life as a transfer student

I've a feeling this ^ will become a regular feature on my blog.

For the past few days, I've been contemplating my existence as a Transfer Student. I knew transferring here would be difficult; it would be different, but it's just another step along the path of my college career. I never realized, really, how difficult it would be. It's been hard, transferring here, but especially, I think, when I did; I transferred in in January, right in the middle of the school year. For the first month I was here, I was horribly lonely; everyone around me already had their friends for the year, and they didn't really bother themselves with even saying hi.

You know how everyone says that during your college experience, you will meet people who will be your friends for the rest of your life? Well, people've told me that, at least. In sitcoms, in real life (hi, Ang), college students meet people they just click with, and they keep in touch.

The problem is, I've already done that. I already went to school for two and a half years; I already had friends with whom I was inseperable; we had sleepovers, did girly things, went shopping together, talked about boys together (I mean, "talked together about boys"). One of my favourite memories is of last summer, when Holly stayed overnight at my house, and then the next night, I stayed at her house; we felt like little kids again, baking cookies, dancing around the house to "Chicago," taking a walk at 2 AM. My best friends were from that school. And then, I transferred. I'm settling into life here, but friend-wise, I still feel uprooted. I hate the fact that when I need to cry to Holly, when I need to talk about someone, I have to call her. Call her, or wait until the weekend when we can get together for a little while. We aren't together all the time anymore. There are days when I want nothing more than to be back at that school, with people who love me, being able to be with my best friend without worrying that I'm taking up her weekend and her boyfriend needs to see her and I want to spend some time with mine, too.

I've always raved about two-year schools, about how they're such a great start for one's college career. And truly, they are. Mine was, at least. I began going there when I was sixteen, and over the past two and a half years, I spent more time there than I did at home; the staff, the faculty, the Dean, my friends...they became my family. I've been excited with the foodservice manager when his daughter has kids*; I've had a crush on the dashing, gorgeous science professor; I've giggled with the anthropology professor when she was helping me combat the static that was possessing my skirt before a performance; I've gone to the visitation and funeral for my theatre dad's mom; I've chased down one of my guys and put mascara on his eyelashes before a play; I've slow-danced with my favourite professor at a gala when Glenn Miller big-band songs were playing; I've played Spin the Bottle with a group that included the shy, retired art professor, and had to smooch him; I've been in the Student Government; I've gone stargazing in the middle of the night; I built sets, moved pianos, acted in plays, ushered, babysat, ran errands, played in orchestras, sang in choirs, accompanied choirs, I was in the honours choir and travelled downstate to sing in a mass choir, was paid to accompany one class last spring. I was there longer than many of the people on faculty now. I just wish I'd known how horrible it would be to leave, how I'd have to start all over again, how the first college always feels like the real college.

*and he brought back some chocolate from Switzerland for me, and always kept his little m&m dish full for me; no wonder I've lost weight since I transferred; I call this the Junior -15