The power of a grilled cheese

Like most people, there are a few things in my life which instantaneously make me think about my time in college.

Yes, the majority of these are alcohol-related, a great deal of them are food-related, and almost all of them include Hannah. My favorite memory, in fact, includes all three of these things.

One of the greatest pieces of knowledge that I obtained through my 6 years at MSUM was that a good grilled cheese can solve a lot of problems.

Upset about a grade on a paper that Hamrick gave you? Grilled cheese.

Tripped up the stairs at the CMU in front of a bunch of people? Grilled cheese.

Your best friend dragged you to a party you didn’t want to go to by promising to make you a grilled cheese when you got home, but she was too drunk to make said grilled cheese by the time you get home? Still a grilled cheese – that you make for yourself while drunk then eat while listening to said friend puke her guts out.

See? Grilled cheese can fix a whole range of issues!

I’m not sure what it was that put this glorious concoction of melty cheese between two pieces of toast onto a pedastal, but I’m pretty damn happy that it did.

So tonight, while I’m whining about being on duty and agonizing over the amount of things I need to get done before I leave for Minnesota next week, I’m munching on a grilled cheese made with two kinds of cheeses and everything feels right in the world.

If only for now.

Until later,

cheers. xx

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A song for the day

This song has been stuck in my head for a couple days now and I’m not really sure where it came from. But I’m not mad about it, it’s a bit nostalgic for me anyhow. 🙂

Nothing profound from me today, I’m afraid. I can’t get past these lyrics in my head anyway to write something worth reading today anyway. (Trust me: If I wouldn’t want to read it, neither would you. haha!)

So enjoy the break from my writing and have a bit of a jam session with Third Eye Blind this afternoon instead. 🙂

Until tomorrow,

cheers.

Oh, nostalgia: High school.

Sometimes I find myself thinking about high school.

I know. For many of us, it’s a scary thought — a dark hell hole of drama-filled days and self-loathing nights. A time that we try desperately to forget and leave in the dust that we hoped to create when we got our diplomas and high-tailed it out of a building that felt more like a prison than a school.

And yet, so many of the people that I graduated with, myself included, cried on the day that we were told we had completed all of the requirements needed to graduate. Were we crying because our future was so unknown despite the plans that we made to make it “big”?  Or were those tear drops proof of knowledge that these were our final days of being children?

I am no longer the person that I was when I graduated in June of 2009. 

The people that I graduated with are no longer the same people that they were in June of 2009.

And for that, I am thankful.

However, I still find it difficult sometimes to see pictures of the people who made it through the numerous purges that I went through on my Facebook account between then and now. And I find it difficult because I see these people’s faces and I realize that I don’t know who they are anymore. I realize that we all went different ways as soon as we walked out of ROCORI High School for the last time, but nothing had prepared me to know that these people would one day become strangers to me.

Yes. There are still some people that I do know. I know what they’re doing. I know where they are. And most importantly, I know that I give a shit about them.

But I fear for the day that I get an invitation for a class reunion. I fear that we will all silently slip back into the fools that we once were years ago, if even just for the night. The cliques that we claimed we were never in will snap back into place. And the band kids — my sanctuary — will be band kids. The athletes will be the athletes. And so on, and so forth. And we will forget that we’ve made ourselves into people better than what we were.

I hope that my kid sister, the one who just recently graduated from my same high school, will one day look back onto her time and not have the same remorse toward the people she once knew as I do toward the people I no longer recognize. I hope that her points of nostalgia bring happiness rather than guilt and frustration as they do for me.

Because as far as I am concerned:

Dear Nostalgia,

I don’t need you anymore.

cheers.