Sad Face. :( HAPPY FACE :)

Today, I worked at computer for approximately 8 hours. I went over signing statements, and tried to find someone who could tell me which specific gosh-dang federal websites are being shut down because of this waste cutting initiative. It was fun. That is only kind of a lie. I love doing the analysis. I hate not being able to find information. Hence my choices in collegiate study.

So this has actually been a pretty good day. The reason I have cause to whine about it is that I am in an office, and the entire rest of my family is AT THE LAKE.

So now I am going to make myself feel a little better about that by talking about the awesome things I did this week. I actually attended the announcement of the Transparency and Waste Cutting Executive Order. And this meant I got to go to the Executive Offices--super fancy, by the way--and sit about five feet from Vice President Joe Biden while he said interesting things and gave you only kind of rational hope for the future of bureaucratic management and government accountability and oh-my-god-isn't-he charming?!

So that was certainly a moment. Also, to this event I wore this awesome pink dress, and it was a complete Elle Woods moment.

I also wore shoes that destroyed my feet. That was less awesome.

That same day, to make it cooler, I went to another branch of government, and sat in at a panel on transparency in tax expenditures at the legislative offices on Capitol Hill. This was relatively boring, because it was people talking about tax expenditures, duh, but cool because I got to run around legislative offices. And by run, I mean hobble, because by that point my feet had been torn to shreds because of stupid fancy shoes.

Yesterday, I got to go to a meeting at the American Bar Association. It looked exactly like you'd expect the American Bar Association to look like. There were literally pillars outside and the meeting was held in a dark wood-paneled room with huge comfy leather chairs. Before going to the meeting, one of my bosses and I went to this chic little bakery and got shmancy sandwiches. After, on our way back, she generously bought me my very first ridiculously expensive and silly designer cupcake. It was delicious. Because I am me, I chose chocolate peanut butter. It came in a fancy specially-designed box with clear paneling. I ate that thing with a spoon because I felt like it was fancy enough to deserve some sort of utensil.

Closing note: you cannot sneeze in Washington, DC without getting snot on both a cupcake shop, frozen yogurt shop, and a Cosi all at once.

Aren't you pleased I used this imagery? Me too.

Life as a Faux-Adult

This 9 to 5 business is seriously cramping my laziness.

This summer I'm an intern at an organization working for government transparency and openness. In August, I'll be kicking it on Capitol Hill in Rep.Chris Van Hollen's office.

I cannot wear spandex at either location. This is, of course, very upsetting to me. I haven't blogged at all because I spend all day staring at a computer crunching numbers or researching. The feeling I have at 5pm is not unlike having smacked my face against my desk repeatedly for 8 hours. Thus, a perfect excuse to avoid the computer entirely for my few free hours and not blog at all!

But you know what? The gig's also totally cool. My internship has already taken me to meetings and events across DC--from a meeting at the National Archives, to a cocktail hour in a shmancy tented garden. Because my parents strategically planned my birth and early entrance into the school system to make me miserable, I am still too young to take advantage of any of the free booze provided at these events.

It's also nice, I must admit, to know that the work you're doing actually means something. Being productive does not mean working towards a final letter grade on a transcript. I am ACTUALLY BEING PRODUCTIVE and contributing to society. I also get to try to blend in with the best of the up and coming, suit-and-tied grad school graduate crowds that dominate Dupont Circle during the lunch hour. This is mainly because over the years I have hoarded Starbucks gift cards, and now I am taking full advantage and completely over-caffeinating myself.

My sister is spending her summer working at a physical therapy/chiropractic/massage/awesomeness/wellness center, and despite her intensive preppy-kid training at RPI, she has assimilated to the hippy wellness culture extremely well. The Ithacan in me is thrilled.The blogger in me is extremely jealous, because she gets to interact with prime comedic candidates on a regular basis, like people who get regular afternoon massages and life coaches who see your plans for med school as a cover-up for your obvious spiritual uncertainty. She also does real things, like helping with PT, which I would avoid at all costs. You know, given my fear of anything related to bodily functions.

Unfortunately on this particular lunch break, the oppressive 100-degree heat is keeping me inside, praising the gods of modern technology for blessing us with air conditioning.


This thought often goes through my head during winter in Ithaca, but it definitely applies to summer in Washington, DC. "Why did the human race try to settle here?" And also, guys, WHY THE SWAMP? WHY?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to Wikipedia that immediately so that I can gripe in a more informed manner.

I Just Realized That I'm TERRIFIED

In approximately 24 hours, I will be a senior in college.

For some reason, it hit me approximately 2 minutes ago while I was washing my hands. I am absolutely, positively terrified of the real world.

This summer, I am working 9 to 5 in a paid internship that actually reflects my career goals. Career. Job. There is no summer job, really, after this summer. After that, I have to find a job FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. (Grad school will come eventually, but a little money-making, soul-searching first.)

This is not lifeguarding, or coaching, or babysitting. It is real life. And after those few short months I get to head back to the comforting structure of the semester system, with classes scattered throughout the day and practice each evening. I can still go to a dining hall for dinner. I will still be oblivious as to what electricity costs.

But then, it's over. For all the talk I've done about growing up with study abroad and the independence I appreciate and how much I want to make a difference, I am scared. I am scared of actually having to do that. I like the idea of it so much better. The, "What do you want to do when you grow up" question is fun to answer. The "what are you doing right now?" is absolutely overwhelming. I don't know. I DON'T KNOW. I am 20 years old, a year away from graduation.

Most of the time I feel like a complete fraud, and that people all around me think I have things together but I really, really don't. I feel like I'm trying to keep a volcano of all the responsibilities and goals and dreams and fears plugged up, and the pressure is building and building and I'm trying to keep a calm face on while I keep it pinned down.

This growing up thing is kinda exhausting. I thought puberty was supposed to be the hard part. Liars.

And now, I need to stop procrastinating and study for this final. Real life isn't here just yet.

This Happened

Okay, so in my defense, I woke up before 6 am for the past four days.

I have been doing absolutely nothing this past week except eat sugary things, write 20 pages of my final journalism paper, and row at ungodly hours. So yesterday, when I was trying to edit my paper and put together my final bibliography, my eyes began to hurt. It was 7:30pm, but I thought it would be a genius idea to take a short break from the computer and take like, I dunno, a half hour nap.

Cue epic failure.

My alarm did go off a half hour later, but I hit the sleep button so many times it eventually turned the alarm off. I was woken up at 11:30pm by a call from my sister, who inquired if I had been asleep. "No, no...I'm not...guhhh..." I lied ineffectively. My incoherence probably gave me away. She was saying something excitedly into the phone. My sister was the one providing me with breaking news. I was embarrassed, even in my sleepy stupor. Hey, being aware of current events was MY thing!

So, at her encouragement, I stumbled out to my computer and cued up the New York Times livestream. Osama Bin Laden was dead. And as I listened to the speech, waking up slowly and letting it all sink in, I felt no catharsis or celebratory feelings. On Facebook I read of all my classmates past and present reporting of parades and parties erupting on their campuses. And I felt tired.

The towers came down when I was almost 11 years old. I did not understand what had happened. The attack was so outside of my day to day--my greatest hardship was finding a seat on the crowded middle school bus--that the true impact of the attacks couldn't totally reach me. I cried because others around me were caused such pain. I felt separate from it.

The anger and frustration grew as I got older. I heard of soldiers and civilians dying. Politics were more tangible to me. I was developing a sense of right and wrong at an international level and America's complex role within this sense.

I am uncomfortable with the athletic-event like parties and riots celebrating the death of Osama Bin Laden. I believe he got what he deserved. I believe he was an evil, hatred-spewing man. But my problem is that we find a solution in his death. The problem IS people like Osama Bin Laden, but we cannot truly celebrate his death until we stop endorsing this type of hatred just because it's not directed at us. We tune into people spewing this kind of hatred every day. We vote for them. Though they are not plotting mass death, I think the death of Bin Laden should make us take a step back and realize the consequences of promoting blind hatred. In the honor of people who died in September 11th, we should seek to eliminate this brand of vitriol because we have seen where it can lead.

Okay guys, I'm sorry for getting political. I know it's obnoxious and preachy. I'll return to regularly scheduled programming next post.

Things We Do for Love

My parents (and other family members) have spent an absurd amount of time at random sporting events. They have fed huge numbers of people with out-sized appetites for the past 20 years. Seriously, they deserve a hand.

You see, I was think about this as my parents set out food in the torrential, freezing rain that came down steadily throughout the early morning hours of my regatta on Saturday. Somehow all of the sports my sister and I chose involved getting up at the crack of dawn for the main purpose of being extremely uncomfortable outdoors for a few hours.

I think maybe we can blame my Dad's side of the family for this one. After all, I distinctly remember the first time I realized I truly did not share my family's passion for downhill skiing. I was probably about 10 years old, dressed like a marshmallow and hobbling to the lodge carrying the absurd amount of heavy and awkward equipment. Gawky 10 year old Abby thought to herself, "My bed was so warm...I can't feel my nose...or my hands...it's still kind of dark out...this is heavy...who finds this fun?"

I just did not get it. Then, sitting in the pouring rain yesterday morning without feeling in my hands or toes, soaked through several layers of clothing, I got it.

We do stupid, stupid things for love.

Sports are weird. You experience pain and frustration and fear and way more discomfort than you would if you just stayed at home and took up crafting. Or video games. Or something. But doing that stupid thing in the rain or the snow at the crack of dawn is what living is.

I would just like to thank my family for putting up with the crazy and getting up with me, feeding my teammates and me, and showing up to cheer me on. It means everything. You guys had to get soaked too and travel all that way just so you could watch my boat go by for a few seconds and huddle with me under a tent for a few minutes. You rock.

But, of course, we do stupid, stupid things for love.

Why We Do It

I am tired and never clean and the other day my professor told me it looked like I put my hands through a wood chipper. But it's not just me. It's we. We row in the rain and the hail and get up at ungodly hours to pull as hard as we can just to be in that boat and sometimes we lose and sometimes it's rocky and frustrating and everything we do is wrong.

It's you, too. You, the girl in front of me. You, the girl behind me. You agonize over that 2k test and it hangs over your entire day and you pull and that number burns into your brain and you've never felt burning like that before and it's blurry and all you can think is pull harder JUST A FEW...ALMOST...C'MON....and you listen to everyone screaming but the loudest is that voice in your brain telling you you can't but you must.

Why do we do this? Why do you do this?

We do it for the starting line. When your hands lock the oar in and your breath catches somewhere in your chest. When something is screaming from your heart to your fingertips. When we move together as one boat and it feels like you're running in a stampede of horses--a torrent of oars splashing, coxswains yelling, and that moment when the whole race is ahead of you and and it's your, our choice.

But sometimes sleep seems like a distant memory. Sometimes you want to wear jeans like a normal person or go out on a Friday night. Sometimes you look at everything you have to do and wonder if it's even possible. It's overwhelming and sometimes you feel more worried about crew than your actual future.

Why do we put up with this?

We do it for the middle thousand, when maybe you want to just stop but you pull anyway. Because the girls in front of you and the girls behind you make you laugh harder than anyone else. Because the girls in front of you and the girls behind you would never let you down and will never take a stroke off and you know they're pulling for you. And when you get off the water they will help you hoist the boat out of the water and even if they're short they'll strain to ease and share the burden. They'll do that with your problems too. 

But sometimes you lose. And the disappointment fills you. The frustration eats away inside your chest and you stare at that time and those crews and replay every stroke and flutter of weakness in your head.You look at that uniform and fear that you're letting someone, anyone down. It hangs over you and it sucks.

But what do we do? We breathe. Shake it off. And we take that frustration and fear and disappointment and let it scream through our bodies on the next one, when we tear ourselves to pieces for that finish line.

We do it for the final five hundred. When everything is black or white, or blurry, or wet, or loud, or all of this and the finish line is suddenly 300 meters away. And you take every piece of strength inside you and let it out, pulling in fury for the backs in front of you and the blades splashing behind you.

We do it for the win, but not only. We do it because of we know we can win together. We do it because we are the Ithaca Crew, and we know no other way.

I Will Never Feel Warm Again

In Georgia, we all wore tank tops and got marvelous sock tans. We guzzled water to stay hydrated in the strong afternoon sun.

Yesterday, our coaches had to shovel snow off the dock so we could launch. No number of layers or wool socks could combat the weather of Ithaca yesterday. Piles of hail built up around our feet and the waves soaked our layers through.

My hands were fuchsia for approximately forever. I couldn't finish my salad at dinner because the lettuce felt too cold. 

Seriously, though, it could be worse. It's Cornell's spring break this week, and they don't go on a trip. They row twice a day in this. I know. Me. Sympathy. Cornell. I suppose having to suffer through a week like this gives them a pass for blocking the entire inlet and cutting us off like, maybe twice. 

I just had to update you guys on how hardcore it felt. Also, if the temperature today breaks 30 during practice, I will worship whatever being I deem responsible.