So I'm babysitting.  And I just got the nine year old to bed after convincing him that the cars driving by outside are just cars and the weird sounds coming from his bedside table are just his weird water bottle and the ambiguous clunking from downstairs is the ice-maker.  So he seemed satisfied and agreed to try to sleep.
But now, as I sit downstairs and apply for internships, there is the strangest sound coming from outside.
It literally sounds like a spaceship is landing in the backyard.
Now, I see no mysterious lights coming in from the windows, so I'm going to assume that this is not the case.  And I'm not about to look out the window into the black unknown for fear of seeing something frightening (horror movies have damaged me).
It's got to be a plane, right?
It's that hovering sound that is smoother than a helicopter, so it must be a plane.  But the odd thing about this sound is that it gets really loud and then suddenly very quiet, then a minute or two later it gets really loud again.
And oh yeah there aren't any airports in Wenham.
So planes should not be flying this low anyways.
It's a UFO.
I am writing this blog post so that when E.T finally comes to fulfill his life-long goal of destroying me, everyone will know what has become of me.
E.T. did it.
And maybe people will stop thinking he's so cute and harmless.
Because he's not.

So anyways, it's only a matter of time before the child makes his way down the stairs to ask me what this legitimately concerning sound is.
And what shall I say?
Oh it's nothing, just a plane...

I miss Monica.

I hate cell phones.
I was in my PR class today and I looked around at one point when the professor was lecturing and saw six out of thirteen or fourteen people in my class playing with their iPhones.
It makes me nuts.
Now, I think iPhones are awesome and if I ever get enough money, I will purchase one.
But is it really necessary to be on it all of the time?
When I was in high school, we weren't allowed to be on our phones during class because it was distracting and, well, rude.
But now that we're adults and not adhering to strick classroom rules, we seem to think it's okay to be consistently texting and tapping away on our phones.
It's making me nuts.
I'll be having a conversation with a friend or classmate, and they'll be texting or searching or even answering calls in the middle of the conversation or lunch or whatever.  It's crazy to me.
I would love to have a basket next to the door of my apartment/classroom/everywhere where phones have to be stored.
But that's kind of controlling and crazy, I suppose.
If only.

So it's way too late/early in the morning to be blogging (it's 1:34am), but I've just had an experience that needs to be shared.
I just spent ten hours (I kid you freaking not) editing my group's short film in barrington.  I decided to call it quits about a half hour ago, so I got my stuff and started walking to the parking lot.  In the deserted creepy parking lot, I come across none other than a skunk.
First off, skunks are adorable.

I think that's part of their defense mechanism.  They're so stinking cute (punny?) that you just want to go up and pet them, but you know that once you freak the little neurotic rodents out, they'll spray you.
There's also the idea I have that skunks and raccoons are friends, and I'm just really not as okay with raccoons because they are clever and they bite.
So conflicting.
So I see this skunk about twenty feet away from me (says my lack of depth perception), and I'm like oh my gossssssh look at that cute little thing scuttle around.  Oh wait.  Towards me.
No bueno.
So I instantly panic and run around the little shack/building that my car is parked behind.  And when I turn the corner, Mr. Skunk is there.
I am not making this up.
He was legitimately ten feet away from me.
I was convinced I was done for, and I was mentally preparing myself for how I would get the smell out of my backpack, and wondering if it would soak through to my belongings.
So we had a stare-down.
Literally.
Literally.
We stared at each other for maybe five or six seconds, and then he turned and I ran, fearing the worst.  When I looked back I saw that he too was running away from me.
So turns out we were both terrified of each other.
And he didn't spray me.
And I ran the whole way to my car.
And now I'm parked in 15 minute parking because that is the second skunk I have seen in three days on this campus (and I have not been out much) and I will have a stroke if I meet another skunk while coming back from Woodland.
So yes, I'll trade in the skunk pee for some parking tickets please.
Anywho, I clearly need some sleep.

Kids are spoilers.
I was watching Toy Story 3 with the four year old I babysit and his friend today and barely three minutes into it they began telling me exactly what was about to happen.
And I'm like hey thanks children, good thing I've seen this movie several hundred times already.
I hope someone tells them when they get older that they cannot do that to people.  Spoilers.
Anywho, today is the day.  After a week of ceremonies and services, today is the last formal opportunity to say goodbye to Monica.
This afternoon is the campus celebration of Monica's life.  And that's it.
I think I've been waiting for closure to land in my lap, but I'm realizing that that's not how it works.
It's stressful because I feel like I'm being forced into saying goodbye and moving on, but I'm not ready for that.
I'm trying.
I've gone to all of the services, talked to a bunch of people, even googled advice on how to deal with this.
Google has actually been really helpful.
After I returned to school I kept getting people telling me they were sorry and I had no idea how to respond to them.  My automatic response is "it's okay" but it wasn't.  It's not.  And I eventually just ended up staring at people awkwardly because I didn't know what to say.
So I googled appropriate responses.
Thank you is supposed to be the go-to answer, which I probably could have figured out myself if my brain was functioning normally.
I've also been watching movies about grieving characters like Beginners and Rabbit Hole.
I know it's just a movie and they're just actors, but it kind of helps.
At this point, right now, I'm just nervous about another ceremony.  More crying, more looking at photos of Monica and hearing how great she was.  More crying and choking and heaviness.
Maybe it will help.

So today we had a reporting chapel.
This means that all of the missions trips that traveled abroad this past spring and winter present photos and stories of their trip to the auditorium full of students.
My team met an hour and a half early to talk about what we were going to say and how we could address Monica's absence in a way that honored her as well as the trip.
So that was rough.
It was, however, so nice to be with my team again.  My friends outside of the trip are pretty much at a loss in this situation, as they didn't know Monica or how she sculpted the trip for me.  So it was really great to be with them.
The presentation wasn't too exciting.  We all shook, I stared at my feet so as not to make eye contact with anyone in the audience (and start crying), and we sat down.
I keep expecting this to be over.  This weight and headache and exhaustion and aching. 
I keep thinking that after I leave New Hampshire, after I see people at school, after I meet with my team, after I do the reporting chapel...then it'll be over.
I think I know that Monica isn't coming back.  But these feelings, this indescribable grief, should be going away soon...right?
I thought I would feel better after this chapel for sure.  I saw my group, I talked with them and I cried with Rachel and we talked about Monica and we got up in front of the chapel and talked about Monica and yet I still can't think.  I'm still not hungry.  I'm still exhausted.  I'm still dizzy and shaky and my eyes still won't stop tearing.
On the other hand, I don't want to stop being devastated.  Losing Monica is a tragedy, and if I were to forget that, to get over that, then how much did she really mean to me?
Rachel told me tonight that she was praying with Monica a few days before she died and that Monica was asking Jesus to come back and take her home with him.
I know that she's in heaven, and I know that I'm supposed to be happy that she's with Jesus and that she's not suffering because I know that that's all she ever wanted, but I'm still so angry.
She was only eighteen.
My team is going to her wake tomorrow.  Then her funeral is Thursday morning at a Catholic church which is so bizarre to me because she really really doesn't like or believe in the Catholic church.  And then Friday is the Gordon memorial service.
This whole week is setting us up to say goodbye to Monica.
But what happens then?  No more Facebook statuses about her life, no more mention of her in emails or chapel and soon conversations.
I just really don't want Monica to disappear.  She was too good a person to have that happen to her.
I just miss her.

I feel like I can't breathe.  My chest hurts and my eyes hurt and I can't breathe.
This morning I woke up and wondered why my body felt so bad, and then I remembered.
Monica is dead.
How is this possible?  How is this real?

I met Monica last semester, as we were selected to be on the team to go to Northern Ireland through Gordon.  I had no idea what to make of her.  She was this little freshman that would look everyone in the eyes and ask them about themselves even if she had never met them.  She had no fear; as far as she was concerned, the world was her family.  She truly loved everyone.
I know when people die everyone says all these nice things about them and exaggerate all of their good qualities, but this was literally Monica.  These aren't aspects of her that I took for granted or just realized now that she's gone.  These are things that I noticed every single day I spent with her.
She was my closest friend on my trip to Ireland.  She was so wise and mature for eighteen, but such a goof ball at the same time.  On an afternoon shopping we decided to go up a cool glass elevator to the very top where there was this glass globe thing that overlooked the city.  About half way up in this glass elevator, we both remembered that we were terrified of heights and complete idiots for subjecting ourselves to this.  We laughed.  We took photos.

She was so friendly.  We went to a tourist shop after these photos were taken and she literally spoke to everyone that came within a three feet radius of her.  And not just hi, what's up; she asked them if they lived there and how their days were going and what part of Belfast they liked the best.
What most people are saying in conversation and on Facebook now about Monica is that she genuinely cared about people.  She never asked someone how they were unless she actually wanted to know.  She was so intentional, and so trusting in God.
We had so many discussions on the trip about God and life and death and what it means to trust in a God we can't see.  I would have never ever imagined that just over two months later, she would know all of the answers to the questions we were asking.  I can't believe this.
How do you move on from this?
My friend is gone.  I will never see her goofy grin or hear her laugh or ask her opinion ever again.  She texted me four days ago, and I never texted her back.  I'll never text her back.
How do you go back to your apartment, to your classes, to your job, knowing that Monica will never go to another class or see your apartment again or grow up?  How do you grow up when you know Monica won't?
How do you move on from something like this?
I think that the worst thing that can happen when someone you love dies is forgetting them.  I never want to forget Monica.  I haven't been able to stop being sad or trying not to cry or crying and I don't want this to go on forever but if I stop being sad, I stop remembering how much it hurts that she's not here.
I feel so bad for Kesha.
I'm at her house for break and I know she's sad too and I know me being sad makes her sad but I can't be happy.  I can't get over this.
What is the sense in living if it gets taken away so quickly?
How do you continue living your everyday life?
The most maddening thing about this whole situation is that Monica would know just what to say to me right now.

I miss her.