 25-30 minutes late for Marine Enviroment. At this point, class is more then halfway over, so I checked to make sure Jesse wasn't there (which he wasn't, even though he claimed yesterday to have some new resolve about coming to class) and left. Went to lunch, then went to get my mail, and introduced myself to John, who was also getting his mail and lives on the second floor of my building.

"I see you everywhere! You always remind me of someone I know." (says me)

He seemed to really listen when I was talking, even when I started babbling about having a headache and just having to sleep migraines off. He even asked me if I had medicine, and seemed really concerned. He then invited me to come find him in his room or his girlfriend's room on the other side of the building.

I'd always felt good vibes coming off this guy. It's so nice to know when you are right about these things.

Went home, and napped, and when I woke up, all was well, healthwise. I went to dinner with my roommate and her friends and charmed the hell out of everybody, as usual. (I think they liked me alright.)

Jenna's being social!

Look at me, I'm...growing.

Ha!

But yeah, I'm expanding my horizons... downloading songs in Arabic, and working on my pronunciation (“Yoam Wara Yoam” means “Day After Day”), and learning to write my name in Arabic!

Check it out! Click Here. (Note that Arabic is written right to left.) My name looks so super cool, and Jenna means “Heaven” in that language. Finally! Something.

My roommate Diana/Dayana rocks. You should all send her presents. She is responsible for all of this. Yey!

Back to whatever boring American activity you were engaged in. MUHAHA.