A Soggy Start to Senior Year

So three days prior to the Final Move-out I get an email.  No worries, right? I get lots of emails. It looks like one that I should actually read so I open it and….

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Oh….oh no….

You know who lives right under the third floor bathroom?

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That’s right.  It’s me. Ya gurl.

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Yeah, seriously. So, here I am, about to move 700 miles across the country only to find my room is a no-go for at least a week.  I had really been looking forward to getting myself and the Moth settled in before senior year starts, but that’s apparently not an option.

I’m trying to stay positive though.  Thankfully there was a spare bed in the house that I can sleep in on the third floor with a friend of mine who has a double but is the only one in her room.  I can’t move anything into my room, but at least I’m still in-house. The first idea was to put me up somewhere on campus until it was fixed, which would have been awful and really inconvenient when it came time to move back to the house.  So I am grateful for my friend and her spare bed, and hopefully my room will be done by Friday. I can’t help but feel bad for MothMan though. The friend I’m staying with? HORRIBLY allergic to cats. Thankfully another awesome friend of mine who lives in the house is taking him in.  I’ve gotten to hang out with him every day, but I do miss having that little rascal always underfoot. I also can’t help but anthropomorphize and think he feels somewhat displaced too, but let’s be real. He doesn’t care.



This is Right Now.

I’m in college far from home.   I live in a house with about 20 other people and the goal the house is to live sustainably, or at least as sustainable as one can in an ancient neighborhood bordering small city.  There is a native pollinate or box out front and solar panels on the roof.  Shower heads are low flow and we do our best to be our best for our planet.   This is the second year I’ll live in this house and this is the last year I’ll live in this house.  By this time next year I’ll be living some other place. Maybe another house.  Who knows.  The best part of this house, what I’m going to miss the most is this: see the third floor the Attic goes up far higher than the second floor which means you need a fire escape.  This fire escape goes across the roof of the second story and to the windows of the third floor and from there you can sit on the roof or on the metal catwalk leading to the stairs.

This is my favorite place in school.

Doesn’t matter if it’s daytime or night, but I find myself up here more often at night.  Nights when I need to run from something inside myself but physically can’t leave, or nights up here when I am stressed or sad or really just looking for something to do.  It’s a good place at night.  You can see the moon and the very few stars that are bright enough to be visible in the glow of the small city.  If you look you look off the back of the house you see the Marriott Hotel glowing ever bright.  Looking to the front you see the beautiful tower of the seminary.  The seminary is not part of our school but I wish it was because god I love that tower.

I don’t know why up on the roof tonight I think I might be anxious the first day of classes tomorrow the, last first day of classes for undergrad and possibly forever.  Probably the last first I’m not too beaten up over.

I’m not native to Pennsylvania.  I feel like I have two homes and, well, Pennsylvania is not one of them.  A tiny island in Florida is my second home, and my first home, the original home, a small town right outside of Chicago on a street called Franklin where kids play outside on their bikes, scribble chalk over the sidewalk, and on Friday nights the adults to hang out on the front porch drinking cheap wine together and talking about the weeks events while the kids go off and play kickball or softball or baseball in the field right down the street.  There are so many kids, and each is loved and cared for.  It’s a storybook town, or at least the storybook neighborhood.  It’s where I grew up, a place of a lot of firsts and almost as many last firsts.  The second home, on the island, I haven’t seen in over a year.   Not since the storm took away houses and boats and trees.  I miss it, but in a different way.

Maybe that’s why I’m awake tonight, that’s why I’m lying on my back on a rickety old fire escape catwalk, far too late to go to bed but far too early to get up.  Waiting for the last first day of classes, waiting to time that is acceptable to say screw it. I’m just going to take a damn shower and face today with the smiling face and if anyone tried to stop me Don’t. I may be here because I’m scared or I’m here cuz I’m home sick or maybe I am here because combination of chemicals in my brain is never balance quite right even with the things that are supposed to help it, which means I just will be awake for hours.  But hey,  if I’m going to be awake for hours, this rooftop isn’t that bad place to spend them.


This is the start of my final year of college before having to make Big Decisions.  I’m going to try and keep this thing up  to date with my wanderings and adventures, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Oh, and the furry.

Still in love with the Shire

This weekend I’m lucky enough to have a chance to get away for a retreat with a group I work with. It’s about 4 hours away from school in southern New York state. We’re driving up there as I type this. I love the people I’m going with and I’m crazy excited for the seminars, bonding, and general break from campus, but I feel strangely homesick.

It’s been over two years since I moved away but being away hasn’t gotten much easier. I miss my family and my dog and the insane number of little kids that live in our neighborhood. I miss the sharp cling of a softball off a metal bat and the faint small of cinnamon swirl bread from the nearby bakery.
I wouldn’t give my time at school and in Florida for the world, but nevertheless I can hardly wait until I can next go home.

“I think, in his heart, Frodo’s still in love with the Shire: the woods, the fields… little rivers.”

Cabbage Hat Kids

There’s this club on my campus and our big thing is every Wednesday we sell homemade soup and grilled cheeses for lunch at our campus sustainability center.  Because of that on Tuesdays, when we meet, we make two large vats of homemade, organic, vegan soup.


One of today’s soups involves cabbage so in an effort to be helpful (and also be eligible to receive free soup today) I chopped the cabbage. Except I don’t know how to chop a cabbage. My friend, who for the sake of not having his name all over the internet will be referred to as Chem Boy, took this as personally because apparently we should all just pop out of the womb as perfect cabbage choppers. Ya know what, Chem Boy?? I AM A TOTALLY INCOMPETENT HUMAN AT TIMES.

Really, it was all in good fun, and tbh kinda hilarious to see how pained he was by my lack of cabbage chopping abilities. So as an act of revenge I took one of the gross outermost leaves that I had peeled off and put it on his head while he wasn’t looking. Cabbage hat kid!! HA. WHO’S THE FOOL NOW, CHEM BOY?? Answer- YOU. BECAUSE CABBAGE ISN’T A HAT. HA.  Of course, a moment later he notices, but this is where it gets good.  He had no idea I put it there.  He thinks it’s from our other friend, Jumpy*, who just so happens to be standing behind him, so he tears the cabbage off his head, whips around, and slaps jumpy across the face with the limp cabbage leaf.

It was beautiful, and it was all my fault.


The Great Kitty Meteor

I get headaches. Sometimes pretty bad, to the point that bright lights hurt a lot. Particularly florescent lights

Now, I live in a house, but it is very much run/managed like a dorm. And what do dorms have?


You guessed it folks, fluorescent lights.

So in order to escape the oppressively harsh white light coming from my ceiling, I have taken a tapestry and pinned it up so my light is covered.  It makes the room a bit darker and shields me from the glow. I love it.

MothMan also loves it…just for a completely different reason. An “I’m a kitten and like to claw at hanging things” reason.

So the other night, the little butthead gets on top of my dresser, paws at it, and takes down a corner despite my pleading with him to stop.

Now I have a cat atop a dresser, a tapestry with one open corner, the other three otherwise attached still.  Basically, there’s a strange sort of hammock now fixed to the ceiling. Not wanting to deal with it, I just called him an asshole and threw my head back into the pillows dramatically, because if he’s gonna be extra, I’m gonna be extra. A few minutes pass and notice MothMan is still on my dresser and is VERY interested in the space he created. I personally wanted to see where he was going with whatever idea his little kitten brain came up with, so I just sat quietly and watched.  Then, like world’s fuzziest Jessica Jones cosplayer, he launches himself inside the tapestry.

Now, this tapestry? It’s held up by push pins. Four of them to be exact (more now), but at the time there was just one on each corner. So I sat there watching as he flung himself, ripped the tapestry off the ceiling, and crashed to earth like a strong kitty meteorite.

But don’t worry, he’s fine. The little poop-head cat meteor landed ON MY BED. He’s a lucky lil shit.


The Cryptid himself, mocking me.


Ahh, Sundays.

Here we are. Sunday. Specifically, for me, the first Sunday of the year where I have classes the following day. The first Sunday of the nameless, faceless, anxiety for the week ahead. I fricken hate Sundays.  It’s like, yay! it’s still the weekend, but there over the shoulder, it lurks- The Work Week.

Now, everybody’s anxiety manifests in different ways.  For me, on Sundays, it manifests like a caffeine pill swallowed with red bull. I get shakey, lose focus, and can’t stop moving.  It’s different from my normal anxiety, which allows me to curl up under my weighted blanket, and just sorta sit there crashing inside myself.  Sunday anxiety demands I move.  It demands action.  But here’s the thing— only academic action? Like, I can clean or blog or knit or something but it doesn’t go away.  My brain demands I work on my class work. Even if there’s nothing to do?? Pretty fucked up, right??

And it’s not even just college that has done this to me.  Sundays have been my worst night as long as I can remember. These are the nights the paced lines are etched deeper into kitchen and dorm room floors and art is forsaken because when you can’t hold your hand still there’s no way you can draw a line.

But here’s the good thing- Its Sunday anxiety for a reason.  It happens once a week, and you always know when.  You may be thinking “ugh, yeah, something to look forward to,” but that’s wrong. It’s something to prepare for.  It is something your friends or partner or parents can come to expect and, if they able, help you with.  And, maybe, with every Sunday, it can be dealt with a little bit better, and before you know it, you’re a little bit better too.

HELP! I’m stuck on top my dresser.

So, alas, here I am, back in Pennsylvania.

“But Rowyn?” You may ask, “I thought you lived in Chicago!”


I am from Chicago. I was born there, and am proud to call it home but I, unfortunately, do not live there. Not right now, anyway. Right now I live at school, and school is in Pennsylvania. Currently, I am working towards my degree in Animal Behavior so I can try and figure out why The Cryptid thinks its okay to hogtie himself with my new ball of yarn that I was planning to make a hat with on the drive back to school.  Or why he’s the only cat I know that doesn’t like boxes.

MothMan, last Saturday morning, after destroying my new ball of yarn and successfully tying himself up.

Okay not really.  What I’m really learning is how and why animals behave the way they do.  But even more than that I’m learning how to be a scientist- how to look at things critically, ask the right questions, determine what is or isn’t true, how to get down off the top of my dresser without hurting myself.

Maybe not the last one, but its something I’m currently learning seeing as I am writing this from the top of my dresser, which is taller than I am, that I had to climb up to re-tack a thumbtack holding up a corner of the tapestry covering the light in my room because someone (*cough**cough* MothMan) thought it would be fun to tear it down.  And now I’m realizing that its pretty impossible to get down the way I got up and I can’t text any of my house mates to bring a chair or anything because my keys aren’t in the door because I actually put them on their hook for once.

I am totally gonna die up here.

This is your fault.

P.s. I jumped off. It was scary and my feet hurt when I landed.

This Poop is Frozen

So Chicago is Cold

And when it is Cold, things freeze. Things that freeze include dog poop. Have you ever tried to scoop frozen dog poop?


Its hard, in both the texture and scoopability (a word my computer keeps trying to change) because it doesn’t just freeze to itself,, nooo that would be too easy.  It has to freeze to the grass, the other nuggets, and the snow itself. Because that’s what happens when its been so cold that reaching an air temperature of 15 that feels like 5 with wind chill is noticeably warm.


So I decided to do some yard work, which in the winter translates poop scooping.

Not easy, folks.

The dog seems to enjoy it though, but MothMan….not so much.

Plus he has his first ever trip to the vet today so he gets to venture out into the cold and will most likely not be happy.


Oh, well.

Builds character.


So the christmas tree

So here we are, December 21, 2017, and we do not yet have a Christmas tree. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem but seeing as there’s apparently some kind of Christmas tree shortage this year we haven’t been able to find one.  Seeing as my mother was freaking out like this is the end of the world and Christmas is ruined (spoiler: it’s not) I was sent out today to go find one (more appropriately, I couldn’t handle my mother’s constant fretting about how this holiday will be shit, so I sent myself out).  Long story short I driver for literally an hour and a half looking for Christmas trees and finally found one and put it up with my sister.

Only, of course, for my mother to come home and say it was the ugliest Christmas tree we’ve ever had and that she wanted to cry.  And thus the pattern of me being the most disappointing child continues.

Happy Holidays everybody, this is why I moved away.


Well, seeing as I started this thing back in August with the intention of actually having a functioning blog I suppose I should now try and make good on that, seeing as it is December.

But it’s late now, so I’m just gonna start tomorrow with the real stuff. It’s past my bed time