I just checked my regular gmail account. That means I had to log out of The East Side Newspaper account, aka the account I spend more time on, anyways. Nope, nothing there. This seems to be the case more often than not these days, since the college spam has died down after two years of blowing up my phone, (maybe I should finally go through those 4,000- some emails I just ignored in my inbox and delete a couple?). Which is interesting. It’s like my inbox has become a metaphor for my life. I make myself laugh, because a) I am way too easily amused by metaphors, puns, and anything else that you tediously defined throughout your public school days in Lit, Lang, English class, ELA, reading, whatever they called it from year to year, and b) it’s 11:03 on a Sunday night. Just when my creative juices start flowing. No, I am not a procrastinator, I really do work better this late at night when I can give my writing my undivided attention.
Okay, so maybe I was procrastinating a little bit. Truth be told, I really don’t want to be writing this. This? What is this, Theresa, you might be asking? Or nah, because let’s be real- nobody is actually going to end up reading this. Mr. Huber told me to be narcissistic, and at first I didn’t like the idea of it. It’s like those stupid applications and interviews for college and scholarships. Didn’t everyone always teach us to be humble? Then the past two years or so people suddenly turned that tune right around and we were supposed to know how to “graciously brag” about ourselves. Does this seem right or fair to anyone else? I didn’t think so. So, my first plan was to try something different, maybe ask the only other senior on the paper- Sally- whether she wanted to do some kind of comedic dialogue about senior year. (I’m sorry, I know you are most likely sitting there thinking, “Really, girl? You couldn’t have done that instead?”). Anyways, that was the plan. Up until about… ten minutes ago.
There are so many firsts, so many lasts, all colliding all at once. Senior year was stressful, so much for what everyone told us about “Just get through junior year, and senior year will be a blast!” -Sidenote: The Blackhawks just lost. This is making me upset, as if I wasn’t already spinning from everything going on right now. Now, I have to root for the Rangers. Oh, the feels!- To be honest, I don’t really have any regrets, though. I’ve loved, I know it’s possibly going to sound pathetically dorkerific- absolutely LOVED my time here at East. That isn’t to say that there weren’t those trial periods and memories I almost wish I could forget. In the end, there aren’t any of those. Each of my memories made over the past four years have somehow contributed to who I am today, and with that I am at least satisfied. For now. A year from now, I whole heartedly expect of myself to be a different person than I am now. I look forward to it. I know I will like me, I just hope that you continue to do so, as well. It’s not that I plan on changing myself completely, your Theresa, Tursa, V Motha T, TEAM, quadruplet, friend, family, teammate, student, peer, I will still be there. Hopefully, I will be a little less long-winded and tangent-oriented than I am now. It’s something I will strive for, I promise, as I will strive for other things that will ultimately fashion me into that new person somewhere down the road.
Which is why I find it funny that people keep labeling these things in my life as “lasts” and “firsts”. It only befuddles me more that these things seem to be occurring simultaneously- there’s no clean break between that “old” chapter and the “new” one about to unfold. This is partly why I don’t know what “this” is. Sorry, I really just don’t know what to tell you. For once, this girl, so long known for her mind-blowing abilities to talk on end for hours at a time at speeds greater than Dr. Redmond’s capacity for comprehending in gov class seemingly without the need to come up for air, (ha! Did you say that all in one breath? I did. 🙂 ) is at a loss for words. I do not know what to say here, because I can’t think of it as my “last” say in the paper. My work done for the paper and in other areas of my life here I entertain to be lasting, as I hope they will be. Ultimately, though, that is up to you. Whether or not you carry on from this point, which you undoubtedly will, with a part of me- however seemingly significant or insignificant- along for the ride. Nor is this a “first” in terms of my goodbyes here at East, to my high school years, my childhood years, etc. A lot of those have already happened. It’s just time.
I really haven’t said much of anything, have I? Again, I should apologize. It’s 11:44. I guess I’m done? Or I haven’t yet begun, because I may just scrap this entire thing and return to the original idea. I do like more humor than this thing presented. I guess we will just have to wait and see- just like everything else. I’ve tried ending this thing several times now. It’s getting too late, too long, and I feel like I want to add something specific, yet I don’t know what that would be. I feel like there’s still more to be done. This isn’t the place to do it, though. Probably. Actually, I am not sure of that, but I think I won’t feel like there isn’t anything more to do here, (yes, “this” has now become a metaphor for high school- please stop me) until it is done. Since I still have a few more days left, it’s only natural. Yet, I am in that transitory period so I should keep moving on, and this is just another step in between.
If that’s true and I realize this, then what is the problem? “This” is just like everything else in high school, college, the time in between, and the time coming after. There is just so much to say and do, but not enough time to do it. Some of us may remember this put a bit more eloquently by an elementary school gym teacher at Country Parkway, a man that we lost too soon. Mr. Doyle taught me two things that I will carry with me my entire life. It wasn’t the rules to capture the flag or Star Wars, or anything else that over the years became more and more defined in our Physical Education curriculum. The first lesson came one day in gym when we were gathered on the floor around the chalkboard, which had been used in one of my gym classes maybe once or twice before. For whatever reasons, Mr. Doyle decided to write out the instructions for the day. I forget what the instructions were, but I do recall that Mr. Doyle had run out of room to finish the word he had begun on the same line. He used it as a teaching moment by writing: “Plan Ahead” on the board for the final instruction. “Ahead” ran out of room, too, and had to be continued on the next line. It was clever and it wasn’t the lesson plans or the score of whatever game we played that day that stuck, it was those words. The second lesson that I learned from Mr. Doyle seemed fitting both in the sense that it expanded on this first lesson of his while also becoming his lasting imprint on the school, “You can spend all of life doing the things you want, but you can’t do all the things you want to do in life.” So plan ahead, but not too much.
( It’s 11:58… The writer inside me is telling me to keep going until midnight… So… I… am… stretching.. this… out… because… it makes it even more poetic that this piece align itself with that undefined moment when one chapter of time ends… and another… begins. 🙂 Wait. If only I could have written this 24 hours ago when May became June. Opportunity missed. Mr. Doyle was right. You can’t have everything, but at least you can have a laugh and enjoy the ride.
Well, it’s a good thing many people won’t read this because I cannot imagine how frustrating this is to make it to the end and realize I haven’t said anything when there’s so much I could address (and I’ve kept you for so long with no explanation)… and yet here is the writer telling you she’s got nothing more to say.
by Theresa Meosky
