That might be an understatement.

On a typical day, I leave my house around 7:30 and drive to Chestertown while listening to BBC on satellite radio. Before this daylight savings time nonsense it was News Hour, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I suppose I’ll get used to the news program that is on after that, though today it was a lot of feature stories that were long and boring. Anyway, I drive to Chestertown and always get there 10 minutes later than I’m aiming for because I inevitably get behind a dump truck or tractor.

I work for several hours doing things I enjoy (for the most part). I am very lucky, actually. My job is pretty cool. I get to work on social media initiatives, do research, coordinate things and fill in the cracks when other people in the office need help. I’ve been compared to a swiss army knife.

Lunch is either at my desk or in the dining hall. Once in awhile I will go to the shopping center and pick up something at Rose’s on my lunch break. A floor mat. Scrubbing bubbles. Halloween makeup. But if I’m eating lunch at my desk, I am likely doing homework. That’s right, I’m still taking classes at Saint Joe’s. After this, I will only have one more semester.

I work a few more hours and then I bolt, typically at 4:30. Last week I had to stay later a couple of nights. It happens. I’m okay with that happening.

Another hour-long commute home, this time usually fighting off sleep. I will call my Mom or listen to Bloc Party at obscenely high volumes to stay awake.

Dan and I eat dinner, sit on the sofa, and go to bed. There’s usually some more homework in there. Sometimes there’s laundry.

So, I really don’t have a valid excuse for my lack of posting. I’m going to try to get better about that. Promise.

You see, I’ve been freelancing at my old job from college since we moved to Maryland two and a half weeks ago. So, when the earthquake hit, I was sitting alone in an office on the top floor of Bunting Hall at Washington College in Chestertown, Maryland.

In college, it was not uncommon to hear testing at Aberdeen Proving Ground, which is located across the Chesapeake Bay. My first thought, as the shaking started, was that it must be something over there. As it got worse, I was worried that the construction in front of the building had gone horribly wrong. Only near the end of the earthquake, as the bookcase in the corner rattled and the plastic of the copier down the hall creaked did I think, “This is an earthquake,” and move to the doorway of the office.

Reports say the earthquake was only twenty seconds. It felt much longer.

Other confused faces poked their faces into the hall from their doorways. We looked at each other in bewilderment. The consensus seemed to be to go outside, so I followed. I tried to text Dan, but it didn’t go through right away. Eventually he got back to me and said, “You had a tremor too?” It turned out that 50 miles away, he’d been evacuated from his building as well.

Thankfully, it was a beautiful day to stand outside for 45 minutes. The College decided to send nonessential staff home. I listened to CNN and other news stations on satellite radio as I drove an hour back to our apartment and tried to wrap my head around what happened.

I still don’t think I completely understand.

Now it’s time to prepare for a hurricane. These things seem so alien to write about as a Pennsylvanian/Marylander.

The month of May marks the end of an era; not only am I graduating from this wonderful institution (god-willing), but my BFF, Rory Gilmore will also be graduating from Yale and possibly leaving the airwaves of CW forever.  I’ve come to terms with the fact that there may not be an eighth season of The Gilmore Girls; besides, next year, just like Rory, I’m supposed to be a grown up with a job and some sort of future.  I know she’s been interviewing at all sorts of newspapers across the country, and I’m very excited for her.  I probably won’t be able to afford cable, so I will rely on my set of Gilmore DVDs to sustain me while I do homework as I work toward a master of arts in teaching (again, god-willing) and wonder why I chose to attempt certification to teach high school English before realizing that I’m not a fictional character who attended an Ivy League University.  Deep breath.  If Rory can graduate, I can, too.  After all, she’s a communications major but I’ve not seen her take one journalism class.  Sure, she writes for and served as editor of The Yale Daily News, and she had that internship, but I’ve only seen her in a few classes over the years, and none of them taught her how to write a good lead or get a decent job.  And why isn’t she going to graduate school?  She has enough money.  They could easily stretch out this show as long as 7th Heaven without all the stupid plot twists if they put Rory in a graduate program at Yale.

I know Rory has a bright future, whether it play out on The CW or in the fan fiction that probably exists all over the internet.  She and I have been tight since my sophomore year of high school when my friend Megan (who actually exists) told me about this show that reminded her of my mother and me.  Syndication and TV on DVD made me this way, though.  While living on my own over the summer, I often spent the evenings in Stars Hollow when I should have read Shakespeare, because Rory and Paris performing Act V of Romeo and Juliet totally counted as studying for my then-far-away comprehensive exams.  I often pop in a season of the show as background noise while I’m doing schoolwork or trying to drown out the drunks in my hall; thus, I’ve been with Rory through various academic achievements and personal traumas too many times to count.  I probably remember what has happened to her better than she does at this point.  The Gilmore Girls is essentially a part of who I am, and sometimes people look at me strangely when I reference an event that took place in Stars Hollow with the authority of someone who was there.

By now, you probably think that I’m a wack job.  My obsession with Lorelai and Rory is justifiable, though. My life mirrors Rory’s, and I’m not just saying this because I’m completely obsessed.  My mother and I really are best friends even though there’s a greater age difference between us; plus, like Lorelai, she’s my biggest supporter and my number one fan.  Rory’s father flaked out when she was in high school but started to redeem himself once she went to college, just like mine.  Rory freaked out and took a semester off from college, I spent a semester at Lebanon Valley College for financial and personal reasons. Rory and I are totally twins, and she’s always there for me.  When something bad happened with one of my relationships, I’d remember some tribulation Rory faced and find courage to continue on.  She and I went through relationships with good boys and bad boys; I felt her pain when Jess bailed, wanted to smack her face with that whole Dean thing, and I’m still not sure how I feel about Logan. And for the record, I can’t come right out and say anything that happened after Rory graduated high school because I’m currently spreading the obsession to one of my favorite professors.

What makes The Gilmore Girls so wonderful, and its impending series finale so tragic, is how the characters become like family to those who tune in.  I feel like part of me lives in Stars Hollow, even though I have only spent under five days of time with the folks who live there (assuming I did the math correctly).  I’ve grown up so much since the show came on the air in 2000, and I can put in season 1 and see myself reflected in those big blue eyes any time I need to remember my own roots.  Saying goodbye to the girls is going to be saying goodbye to a wonderful yet turbulent stage in my own life, sealing it in cardboard DVD cases forever.  I’ll miss them, but I’ll know that Rory is doing well at whatever paper she ends up gracing with her presence, and I’ll hope that Lorelai finally makes things work with Luke, aka the only man that is right for her.  When I’m at the bar, I’ll play “Walk Like an Egyptian” on the jukebox and remember the concert that Lorelai and Sookie took Rory and her new Chilton pals to in the first season.  I hope that Miss Patty, Babette, Taylor, Lane and especially Kirk, will keep a relationship with “the business we call show” so that I can see them on Law & Order or in a small movie roll and clap like an excited toddler.  If I end up needing surgery some day, I’ll pray that my surgeon’s collegiate life wasn’t akin to that of Rory’s mildly psychotic, uptight roommate, Paris—hopefully no one sees her and thinks “twins!” the way I do when I see Rory.  And I’ll think of Richard and Emily, Rory’s grandparents, on the holidays, and hope that they’re all sharing a fine meal with a nice bottle of wine.  After graduation, they may be gone from television, but I will have seven years of memories with the Gilmore Girls, and they will always color who I have become.

So much has changed about the liberal arts college where I spent some of the best times of my life. Massive construction projects that were just beginning as I graduated are now complete. There’s a new theatre (where the lecture took place, actually), new dorms that look like luxury hotels on the inside, and a new dining hall that reminded my friend Sara of an Atlantic City buffet. Oh, and Kent Circle, with its 7 or 8 coveted parking spaces, exists no more (this will only matter to readers who lived in the Hill dorms, the Cullen dorms or Kent). While I’m somewhat jealous of the students who get to have a much more comfortable campus experience, I’m also glad that I got to live in a converted office building (Gibson), an ancient building filled with creative arts majors (Middle—a dorm they will never get rid of because of its historical significance, but will never be the same as it was in 2004 when the best people ever lived there), and a slightly dumpy dorm with centipede issues improved only by the showerheads my best friend’s father donated (Worcester). The students who reside in Sassafras may never know what it’s like to sleep in several layers of clothing because northwest winds defeat the purpose of walls when radiators break (Worcester), but they also won’t have a gritty college experience to create anecdotes for nostalgic diatribes in blog entries. Yes, being back on campus at this point in my life has caused me to wax poetic about my time there, but I will try to pull myself back on track.

This was my first visit back to campus since starting graduate school (aka deciding to make something of myself), so perhaps the reason I enjoyed it so much is that I no longer feel like my degree is a complete waste. The company didn’t hurt, either. My darling friend Alisha (the one with the Dad who gave us water pressure in Worcester) is in her final semester, and she played hostess to Dan, me and several others. Sara, the founder of The Medium lit mag and someone I’ve worked with on multiple projects, came down with Rielly who I remember being involved with pubs too even though we didn’t hang out. Alisha’s good friend and fellow senior Maureen was present, and her brother Rob who worked with me on a group project in advertising and went to high school with Dan, showed up part way through the reading. Could you keep track of all that? Everyone shared more ties than those, as WAC is a tangled web, but those are the ties to me, the antisocial babbler. Standing in Alisha’s kitchen was probably the most social I’ve been in months, and I guess the difference for me is that on campus, even the most random social situations (usually) aren’t awkward. It was nice to swap stories and anecdotes, and it was good to show Dan more of what made me me.

We witnessed the lecture itself from the balcony of the new theatre. Rather than dealing with the crowds, we chose to sit somewhere that we could see, hear and pass a communal thermos of fruit juice and alcohol. Daniel Handler was dry and watching my Dan (who refused the thermos, by the way) watch him was part of my enjoyment. Handler opened with an anecdote about his research into the Eastern Shore, which he accomplished primarily through reading the Kent County News.  He mentioned an article about a chicken house fire in which thousands of chickens lost their lives that was currently under investigation and a story about the heat-sensing abilities of snakes. From these articles, he deduced that the Eastern Shore clearly had a problem with arsonist snakes. Cue laughter. There were some uncomfortable moments—the kind where a speaker makes jokes about Judaism/Anne Frank, and you don’t know enough background to guess if it’s okay to laugh (it turns out it was because he was raised Jewish. Does this mean I can make Lutheran jokes?). Handler also talked about the name Lemony Snicket, and how he came to write books for children. For him, it started in childhood, with a serious dislike of books where everything magically worked itself out for the protagonist. He wasn’t a fan. Life is harder than that, though you may never have Count Olaf trying to get you.

Returning to Washington College, if only for an evening, proved to be a worthwhile adventure. Though I miss undergrad terribly, returning to campus creates a sense of pride rather than a sense of longing or regret. I miss the carefree lifestyle I led there, where my biggest worry was the next paper due or an upcoming test. Now I see WAC as a place that taught me how to learn. Through my liberal arts education, I grew to love research and writing. I would not be who I am today if I had not attended that Sophie Kerr weekend in 2003; my decision to attend Washington College is single-handedly the best decision I’ve made so far in my life. I have a second family made up of wonderful friends, an inquisitive mind fostered by my education, and the ability to return to a place where an author who writes books where children narrowly escape death gives a lecture that makes me realize there is nothing wrong with life being a bit difficult. It’s life, and WAC has given me a positive outlook on it.

Sunday morning came far too fast. We woke up to the smell of breakfast cooking, and when I emerged from the bathroom, my birthday presents were waiting for me on the bed. Dan, of course, did a fabulous job. He framed a picture of us before our He Said Beer / She Said Wine dinner and one of my favorite pictures that he took on one of our outings (and he got frames that were my style, too). He also got me the Dandy Warhols vinyl that I had drooled over–and it’s signed! The mix CD that came as part of my gift beat the mix I’d made him in August, but I wouldn’t know that until the drive home from his house that evening.

Breakfast was delicious again, and Dan found the berry bread pudding particularly enjoyable. I’m not a berry person, but I appreciated that it was a treat for those who were. Neither of us are really outgoing around strangers, so we mostly listened to conversations at breakfast rather than starting them. Sure, when someone spoke to us, we would answer, but we didn’t go out of our way to be chatty. This was, after all, our first bed and breakfast experience. We’ll work on that. People automatically assumed we lived together and were somewhat perplexed when we independently answered the “where are you from?” question.

Before we left, we wanted to try our luck with the dock again. We grabbed our books and headed down to the bay. The chairs on the dock were still damp with dew, but we sat on the platform and read in the peaceful morning sunshine, savoring every last moment we could. We watched swans and sailboats in the distance, and noticed bald eagles flying overhead. We were alone, but surrounded by the warmth of nature. The beauty was practically spiritual. Sounds kind of corny, but to me, it was surreal. I should note that Dan is part of the reason I appreciate nature so much. Around the time we started dating, I was going hiking a lot and I’m not sure if it was subconsciously done to try to impress him or because I was stircrazy from unemployment. He’s also done wonders for me to stop hating bugs. So to be sitting with him on the edge of the Chesapeake was wonderful, even when I knew there was a huge spider living on a web below the dock.

Of course our vacation had to end eventually… We hauled our bags out to the car after coming back from the dock with rosy sunburned cheeks. We shyly approached our innkeepers to pay our bill and were greeted warmly. I’m not really a “hugger,” but I accepted hugs from Joann and Jim with only mild awkwardness. They chatted with us a bit, and–like people at breakfast–were surprised that we don’t actually live together. I guess to a girl like me, it seems nice that I can be mistaken for someone who’s engaged or married or at least living with someone. It does help me feel as though I might actually be 25. Our hosts asked us to write about our stay on TripAdvisor, and I’ve been drafting a post for quite some time. I genuinely want to promote their establishment because the atmosphere was so much warmer than anywhere else we may have considered staying. We said our goodbyes to our hosts, and as we walked out to the car, we paused to say goodbye to the dogs.

Since I hadn’t given Dan a glimpse of anything in Chestertown save a quick walk around campus and my friend Sarah’s yard, we made a few stops there before heading home. We drove through the downtown area where a lot of change had occured since my time as a student. The biggest change being the closing of my favorite bar, which is another story for another time. One of our stops included campus so I could see my “little sister.” She was laying on the green with her friends and while we talked, the awkward feeling came back. At 25, I didn’t belong on that college campus anymore. I felt like I’d outgrown it. Lunch at one of my favorite strip mall restaurants, Luisa’s, was also a little bit awkward for me, although I definitely ate a ton of my favorite seafood marinara.

The whole experience, in retrospect, was bittersweet. Mostly sweet. Every moment spent with Dan in Rock Hall was special, even when we walked back to my car after our sunset cruise to see that we’d left my headlights on. I can truly say that every moment we were there was a happy one. However, being with him also made me realize that my life is completely different now. It’s not even the milestone birthday, it’s just who I am.