So Tierney Sutton is simply amazing live. She likes to sit while she sings, which is a funny thing. She performed _Reflections_ and I nearly cried. I realized that I have listened to her catalog far too closely, because I could identify every point in her performance where she or the band departed from their studio arrangements. I stood in line after the first set in hopes of an autograph, and when she made eye contact with me, I couldn’t help the cheesy grin that took over my face and the blather that spilled from my mouth about how wonderful she was and how _Unsung Heroes_ was such an inspiration and did she know that I am graduating from Wesleyan in the Spring?

“My Alma Mater!” she cried, and asked me what I was studying.

I stammered a bit on this one, but I think what came out was along the lines of, “Comparative Politics, but I’m a jazz pianist and singer too.”

I am so sick of always inserting that “but I’m a…” at the end of every sentence with which I identify myself!

So Tierney said she thought she was coming to Wesleyan in the Fall (part of the Crowell series? If we get Regina Carter and Tierney Sutton, that would be pretty damn cool for a little school like Wes). She signed my album cover,

“To Amy, a Wes girl. Love, Tierney Sutton.”

I was quite pleased, but I still feel like a fool for being so chipper.

Anyway, being home is a strange thing. My dad and I had a marvelous conversation yesterday about how I don’t really want to be here but I don’t want to offend him or my mother, and he replied that there was a reason he didn’t go back to his hometown for 30-plus years and that his reason was very similar to my own. I can feel that he is getting just as tired of this town as I am, and needs a change from a place whose town paper consists of gossip and the presentation of made-up awards to community members for no reason other than to make it look like something worthwhile is actually going on here.

Then there are moments where the squid boats appear on the water right before sunset, and their fluorescent lights hold fast through the night, projecting shadows of the gulls that scavenge for discarded catch and illuminating the shore for miles. The golden hills look more dead to me than alive, which is a foolish thing to think, but nonetheless is what’s on my mind.

I’m just afraid that I’m going to lose everything I gained over an entire year in these next few weeks at home. I tried to explain to my mother what I’d been up to at school, to which I received two responses:

1. So, wait, you’re not going to take the LSAT?! What do I tell people, then?
2. Your life is so exciting. I’m just waiting for Dad to retire.

I just don’t want to deal with that shit for another three weeks. Twenty minutes into the ride home from the airport, we’d already run out of things to talk about.

Despite these fears, I do feel like there’s been a change in my attitude as well as the attitudes of many of my friends at Wes. Surely it has more to do with our age than any other factor, but everyone’s calmed down. There was a point last year where everyone was scrambling to finish their applications for several generic Washington internships, fretting over their prospects for possessing professional careers. I realized that I had lost that enthusiasm that had overwhelmed me when I was a freshman: that feeling of infinite possibility and capability; an untarnished joy of learning and a desire to do so; and the ability to run through the sprinklers at lunch, show up soaking wet to International Relations, debate the merits of Kenneth Waltz's writings with my professor without blinking an eye, and then spend the rest of the afternoon chatting with my English professor in her office. Education was for education’s sake.

Yaron and I had a long phone conversation today about these feelings, and how he’s unafraid to take a year off between Wes and grad school, and how particular goals I once held dear are headed toward the incinerator. We agree that the examples set by our seniors have encouraged this calm. Maybe it’s that as the closer we get to the Real World, the closer we get to our actual dreams. When graduation is three years off, you can stress out about B-School or particular education requirements and all of these things, but the closer you get to The Real Thing, the more inclined you are to take a real good look at That Life You Think You’re Supposed to Lead and take it or leave it. Elementary school kids all want to be firefighters or doctors. Hell, at that age I was telling everyone I wanted to play in the NBA. But those dreams have certainly changed, haven't they?

So all I gotta do is practice my butt off, plan my Explo class, start browsing MA programs, and keep smiling. We all have futures, and they all will be amazing.

And as far as my near future goes: Come June, this is going to be a fabulous summer. Yaron promised.  ¶ 16:08

  so the grades have started rolling in on the e-portfolio, and it turns out that i had nothing to worry about in statistics. woo-hoo. i feel a lot better about that now.

today in david's car, we drove on the freeway and i put on the sarah mix and sang along to rene marie and we harmonized to coldplay and james brown and smoked with the windows down and it was just plain dandy. several reasons contributed to my dandiness: the weather was beautiful, we listened to good music, i finally had an opportunity to sing (good grief, it had been days since i had listened to my own music, because my laptop's been packed away), i bought a yellow sweater, and david is just fucking fantastic company.

i said goodbye to ike and cried. he and i have a funny friendship; he was one of the first people i met at wesleyan in 202 wash last year, and i remember he was wearing a speed racer t-shirt, asked me if i liked sci-fi, and then told me all about his girlfriend who attended ucsc. he still does all of these things: wears silly shirts, plays magic cards, and never ceases to talk to me about his girlfriend, but we had some sort of fantastic, close-yet-explicitly-unacknowledged-friendship with one another. he would feed me lots of good italian food and icecream when i was upset. hell, he'd notice when i was upset. we'd shoot the shit and i'd lend him things and i think we're going to stay pretty well in touch in the future.

jon gave me a glass of wine before i left. that means he cares about me. that kid and his booze, i swear.

luckily i was able to catch robyn and michael at typhoon before i departed, as they were eating there with emmy and becca. i got a stomach ache because i was worried i wouldnt get to say goodbye. robyn, i know you read this occasionally, so i'll just tell you here: i think you're great. i'm going to miss you. we're friends. i like that.

i gave david my st. christopher medallion (andy, i know you'll understand) for luck with his travels and the beginning of a new chapter. i wasnt supposed to like that kid. we'll see what happens.

and so, i depart tomorrow at 5:30 am for the airport. the (school) year has ended. i'm still in denial. i'll be in Monterey tomorrow by 3 pm. i'd much rather stay out here, but my mother would have a fit if i wasnt around for her to pick on for at least a few weeks of the year. it's my patriotic duty.

i miss everyone already.  ¶ 23:14