tight chested.

This feels unfinished because I don't think I can handle finished. Everything seems to be that way now a days. I'm okay with this trip ending but I'm not holey prepared to deal with myself or my continuing. I didn't expect this, all my thoughts of home felt warm and comforting like blankets or tea but somehow these same places now feel awkward and frustrating, I'm out of place in my own skin. This makes finishing, or deciding what do next feel like wearing a coat that's a size to small. Tight chested, I hold options that I knew were waiting for me but none of them feel appropriate, so I just keep looking at them as if they are going to somehow shift into things that feel better, things that feel right. It has been a whirlwind since Geneva a city that more than ever seems like a dream. I miss my friends, my daily routine, and having purpose I think stings the most. Its as if a cruel joke allowed me to see inside a door told me"this is what your life could be like" and then slammed it in my face. "End this blog on a high note Heidi" is all I could tell myself but as January approaches I realize its time to finish this with honesty, an emotion I have revealed little lately. I've masked loneliness,disappointment, and a stew of sour emotions because who wants to be that whining girl, whoa is me from my trip to Europe. Even more then no one wants to hear it I don't want to be it but that doesn't change my situation. It doesn't change the feeling of homelessness. Not actually homeless but being in places without the feeling of home, now its very cold in Michigan but I think sometimes the latter is the worst of the options. For graduation I went through the motions but yet with most things as of late it lacked the internal enthusiasm I hoped it would summit. Going to Pittsburgh with Bea was an escape but the inevitability of life waited patiently in Michigan, just as it did December 1st when I hugged Bryan goodbye in the Leonardo Da Vinci airport. I felt the same then, I felt like me still and now... now...it just feels ugly. How do I have these rude feelings in the faces of people who love me? I don't. Maybe another disappearing act would work at least when I'm away I have reason to feel out of place. This angsty post is even nauseating for me to read. The problems of white suburbia are hardly worth writing about.

wade in the wake of it.

Now there is no way I am supposed to be in this train car. When the man checking tickets smirked winked and a punched a whole in my ticket I chocked it up to Italian gusto but as Im offered complimentary champagne I much better understand his message. On a strange whim I wore a black dress to travel in, and now as the Dolce and Gabana bags pass my seat I'm happy with my decision. I can’t help but feel that this train is taking me home, there’s a certain warmth that was uniquely Italian that is replaced with arrogance in the city of Geneva. I hadn’t noticed its absence until I was reminded by kind this slight of hand. Maybe its my grandfathers botched Italian slang that makes me particularly fond of this country, who knows. As I switched trains in Milan Beethovens Fifth was playing and I couldn’t help but smile. Brian will be waiting for me at the train station, and I look forward to spending my last day in Utopia with a new friend from Geneva. He is a small guy who dresses clean and would always bounce into my room to share chocolate or chat about the silly happenings of the day. His air of fabulous follows him and I will gladly wade in the wake of it. I have that itching yet again to leave my cares packed in my bags and let the beauty of Rome engulf me. Now there’s plenty to worry myself with but they are not going anywhere fast and will surly be waiting for me upon my arrival home. Its as if the wind nudged me into this first class seat to remind me to enjoy myself. Grazie.

Time: please ignore my ramblings

Just before I left, Belinda in the elegant manor of older sister fought my dragon sized fears that tied my stomach into knots with her calm and steady sentence structure. "Think of the friends you have now, at one time you didn't know them at all. Now they are the people your closest with." It made perfect sense. "Only in theory" I convinced myself. Surly the practice would be a much more complicated predicament filled with forced smiles and those awkward "stop and chat" conversations I have grown to despise. She was right though and it turned out to be one of those things that 4 extra years on a planet will teach you. Her voice solid with the confidence she knew I needed chimes in when I think about the people I was nervous even be around but now feel almost as comfortable as home. Now in any normal situation three months would seem miniscule to even get to know someone but this is a unique version of friendship, one from concentrate. As quickly as my three months here has passed when I think back at what has happened time contorts and a year may have passed for all I know. The pictures show proof and explain the timeline but that doesn't stop me from wondering who the girl looking out for the very top of St. Peters Basilica is, surly not I. It's silly almost that I came all the way to Europe to make friends with people who live a state below me, not to mention Caitlin who lives in East Lansing for Christ sake. Life is just funny that way I suppose. Coming home and leaving these people swirls a hurricane of mixed emotion. It will never be like this anymore, never in my life will this odd group of characters come tromping down the steps, into the creepy community kitchen, tired from work but with enough light left to keep company with friends. Good friends too, ones that know strangely too much about you for someone who was a stranger in August. Its not that I want to stay in the half way house deemed "Circ de Cenacle" for the fellow freak shows who reside in it, I just want to press pause for a while. The movie is in fast forward, it has been since I left for Chicago. Maybe for aday or two slow motion could kick in. I have this gross feeling that it’s all this way really, I mean where has college gone. Poof. Do I have any other options but to keep letting this river tow me away? Should I be afraid? If so of what? Life? Now wouldn't that be a waste. My ramblings get the best of me but have been cluttering behind my eyes and make falling asleep at night next to impossible.I wonder what Bea would say to soothe my current state.

full circle I suppose.

"...If there is a load, that you have to bear, that you can't carry...." There soft toned rendition of Lean on me helped calm the rolling waves of motion sickness during our nauseating bus ride to Annecy, France. The low thick fog and autumn covered mountains (that I'm sure were beautiful) were lost while I stared at the floor, listened to my friends adorable singing voices, and tried my to hold down breakfast. The remainder of the day I promise you was exceptionally more charming. Chris bought me a San Pellegrino and with a pat on the back we headed to the cobblestone streets that intermingle with canals. We traipse around the misty air and sample cheeses from the Sunday market stands we pass. When you see buildings with ages you can hardly fathom, imagining who else has walked these same paths left me with an emotion that lies somewhere between eerie and excited. The whole city had that same tone and the thick ever present fog only added to the appeal. I went to my first castle where we joked of our plans for buying it. "It's nice and all but we'll have to work on insulation." Chris tells me. "Of course " I assure him "but theirs so much square footing, and I think the piano would look splendid over there." I posed as queen for an afternoon and at lunch I ate like a princess. A chevre cheese crepe and fresh spring salad lunch with a dessert crepe of homemade Carmel and fresh whip cream erased any hint of nausea and deepened my respect for the french and their attention to detail. The sprinkling rain curled my hair as we continued on our promenade. Activities like stopping for Mulled orange wine and crossing the Bridge of Love add to the ambiance of this fairy tale town. As we walked to the old prison that is now displayed as a museum I imagined the prisoners in the 1300's making this same walk, many of which I learned would be their last view of the world not threw iron bars. Within this island of a building the eerie out weighed the excitement, and while laying on the old prisoners beds was entertaining it left a residue on my back of misery that lingered longer than I hoped. The sun set put a nip to the air that directed us into a tiny restaurant run by a women who couldn't of looked more french. Her sharp noes and wild hair gave us a guided tour of her menu accentuating her local and homemade products with pride and integrity. She offers us free aperitifs since " Young students have little money", boy is she right. She was the kind of person who's expressions made the room glow like the candles lit on our table. As any wise traveller does we all tried her house favorites and local cuisines which I think nearly made her night. I can say that the bus ride home was far more pleasant but questions of the future did churn in my stomach. Soon I will be..umm...hmm... what is the end of that sentence, if I knew it maybe I could of rested at ease at the end of my prefect day. "Just stay here in the tower of your castle Heidi, ride bike your over cobblestone tiny streets with a baguette stuck in the basket." my imagination begs. Reality trails quickly behind laughing a sarcastic grumble and reminds me of the loans that are due, the jobs to be had, and the grad schools are to be applied for. With only 3 weeks left my fairy tale is fading away like a dream you wake up from and try to force yourself back into. You were just there, practically held it in your hands and in a counter intuitive pattern your diamond turned to coal and that coal into ash. If you look away for only a moment it promises to all blow away. This time around, where home is the unfamiliar territory, I recognize this feeling as the same one I had on a bus in Rome. Full circle I suppose. This time I carry a powerful bag of ammo acquired over the last few months, just in time for my next big gig. Now facing this change my only fear is that life will stop handing out such interesting mountains to climb. It promised it would as long as I try my hardest not to throw up on the ride there. With the soft support of friendship and all of the strength I can summon, it's a promise I can keep.

Carpooling Zombies?

To me Halloween is a rare chance to be someone else, to play a role that on any normal day would seem impossible. Saturday presented itself as the perfect opportunity for just that. Having to work on arguably the best holiday, in a country that doesn't celebrate it, seems like as a complete and utter bust but I suppose I have acquired talents for making the best out of mediocre situations. Bright and early that morning I learned I would be the rapporteur for the NGO statement drafting to be presented at the UN Economic Commission of Europe Monday morning. That's jargon for the person who collects, organizes and writes the statement for the NGO group to present to governments (who will probably be daydreaming,) but either way its my words there not listening to and I like that. About ten women each from their own organization with their own priorities barked ideas at me that they felt necessary to present. Thankful for four years of lecture note taking and my keyboarding class in middle school I listened and tried to make sense out of there ramblings that they were expecting a document to come out of. What is more terrifying than any ghost or goblin was the expectations that were now placed on my shoulders, the stress rolled in the form of heartburn that ravished the back of my throat. It was this person who debated the necessary importance of policy implementation with seasoned feminists that I hardly recognised as myself. I was told I spoke like I was french by two women from France ( still not sure what that means) and also told happy Halloween from a women from Northern Ireland all in the same sitting. All of them looking to me, or a more professional, smart, elegant version of me for results which I sure enough produced, printed and distributed all before lunch. This life within the NGO world has become my norm, it feels permanent and comfortable making my life prior to this seem more and more like unfamiliar territory. But quickly enough I rush home and put on a much different mask, the lighthearted silly girl I present to my peers. Leaving all concerns of gender inequalities at the door. This girl listens to the monster mash while she draws on whiskers for her mouse costume in preparation for the cat and mouse duo that will bring mayhem to the streets of Geneva. Is the same person who drafted a UN resolution now dancing at a disco-tech with Napoleon Bonaparte? I suppose so although I hardly recognise either of them. I expected the holidays, like my birthday to be lacking in this strange city. But the girl who awkwardly turned 22 here two months ago now forgets sometimes that shes even in Switzerland, to wrapped up in the beauty of it all I suppose. Last night I saw a group of Zombies staggering down the street while we waited for the tram to take us home. They moaned with there arms out and they filed into cars and drove away. Carpooling zombies? I thought to myself, this strange yet uniquely Swiss event reminded me of what a time I'm having here in Geneva.

somewhere between reality and the mystics.

À la vie is said as a toast, it means to life and that is something I will raise a glass to.Life, that serendipitous dance partner I often tango with spun and held me once again. Although many nights were spent in our tiny pub that's usually filled with expats and cigarette smoke tonight the stars had a far more interesting evening for Heidi LeeAnn, and I think if I were listening I could of heard them giggling at my predicament. Now to preface this tale of twisted fate I must remind you that most nights spent here are remembered in a foggy blur some where between reality and the mystics, a dream within a dream. The aggressive encounters or tiny interactions that seem to only make for memorable stories all presented themselves in that same tiny bar over my pint of 1664. Luckily my leather jacket provided just enough confidence to make these reunions pleasant and silly instead of heavy in the bag of awkward I usually carry with me. " Heidi!, Heidi!" I hear barking behind me "Caitlin is someone calling my name?" She says no but her eyes read that I simply don't want to respond to the person requesting my attention. I turn around and find a familiar Italian that we will refer to as "the catalyst". At this very bar close to where I am standing now about a month ago him and his francophone friend bought Caitlin and I drinks. Telling us it was "the new in thing" he had the bartender put a tequila shot in all of our beers, being a classic girl, I declined the offer that sadly Caitlin was not to aware of. After one sip and a sour face she offers this 13 dollar drink to the dapper man standing next to her, Raphael. They hit it off and we spent the whole night dancing and ditched our above mentioned "spring board" for new Swiss friends. Since their relationship has blossomed into something rather nice we should be thanking the guy I am turning around to, but instead smile and act like its a reunion of old friends. A bit later whilee ordering a drink I realize that I have been spotted. Shit, I mumble and hide my face with my hair but I know its to late, the Irish ginger I talked to for entirely to long last weekend remembers the American girl he tried to teach a jig too. For almost the entire evening I master the art of avoidance. During one of my many dodging secessions a beautiful Swiss girl taps me on the shoulder, what now'I wonder, but her news is pleasant and welcomed. "My friend thinks you are very pretty, but is too shy to say it so, now I say for him, you should talk, yes?" Alex from Zurich, I've met him before and will probably always recognize that tousled hair. Very early in the trip when we were only three students from MSU Caitlin took notice to him just as he was leaving our infamous pub. In a mood far unlike me I pull Caitlin along onto the stoop and stare at him, shamelessly with no real plan of what will happen next. But it works. We talk outside about his grad school program and our livings in Geneva but only for a few minutes and then he troops off into the night, assuming to never be seen again, assuming. That is until we laugh and talk until last call, all the while the Swiss girls gives me thumbs up from across the table, proud of her match making. "I hope to see you again" he tells me after the customary alternating cheek kisses. "Of course" I tell him remembering the phone number I acquired from the first meeting in early September. As I wait out side for Caitlin to ditch the abrasive Canadians shes been defending America to, a certain drunken Irish man comes barrelling out of the bar full speed, directly at me. " You!!" he yells far too loud with a thick accent. If he wasn't such a short man I may have been nervous, but with a face as red as his hair it was really just humorous. He invites me dancing but I decline. "Always leaving me this one is." he tells the people trailing out of the bar. Caitlin being one of them, links arms with me and pull me away and off down the cobble stoned hill, away from all these unlikely characters. Part of me wonders still if they ever existed at all.

She went to see a Mystic who made medicine from rain. And gave up her existence to feel everything, dream others' dreams. Bid farewell to her family with one ecstatic wave (Please take care I love you all) Out the window as the car rolled away. She just vanished into a thick mist of change.