#Fast Towing Nashville

[towing-services-nashville]

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[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me Professor (Chapter 57 - The Final Chapter)

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Healing. There would be an infinite amount of healing to do; though over the next six months there were little victories that aided in the process. Will plead guilty. It was an act that everyone was shocked about and ultimately it spared Carol a lot of extra heartache that she didn’t deserve. The evidence was already stacked against him, but now that Will admitted guilt, Carol would not have to sit on a stand as a defense lawyer grilled her and tried to twist her trauma around. For that, everyone was thankful.

Upon a leave of absence for the remainder of the school year, Carol returned to her job in September. In turn, she received a standing ovation from the student body and gained the full support of the staff there. Again, another part of the healing process. I knew Carol was hurting, but she persevered and thrived in her profession. She was going to make it because that’s what women like Carol did. They rose above. They made it.

“She even started coaching volleyball,” Joel informed me. “She was all-state in her younger days.”

Joel. My Joel. I had no issue calling him that all the time now. I tried to prove him wrong every day, and after a little bit of time and a lot of convincing I think it’s clear to him now that I will forever keep his secrets.

He went into a temporary retirement, and I changed my mind and pursued the rest of my Master’s Degree online. Without having to twist my arm too much, Joel convinced me to travel a bit to get away from New York State for a short while. It was therapeutic, to say the least.

I allowed him to take me to Nashville near the end of the summer, and then over to the Grand Canyon. We spent two weeks exploring California, extending our stays from a little ranch near the Joshua Tree, up to San Diego where I unsuccessfully tried surfing and concluding in wine country as autumn really set in. We hiked Washington State, made our way to Yellowstone Park, spent a few romantic nights on Lake Michigan before making it back to the East Coast in time for Halloween, where we crashed the small city of Salem, Massachusetts. It was the perfect ending, really.

Joel found us some cheap masks, and we blended in with the crowds that literally paraded every downtown street in the area. It was welcomed chaos and we spent the day taking pictures with spooky characters, sharing laughs, having some drinks and waiting in lines to slink into shops littered with folklore and magic.

When a light rain began near nightfall, Joel towed me away to a rooftop bar at the top of our hotel where he’d made a reservation earlier in the day. A gentle pitter-patter on the roof of the outdoor patio where we sat was relaxing. It was soothing music to our ears after a day of crowds.

From where we towered above the world, we could see two lighthouses in the distance over the blackened water. Below, people still gathered by the masses for whatever attraction, bar or restaurant they were seeking - if anyone.

“Here are your drinks.” A waitress came back to our two-person, high-top table with a pair of martinis and I sighed as she walked away.

“Ready to go home?” Joel asked, smirked as he placed a hand gently on top of mine.

My fingers squeezed around his and I nodded. “This has been a wild ride.”

“Happy Halloween.”

I grinned again and raised my glass. “Happy Halloween.” Our glasses tapped together and Joel leaned two-thirds of the way across to peck my lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed me another time and then settled back in his chair. At the same time, we took sips from our drinks and I felt my body relax.

“This has been great,” I told him, unable to think of another adjective. “It really revived me.” I gave a nod and looked him in the eye. “How do you feel?”

“A lot better.” He grinned and added, “Thank you for sticking by me. You had every right to run in the opposite direction. You still do.”

“Dr. Miller,” I said sternly, making him chuckle. “I’m going to need you to stop trying to convince me to leave you. Unless you’re secretly trying to get rid of me.” I sipped on my cocktail and kept my eyes on his.

Joel leaned forward, never breaking eye contact. “I would never want that.”

“Then stop saying things like that,” I ordered lightheartedly, leaning back toward him just a little bit.

“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll work on it.”

“Thank you.” When he lingered, I leaned forward and left a long, closed-mouth kiss on his lips. When I pulled back he was grinning and I chuckled.

“I’m thinking the exact opposite of that, actually.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I want you to be with me forever.”

I felt a blush form on my cheeks and I couldn’t help but smile wider. When Joel leaned back, reaching a hand into the pocket of his khaki pants, I felt like my body went numb. And then he pulled out a small, black box and pushed it across the table. I was frozen. My eyes were glued to the box and if it was anything other than what I thought it was, I knew it would be like a kid opening an empty box on Christmas.

“What’s this?” My words barely made it out past my lips.

Joel’s eyes remained on mine as he opened the box. My eyes dropped, staring at the silver ring in the center of it. A Diamond sparkled even in the dim lighting.

“Marry me,” he said quietly, linking his hands to mine on either side of the ring.

“Marry me.” I repeated the words to myself to make sure I heard them right. “Marry me.”

“Marry me,” Joel said again.

My gaze found his again and finally the tears that welded up in my eyes were tears of joy. “Okay.” I laughed and cried at the same time, “I’ll marry you.”

“Yeah?” He kept his voice quiet as mine grew louder, drawing a few glances from other patrons in our direction.

“Yeah.” I giggled and put my face in my hands as I continued to cry at the same time. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Joel!” I popped my face up. “Yes! Yes!” People were staring at us now and Joel looked around the immediate area, giving a wave and a smile before returning his attention to me. He reached for the ring in the small, black box and slid the ring on my finger.

I jumped up from my seat and I couldn’t help it. I rushed around the table and threw my arms around him, pulling him in to kiss him hard.

“I thought Halloween was a fitting night for us to get engaged,” Joel admitted, holding me close as he spoke in my ear. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“It’s perfect.” I whispered back, holding him close as my fingers gripped the hair on the back of his head. “I love you.”

“Did you two just get engaged?” A female voice shouted from a few tables away.

We both pulled back, still holding onto one another and I responded by showing off my ring. “Yes.”

The costume-clad crowd in the immediate area all began to clap and I couldn’t contain my wide, beaming smile and the tears that continued to fall. When a waitress got wind of it, she brought us over a bottle of complimentary champagne.

“I know it hasn’t even been a year since we’ve known each other,” Joel said, “But life is too short to wait. You changed my life, (Y/N). I’ve never loved or trusted someone more than you. I don’t want to ever risk letting that go.”

“I know how you feel.” We shared another kiss and then took our glasses toward the edge of the balcony that overlooked Salem. I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

A breeze passed through and made me shudder, causing Joel to pull me close.

“Any regrets?” He asked.

I smiled up at him. “None, whatsoever.”

**Thank you everyone for following this story. I appreciate everyone reading, reviewing and following. It made it fun to write. This is the longest story I've ever written and it's been fun because people were interacting and guessing whole the killer was and I loved it. It made it great for me, as a writer. So THANK YOU!

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandojojo @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @smolbeanzzz @bandluvr97

[scattered-sense]

Somewhat going against the whole faces theory I put forward, I guess this is what a face would look like on an F unit. I imagine the B unit is faceless, but does have intelligence and can talk with other engines via the MU cable. Or maybe it doesn't and it's just a regular, mundane piece of machinery.

Tennessee & Atlantic Railway really didn't buy that many diesels; in 1940, Charlotte, NC (followed by Asheville in 1946) banned steam and diesel workings within city limits for pollution reasons; so, many routes in the Appalachian Mountains that were already better suited to electrification were staffed by, initially, Baldwin-Westinghouse 2-C+C-2 boxcabs (pictured below in service with the NYNH&H):

and later on, in the 1950s through 1970s, by converted FTs, F2s, F7s, and English Electric-built units to the same design (but regauged) as the ones they built for Victorian Railways:

Until eventually they ended up buying EMD AEM-7s in 1986, having 98 delivered in 1987-93, which displaced their older units.

As such, diesels tended to be reserved for routes avoiding the Blue Ridge Mountains and western North Carolina in particular. Eventually, the cities lifted these laws, but not before the Tennessee & Atlantic was merged with two other neighboring railways into the North Carolina Western Group on January 1, 1968. T&A was the largest merging entity, and so the other railways' operations were restructured to fit theirs.

As for the lore of this/these engine(s) in particular, they're diesels reserved and painted for use with the Mockingbird, a Memphis-Nashville-Atlanta-Jacksonville train (continuing to Miami via SAL) that ran twice a day in both directions (four total), alongside 2A/B, 3A/B, and 4A/B. Built in 1946, F3 1A/B was delivered new to the T&A, where they (or she if we're going by only the A units being alive, which I will write as if is the case from here on) and their sisters started on fast agricultural freight while the steam engines rode out their last few years on the Mockingbird, gaining experience to ensure even higher passenger safety.

During one of these trips, on a stop at Atlanta coming from Jacksonville with Florida agriculture, 1A, or Margaret E. C. French, had a careless driver accidentally top her fuel tank off with water from a pipe still up for their steam; since 1B was still providing power they could still move at first but eventually, French had to stop after her engine block started making noise; the water bent her piston rods. A steam engine that had treated her with open disregard at the yard and 1B had to haul her train to Bowling Green, and her to repair shops in Chattanooga, TN.

Another notable incident happened on January 8, 1955, when 1A nearly collided with a slower passenger train, barely avoiding coupling at a speed difference of 30 mph, after noticing the train before her driver and warning him.

Eventually, on May 31, 1955, the Mockingbird's last steam-hauled trip (pulled by one of the company's many 4-8-4s, which they called "Generals" rather than "Northerns") reached Jacksonville and back, with engine changes at Atlanta, where 1A/B, freshly repainted in the red/maroon/silver scheme depicted at the top of the page (previously in the silver/maroon scheme depicted later down) began to pull the first northbound (train 10). They would handle this job, albiet not necessarily on the same timeslot, for roughly 45 years, before being replaced by custom SD60M-based units in 1999. Amtrak wouldn't take the train over until 2010, at which point, Amtrak's power replaced NCW's, and the SDP60Ms were sold to shortlines.

Generally, these trains had exceptional safety records, with fewer than 10 total incidents over the 1955-99 span. However, 3A/B taking train 14 did collide with the car of the Secretary of Transportation of Georgia in 1974, having left it after it stalled on the level crossing. Nobody was hurt, but train 14 did need to be towed to the station in downtown Atlanta, where the train was taken over by an SD40-2.

Based on Clarabel's face from Tramway Engines - Mavis.

[fallenfirechild]

We DID this. Had the greatest of plans- drive to the store furthest away, Mebane. However, our amazing driver got tired so we adjusted our plans a little and stayed in Winston-Salem. We would start there, head to Mebane and then go back to TN. Staying in Winston Salem turned out to be the best thing we could have done. We went to the store in WS and arrived at about 8:15(it opened at 8). There was already a line the length of the parking lot. For most of those folks, this was their second stop. Turns out, ALOT of people had my original idea and started at Mebane. Was told that you couldn't get a hotel room, people started lining up at 5, they opened up at 6:30, ran out of passports and line was an hour wait. We did not to wait long as they opened two separate lines for those with or without passports and ours was much shorter. We are then heading to Mebane thinking it may have settled down. A FB group let us know that was not the case. The line was now 2 hrs waiting, there was no parking, police were called and cars were being towed. Traffic was backed up on the interstate and they were telling people not to go. That WS would give us our second stamp. So we turned around. Went back to WS and did get our stamp and a credit for the T-shirt that they had run out of. We headed to Knoxville knowing that the Mebane people were ahead of us. Sure enough, get to the Knoxville store and drove by as you could not get in. The police had it blocked off. The parking lot was full. The line just kept sneaking around there was an ambulance and firetruck. We decided to pass. Headed to Chattanooga hoping they would give us our third and fourth stamps- we took a photo of Knoxville to show we tried. Halfway to Chattanooga, the FB group said Knoxville was being shutdown. People were suffering from the heat and cars were being towed. We get to Chattanooga. They do give us both stamps and both credits! The line was long but inside and fast. We head to Nashville. We see in the F B group that the Knoxville people have now arrived at the Chattanooga store. The line is around the building. People have parked on the interstate and walked. The police are there and...cars are being towed. We get to Nashville. The line is looped around the back with two lines, when we start. It moves fairly quickly but was down the hill and going down the street before we made it to the side of the building. We get our last stamps and additional credit due to not getting any of the swag that had run out a long time ago. This was such a crazy day and a bigger event than anyone, even McKay's, anticipated but I am so glad to say we did it! I am thankful to McKays for doing this and being so generous. Thankful to their employees for being so accommodating and flexible and there! Thankful for getting there safely and that our car did not get towed! And special thanks to Diana for driving and just making the trip super special, and to Steffani for going with us so I could experience this with my best friend.

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[sinceileftyoublog]

Dylan LeBlanc & Jarrod Dickenson Live Show Review: 2/1, Sleeping Village, Chicago

Dylan LeBlanc & Jim LeBlanc

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Last night at Sleeping Village, when Dylan LeBlanc and his excellently titled band The Steel Vaqueros (guitarist Clay Houle, bassist Jim LeBlanc--also Dylan's father--and drummer Dave Givan) walked out to Orchestra di Bruno Nicolai & Orchestra di Ennio Morricone's "L'estasi dell'oro (Dal film 'Il buono, il brutto, il cattivo'''')", I didn't think anything they were going to play could match the grand cinematic scope of Spaghetti Western music. I was dead wrong. Whether performing songs from his stellar 2023 concept album Coyote (ATO) or back catalog slow burners like "If the Creek Don't Rise", LeBlanc and company created worlds of space and slowly filled them up with sound.

From left to right: Clay Houle, Dylan LeBlanc, & Jim LeBlanc

Dylan LeBlanc & Jim LeBlanc

LeBlanc started off the night with "Beyond the Veil", the perfect song to introduce his palette and skills: leading a Crazy Horse-style band, singing with what can only be described as a gravel-throated falsetto, simultaneously worn and gentle. That vocal echo gorgeously contrasted the instrumentation throughout the night, like the tactile guitars on "Dust" and the mighty kick drum on "Dark Waters", the combination structured, yet loose. You could say the same thing about the songs themselves. Though each composition was presented faithfully, The Steel Vaqueros took their opportunities to jam. They introduced "No Promises Broken" with acoustic guitar and bass noodling, "Coyote" with a sprinkling instrumental. And "Wicked Kind" pummeled with the most explosive stomp this side of "The Chain". Turns out, if listening to Dylan LeBlanc albums allow you the opportunity to consciously explore the commonalities between his created universes and our lived one, watching him live allows you to simply get lost in both.

From left to right: Houle, Dylan LeBlanc, & Jim LeBlanc

Claire Dickenson & Jarrod Dickenson

Opening for LeBlanc was Nashville-via-Texas singer-songwriter Jarrod Dickenson, who also released a very good album in 2023, BIG TALK (Hooked). With a couple guitars in tow and accompanied by his wife Claire on backing vocals and hand percussion, Dickenson played from throughout his discography and showcased his versatility on the axe, fast-picking on "Faint of Heart", blues-ily chirping on "Home Again". With sparser arrangements, he was able to emphasize his lyrics, taking the time to contextualize some of his songs before playing them, such as ode to touring "Born to Wander" and the empathetic "Long Hard Look". Selfishly, my favorite part of his set happened because yours truly posted on Instagram how much he'd like to hear Dickenson's cover of Guy Clark's "Dublin Blues" (originally released on his 2020 covers EP Under a Texas Sky). Though he usually plays it on his 6-string acoustic guitar, he had been leaving that guitar at the hotel while on tour, as he only has a 40-minute opening set. Well, he borrowed a capo from The Steel Vaqueros and valiantly nailed it on the 12-string. Even if it was a flop, though, the gesture exemplified the friendly spirit of the night, steeped in folk tradition but unafraid of experimentation.

Jarrod Dickenson

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[mrsrcbinscn]

Clover Tune || Jenny

@belladonna-wright​

Franny and Scat Cat had become fast friends when she first got to town twenty (!!!) years ago, when she came to his writer’s rounds always with at least two different instruments in tow. It was one of a handful of places in the area where aspiring songwriters would get together. It was nothing like the ones she would go to in Atlanta and Nashville, but at the time they kept her creative.

When he asked if she would be willing to help him put together a writer’s round at The Deer before she went on tour with Seoul Hanoi’d for a good portion of their European leg, Franny couldn’t really refuse. 

They’d managed to come up with enough songwriters to fill out a program running from 3PM-10PM, with three songwriters per session plus Franny hosting the first half. Max Cho with Seoul Hanoi’d would take over hosting for the last few hours, so she could get home before Sovanna’s bed time. The aspiring songwriters were all from Pride U’s songwriting program, the rest of Wiltshire, and a handful from Dorset and Somerset, mostly Upper Sixth Form kids whose parents hoped they’d grow out of their musician phase and go to uni for a real degree if they drove them to Swynlake to sing for a Songwriter’s Hall of Fame songwriter once.

They wouldn’t grow out of it. Franny ever did, even when it drove her to live in her car rather than pay rent for an apartment in Nashville but drop out of her songwriting program at Belmont because she couldn’t afford all four: car, apartment, Belmont, and food. She’d spent seven months living in her car, until her then-boyfriend Cornelius found out and all but made her move into his nice-ass apartment with him. Just as well. She had already decided she was going to marry him one day, what was cohabitation if not practice? Without Cornelius, Franny would have kept living in her car to avoid having to drop out of school or serve tables more often than she gigged for tips.

“All right, I’m going to take a short break, my friend Max will host the next hour,” Franny said after the 6 PM slot singers finished. Even if she only did two songs a slot to make sure the guests all got to three, she could use a rest.

She set her guitar down next to where her mandolin, banjo, and autoharp rested in a corner and wandered over to the bar to grab a drink.

[nashvilletowtruckservice-blog]

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We know that you have many choices when you’re considering which of the many towing companies in Nashville you’ll choose.  We hope that you choose us so we can provide you such great service that you’ll always want to work with us in the future.

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[samhadfield]

Why I Am Moving Into a Van

When I was around seven or eight years old, my parents invited me into the living room to watch Saturday Night Live for the first time. As I ran and plopped down on the couch, excited to be staying up with the adults passed my bedtime, the great Chris Farley waddled onto the screen dressed in a pair of khakis, a gaudy plaid sport coat, black rim glasses, and a white dress shirt that was at least two sizes too small. He was playing Matt Foley, an overzealous, maniacal, motivational speaker, who constantly reminded his audience that if they made the wrong choices they would inevitably end up “LIVING IN A VAN...DOWN BY THE RIVER!!!” Fast forward twenty-two some-odd years. I’m currently thirty, broke, single and about to move into a 1989 Ford Econoline E250. No, I didn’t get hooked on meth, no I didn’t blow my savings at the blackjack table of some riverboat casino, no I’m not some paranoid backwoods prepper. And yes, I am doing this completely by choice. My mom is very proud. People cry when they’re proud, right? ...I need to make a phone call. I am a singer/songwriter and musician who has been living in Nashville, TN for four-and-a-half years and I’m sick of working menial jobs and paying rent just to scrape together enough cash to pursue my musical pursuits. I have no major responsibilities outside of keeping myself alive and breathing...and showered every once in awhile. The goal is to tour my songs as much as possible and, when my van is built out, I will have a rolling apartment to do said touring with much more comfort than what many bands experience on the road. The van will be my chariot. Like Steinbeck and his custom camper truck, Rocinante, I will be self-contained and ready to take on the world. I haven’t figured out the permanent name for my new van yet but I’m working on it.     I’ve toyed with the idea of living in a van ever since high school. At different periods of my life I spent a lot of time researching the idea only to talk myself out of it again. I would let other people’s fears become my own and that, coupled with the social stigma, kept me from actually pulling the trigger. All of that changed when some songwriters I know came to stay with me for a night in Nashville. They had been living out of a 1987 Ford Econoline Coachman for a whole year. They had been crisscrossing the country. Busking, gigging, living cheaply. They regaled me with tales of wanderlust; playing music under the stars, heading out on some Breaking Bad-esque access roads and camping for multiple days at a time, going for hikes overlooking deep valleys and canyons, following their bliss, and living for themselves. They didn’t have a boss to answer to and they weren’t fighting hordes of angry 8-5ers heading into the city on their Monday morning commute.They were living the antithesis of the rat race: free and easy. And they weren’t some train-hopping crust punks, either. Just a couple of otherwise normal people who were bucking conventional wisdom in favor of grabbing life by the balls. The life in which they found true happiness. I got to pick their brains on the hardships and benefits of the lifestyle and within a few days of their departure I was looking for vans. My van is similar to the people’s whom I just described except for one key component: mine has been completely gutted. I bought it for $1,400 and got it towed to my house for $300 so I currently have $1,700 in the thing. Not bad for a rolling home. It needs a lot of work but my roommate is a mechanical savant and I have a willingness to learn. I’ll have much more time and money to pursue my goals and dreams once I move into the van. No rent and few bills means I will also be able to eventually put a down payment on some land outside of Nashville. So not only is my prized dinosaur from the Mesozoic era going to facilitate me being able to tour more, it’s also going to help me invest in my future.  Suck on that, conventional wisdom.

[noahwells1990]

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medical insurance tennessee is a bit different than , a private insurance company that is only available to people who own a policy with them. It offers various types of insurance products, ranging from the basics of liability insurance to extra protection, including coverage for home repairs, personal belongings and liability against vandalism, or liability during or after an accident, and for medical care. It even offers a lot of online tools to help you choose the right one for your needs. The company has a wide selection of tools, a wide selection of websites and tools for users to get an idea of how much insurance costs and the features it offers. I was in a car accident many years ago…but it still drives… I think I did have in 2002, it was pretty easy to get someone around who is claiming to work at one of their jobs. We got into an accident last year, but they were okay. I had been just towing and was covered in the other vehicle. They say you can file a claim as. medical insurance tennessee. You won’t find for free! If you don’t own any cars now, and you don’t live with an adult children, you don’t have car insurance until you’re in college, and they can’t go free unless someone helps them with an accident. But in the end, you get the short answer: car insurance. In college, students can still drive on public roads, but if you didn’t borrow your sister’s car, would you still be covered under the student’s insurance? Let’s explore the details of student insurance: If you do not , you do not have to buy car insurance. If you live with your ex-girlfriend, and you don’t own a car, you should consider the student car insurance. Although students at colleges and universities do need car insurance for students, it is generally a good idea to keep this on your financial life. Most colleges. medical insurance tennessee, this program offers a $1 million policy to individuals on the health insurance exchanges covering coverage for a single medical expense. In Texas, a woman and her young child may buy health plans through the Texas Exchange in exchange for tax credits that allow for greater personal flexibility for them under certain circumstances. If all women and children in Texas apply for employer-funded health insurance, then all applicants apply regardless of income level or family size. This program provides a $1 million in individual tax credit to an individual on the individual health insurance exchange covering coverage for a single medical expense. An applicant in Texas who has enrolled in a individual employer-funded plan (i.e., one that covers two individuals with 50% of the household contribution) must show proof of insurance prior to January 1, 2011, to be enrolled.  In order to use this tax credit to purchase health coverage, an individual must demonstrate that the individual s income exceeded 50% of the poverty line and that they meet the definition of a low income.

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Tennessee Health Insurance Exchange Challenges

Tennessee Health Insurance Exchange Challenges to Democrats To Expand Medicaid expansion and Medicare plan expansion—or, at least, the Medicaid expansion plan. “Health care reform does not include a mandate requiring all insurers in Tennessee to comply with the ACA”, said James [sic] McDermott, executive director of HealthCare.gov, a nonprofit health care initiative. Health reform does and will require insurance providers to give consumers the option of price transparency to assess their plans, and premiums, in a wide variety of ways. Health reform also has the support of the largest privately-owned providers in Tennessee: Anthem Blue Cross, Mercury Health, Cigna, and Golden Rule. In fact, some of Anthem’s largest, publicly-traded health insurance providers were already members of the Trump administration. But in today’s climate, many of them won’t be able to do business without the support of hospitals and insurers. The government has already begun enforcing the insurance exchanges, and in June it approved rate regulation that.

A health insurer steps up in Tennessee, averting possible Obamacare crisis

A health insurer steps up in Tennessee, averting possible Obamacare crisis. The Tennessee Association of Health Plans has helped many individuals and small businesses gain access to affordable health insurance plans, and the state also allows these plans to remain ACA compliant. Tennessee has been one of just eight states that don’t allow insurers to consider pre-existing conditions when calculating your premiums. Since 2013, the Affordable Care Act has been the only state in the nation mandating health insurers provide financial support for medically underwritten policies. While this hasn t happened quite as often as expected for Tennessee, it’s still a very good step. The ACA clearly established “pre-existing conditions” as a standard that has been followed successfully by other states. Unfortunately, under the ACA, insurance companies can deny coverage to people with pre-existing conditions (and) charge them more premiums to keep their coverage in force. It’s likely that if you get your insurance through a pre-existing condition care, your provider will be forced to either accept new prices, or refuse to.

2017 Health Insurance Plans Available to Tennesseans

2017 Health Insurance Plans Available to Tennesseans The cost of car insurance and the costs of insurance policies and the costs of insurance policies in the state of Tennessee go up based on where you live. Insurance rates in Tennessee, like all states, are determined according to a variety of factors, such as your age, zip code, driving record, make and model of vehicle, marital status, and your driving history. To estimate your car insurance cost, insurance companies use various factors like your location, credit score, and how many miles you drive each year to calculate your . According to , the average full coverage car insurance quote in the state of Tennessee is $1721.95. This is only on the side of full coverage car insurance, which includes liability insurance, comprehensive coverage, collision coverage, and comprehensive coverage for those with a driving record that will struggle to find adequate coverage. While a full insurance quote for this kind of coverage is common nationwide for the amount.

President Trump signs order to rewrite federal health insurance rules

President Trump signs order to rewrite federal health insurance rules underwriter to make health care cheaper. You would find coverage under the ACA available through most exchanges. The coverage could even be available through a special, more complicated form of insurance. You could also shop for coverage elsewhere for your financial situation. Read our to learn about your options. Although you may only be responsible for medical costs for a fixed period, you might not receive as much money back for care as you would with an individual policy. In this article, we’ll explain all the ways to during the health insurance crisis. One of the most important parts of health insurance is the form of coverage you’ll need to help you save money. Most insurance policies require payment directly from insurance providers. Before you take off and get your new policy, check your insurance contract or plan carefully. You will not be offered the same benefits and coverage as if you were receiving the previous coverage. You have other options as well, but have a.

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[longtermintermission]

On Places

By Dani 

     I live in Orléans, the “Largest metropolis outside of Paris,” but notably smaller than its illustrious neighbor. A train departing from Gare d’Austerlitz will carry you around 133 kilometers slightly southwest of the City of Lights; it’s a pleasant ride, albeit the somewhat fogged-over and grimy windows ever present on the passenger cars. This is a minor shame because the ride has pretty views, probably less sparkling to me now than they would have seemed when I was freshly expatriated, but pretty nonetheless. As swathes of landscape pass by, I’m sometimes reminded of sitting in the backseat of the car en route to my grandparents’ in the countryside of Kentucky. On these occasions I might close my eyes, imagine the views on a certain stretch of Dixie Beeline Highway-- an unremarked constant in my youth and childhood--  and open them again to see if the resemblance is truly there. I think it is. 

     Orléans qualifies as a ville in French but treads somewhere between a town and a city in my anglophone mind, not quite landing on one or the other. By all other accounts it is a city; it’s the capital of the Centre Val-de-Loire region and has a population nearing 115,000. Joan of Arc once saved Orléans from English siege, and I once dressed up as Joan of Arc for a 6th-grade project on “Distinguished women.” Funny, things like that. Apparently the qualifiers for “Cities” and “Towns” aren’t so defined, at least not on the internet, but I do think that Orléans is the “smallest” place I’ve ever lived. In terms of population, this is by a long shot. I went to school in Chicago. I spent four years in Paris. I come from Nashville, which was pointedly unexceptional to me growing up but the longer I’m away, the more Nashville grows and changes, and the more my metropolitan Southern upbringing feels personally significant; like something to be protected. In any case, you achieve some perspective when the precocious 11-year-old girl you once babysat laments to you that she’s “just a Parisian,” or when a passerby on the dance floor asks you where you’re from and, upon hearing your response, widens his eyes and exclaims “You’re from the real America!” 

     I’ve officially lived here for 9 months now, which is incredible to me, and yet I can’t say that I’m an expert or a bonafide Orléanaise, and if I were I wouldn’t know it. I’m not exactly sure of what getting to know a new locale is supposed to entail, despite having done it several times, but I’m not the type to run out and join clubs, leagues, associations or anything of the like. For most of this year I’ve kept to myself, and my experience of the city has largely been that of errands and commutes. Orléans does have a certain conviviality, and Rue de Bourgogne (just a street away from me) is lined with bars, making for lively Saturday nights in the city center. I’ve enjoyed the occasional drink or coffee with a colleague, and one will inevitably run into one’s students. I went to college in the big city, so in a way it’s nice to finally experience what feels like the French version of a “University Town,” and it’s the polar opposite of Paris anonymity. On the whole, though, I mainly enjoy the comforts of my agreeably-decorated and immaculately-kept studio apartment. It even has a view of the la Cathédrale Saint-Croix, which, in my personal opinion, beats Notre Dame in a gothic beauty pageant (even before the tragic fire). Sometimes at night, bats fly in circles between my third-floor (American third-floor) window and the rooftops on the opposite side of the street. Bats used to fly outside of my earliest childhood home. We named one of them “Shadow.” 

     I didn’t choose to move to Orléans. Not really. I applied for a job here when it seemed I was out of options in Paris. I’ve always preferred big cities. The first two months that I lived here, I think I took a train back nearly every weekend. Once I met up with an old friend who introduced me to her chic Italian-American pal who had just moved from Rome to Paris for a job at Versace. Over a glass of wine in a café next to la Trocadéro she posited that you had to live in Paris-- or at least in a major big city--- when you were young. Youth was lost on anything smaller. I thought about that on the train ride home. My life was no more exciting in Paris than it is now; maybe a little, but the margin is narrow. I went through about a 6-month stint of raucous partying in various nightclubs and bars, but that lifestyle wore thin fast and was never really me being me. I was having fun but I’m not so sure it was my own idea of fun. I also didn’t run out to join any clubs, leagues, or associations in Paris either. Why does everyone tell you to do this in a new city? Maybe my unwillingness to “immerse” myself is a lack of motivation on my part, but I think it’s just who I am. Or perhaps my definition of immersion is  just different from how it’s largely understood.  I’ve never been a site-seeing fiend when I travel either; sometimes I wonder if I waste time in undiscovered territory by sitting in parks and restaurants or aimlessly walking about. When I do take an interest in a museum or historical site, it’s a no thank you from me to any kind of organized tour.  Did you know that John Stamos narrates the self-guided audio tour of Graceland? At least, he did when I was there. That’s where I first learned the hard lesson about such a thing’s capability of ruining a real experience. As compensation for lugging a tablet and headphones throughout the grounds, Stamos will let you in on exclusive information such as the fact that Elvis enjoyed playing the pianos in his own home. I would have much preferred to take in the tacky but touching décor of Elvis’ home on my own, with my own thoughts.  I digress. A compliment was once given to me (or so I think it was a compliment, and if it was, it’s my favorite) by a friend of my parents’ who, in mid-conversation with them, turned to me and said, “She’s not saying anything, but she’s listening, alright. Not one thing is getting past her.” I think that’s always how I’ve interfaced with life. Many of us are mainly observers. I’ve only recently begun to feel validated in my choices of experiencing the world.

     I won’t lie and say that I haven’t wondered if my existence isn’t just a little boring, and if it isn’t sort of, maybe, my fault. Sometimes that Thoreau quote that everyone loves so much about men leading lives of quiet desperation gives me uncomfortable pause. This past Thursday I had a somewhat lengthy list of banal and administrative errands to run; I had to complete my tax form, mail it in (How French), shop for groceries, and purchase some office supplies at the local bookstore. It was a day, not unusual for me, spent in the company of my internal monologue and with no spectacular plot developments. But the sun had shone, I had completed my errands, and I had enjoyed an unadventurous but quietly serene mood; the kind that comes with knowing exactly where you are and feeling no impending stress about anything in particular. The wait in line for the print shop felt only slightly long and when I left the place I was minutiously thrilled at putting my stack of warm government documents into my ready-to-mail envelope; the same one that gave me an equal thrill when I slipped it into the post box. I went into the bookstore looking only for a folder but found myself perusing the displays as if it were some kind of hobby of mine; sort of how I imagine birdwatchers to feel when bird-watching. I got my folder along with several unnecessary indulgences. The lady at the cash register was nice. I stopped by the corner grocery near my place where all three of the cashiers know me in a neighborly way. The fact that they recognize me used to make me slightly anxious, but these days it’s comforting. 

      I went back home, walking up main street with the Cathedral in my view, purchases in tow, missions accomplished, not regarding the monument in awe as I had that first time-- overlooking it, even-- but I feel that its mere presence must have done something good for my state of mind even without my knowing it. I feel like I must have, by an undetectable increment, come to know a little better the place where I live. I had understood what that Italian-American friend of a friend had meant when she talked about youth and big cities. It was an innocuous comment, and true in its own right. Still, it fed a strange notion I’ve held onto about happiness coming from location; as if people belong in a certain place, at a certain time. I won’t lie and say that I haven’t pretentiously entertained the thought that I’m more adventurous than the peers I grew up with; that their lives in the same city they’ve always been in and with the same pool of people they’ve always known must be dull. Such a thought is consoling for a moment, but sometimes those peers make me wonder what I’ve sacrificed to be here. I feel envious when friends go to visit their parents who live only an hour away. I’m cognisant of the privilege that let me choose to live abroad.  I’ve never had to move out of necessity. And yet I lamented having left Paris, all the while  living only an hour away and still in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. I’ve always known and appreciated these things of course, but sometimes you lose touch. I’ve lived in astounding places yet still astound myself with my penchant for feeling unfulfilled. The problem has undoubtedly been me, and that’s a dreadful realization to face. 

     Geographical location has been a strange and constant metric by which I have evaluated my life. Coming to France was searching for adventure and running away at the same time. When  location, however, didn’t necessarily bring with it the adventure, the ragtag band of lifelong friends or the passionate love affair that I hoped I’d find, I felt a bit lost and unsure of my direction in life. I sometimes continue to feel this way. After all, when Jane Birkin came to France in 1968, she immediately landed a leading role in Slogan, became Serge Gainsbourg’s muse and lover, went down in fame and infamy and effectively wove herself into the very fabric of French pop culture. Of course, I didn’t have the same head start that comes with marrying John Barry (of James Bond fame) and appearing nude in Blowup. Don’t get me wrong. I have no regrets. Learning a new language and living internationally, I’m convinced, is the only way I managed to overcome almost crippling timidity. I’m better for it. I feel, however, that I’ve asked too much of the places I have lived; I’m not Jane Birkin, and Paris was never going to do for me what it did for her. You have to look for your life--or so I’ve heard in a certain Robert Wise movie-- and it’s a notion that I adore but one that I wonder if I’ve taken too literally. I’m not saying that I’m done looking; next year I’ll leave Orléans and go somewhere else; hopefully somewhere bigger, but the “Looking” will be a different kind of looking. It’s the age-old knowledge that happiness comes from within, not from without, but we all learn this lesson in different ways. I moved across the Atlantic ocean to learn it. Growing up, in my experience, has been moments of finally just “Getting” wisdom that you’ve heard a thousand times over, throughout your whole life. I know that I’ll feel a bittersweet pang when I close my apartment door in Orléans for the last time, so I want to enjoy where I am and who I am at this very moment. Orléans is the first place I’ve stopped expecting anything from, and because of that, I can appreciate it for what it is. When I was handed the keys to my little studio here in the center of town, the agent  told me reassuringly,  “Tu seras bien ici.” I think I am good here. I certainly won’t be returning to Paris.

[sweetcontradiction]

Date Night

Synopsis: Miranda and Anderson go on their first date since Luna was born

Anderson smiled when he heard the shower in their bathroom finally turn on, bouncing the crying baby in his arms to keep her from wailing for her mother any longer.

“Hey babe, shhh. Give momma five minutes of peace.”

Luna ignored him and continued to reach her chubby fists toward the bathroom door, wanting her mom back. Anderson dreaded the thought of leaving her with his in-laws but figured her lack of naps were bound to come of benefit.

“That’s the door, daddy!”

“Go ahead and open it, sweetie!”

Before he had even finished his sentence, he could hear high-pitched squeals from downstairs as his nearly five-year-old opened the door to her grandparents, wrapping her arms around the both of them as Bev struggled to shut the door behind her.

“Hey…” Anderson said, walking downstairs once Charlotte had had a moment with Bev and Rick. Luna was still crying in his arms, banging her fists off his chest.

“Is she okay?” Rick asked, directing his eyes to the screaming one-year-old as Charlotte sat on his outstretched knee in the large hallway.

“Miranda’s in the shower…” he explained “apparently she doesn’t like having a mom who’s clean”

Both Bev and Rick laughed, tickling Luna’s stomach as soon as their son-in-law reached the bottom step. Ushering them into the kitchen, Anderson showed them the list of menus Miranda had put out for her parents for once the kids were asleep. He ignored the supplementary note placed on top, telling them things they were bound to already know. They had raised her perfectly fine after all.

“Luna’s only had one nap today so you should get her down pretty easily…” he began, sighing when she hiccuped through her tears. “and if she plays up, there’s pumped milk in the fridge.”

Bev nodded, outstretching her arms to try and hold the crying babe but Luna used her tiny socked foot to kick her away. Instead choosing to cling to her exhausted dad.

“Charlotte’s got ballet tomorrow so she’s to be in bed by eight.”

He rhymed off anything else he could think of that Miranda would insist on him saying but he couldn’t help but stifle a laugh when Rick placed his hand on his shoulder.

“We’ve got this, son. Go enjoy yourself.”

Anderson simply nodded and led them back into the living room where Charlotte was fully prepared, her doll house centered on the living room floor with the rest of her toys surrounding her as she looked up at her grandparents.

“You ready to play, nana?”

Leaving them to entertain his four-year-old, Anderson heard the shower turn off and so he made his way upstairs with Luna in tow. He opened the door to his bedroom and found Miranda in a towel, sorting through the various dresses she had thrown on the bed. He laughed when she huffed. Eight years later and she was still as indecisive over what to wear as she was the first day he met her.

“The black one” he answered simply, knowing helping her out would prevent a meltdown. He didn’t need a sobbing wife along with the upset daughter already on his hip.

Miranda gave him a small smile, returning the rest of the dresses to her dresser before looking down at her daughter, her thumb in her mouth with her tear-stained face looking up at Miranda with big sad blue eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Luna continued to stare at her, her eyes wide but when she gave into a yawn, Miranda laughed. Within the next ten minutes, she’d be fast asleep in her crib.

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll meet you downstairs.” she informed her husband, giving him a kiss on the cheek before disrobing.

Anderson left her to it, deciding to go into the darkened nursery to lighten his in-laws load once he and his wife left. Taking a seat in the large armchair, he sank his body weight into the cushions before laying Luna across his arms, stroking the blonde tufts on her head as she sighed in pleasure, finally giving into the sleep she was trying so desperately to resist.

“Sleep well, baby.”

______

“If anything happens, mom, call me right away! There’s milk in the — “

“Miranda.” Bev groaned. “We know. Go enjoy yourself.”

Anderson laughed as he practically dragged his wife out of their home, placing his hand on her shoulder to ensure she wasn’t going to charge back in to the kids. He almost ran for the car so that their night wouldn’t be ruined before it even began. Miranda smiled as she stepped into the mustang, rejoicing at the immaculate interior. She couldn’t remember the last time they used his old car. They had gotten so used to the dirty trucks, inundated with old food wrappers and footprints from both girls and the dogs.

Looking through the cassettes in his glove box, Miranda chose Patsy Cline and relished in the peaceful atmosphere as the soft melody played through the speaker as she relaxed.

“You ready to go, babe?”

“I can’t wait!!”

By the time they pulled up to Miranda’s favorite Italian restaurant, she was a lot more relaxed than she had been thirty minutes previous. Her hand was by her husband’s thigh as she sang along absent-mindedly to the country tunes playing through the stereo.

Getting out the car, Anderson ran around to the opposite side and opened the door for his wife, grabbing her hand as she wobbled out in her heels and onto the sidewalk. She smiled at his thoughtfulness. It was nice to know nothing had changed since their first dates.

They walked hand-in-hand into the restaurant before they informed the waiter of their reservation and he took them out to their usual spot, a small table for two positioned near the back of the Nashville restaurant. He’d taken her there numerous times when they had first begun dating and right up until the birth of their second child. Since then, their visits had become less and less frequent.

“Your usual wine, Mrs Anderson?”

“Yes, please!” she clasped her hands together, trying to remember the last time she went by a name other than mom.

“You look beautiful tonight…” her husband gazed at her from the other side of the table as she sipped her wine. He laughed as he watched her eyes roll back in pleasure.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

They both grinned, taking in the adult atmosphere. Anderson watched with intent as Miranda poured another glass of wine, making sure to top his up too so she would feel less guilty later. He looked at her face, loving the way her top knot had been placed with long curls that accentuated her red lips. She caught him looking.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt this pretty.”

‘You look beautiful everyday, honey.”

“Really?” she chuckled. “With throw up in my hair all day?”

“Well, I love you regardless.”

“I’m glad! I need somebody to take me on nights like this!”

“I’m sorry we have’t been doing it more often, Ran” he told her honestly, taking her hand in his from across the table. “I kept meaning to book a reservation but —“

“I understand... Charlotte has a better social life than us!”

They both laughed thinking of the countless activities their four-year-old got up to, leaving no time for them to even breathe never mind organize a date night. They were soon interrupted by the waiter asking for their orders; Miranda couldn’t help the wide grin on her face when her husband ordered for her. Remembering her favorite from every other time they’d been there.

“When was the last time we even had a date night?” she asked as she took another sip from her red wine.

“Wasn’t the last time the night we made Luna?”

Holding her hand over her mouth, Miranda did her best to hold in her laughter. He had to be right.

“That was a good night!” she laughed. “Shame we didn’t know it’d be our last one for a while!”

“It’s been a long two years…” he laughed.

“But the best!”

He couldn’t help but agree.

Throughout the course of their meal, Anderson kept an eye on countless bottles of wine Miranda was going through. By the time she had finished her dessert, he could see her eyes glazing over and she was laughing hysterically at everything he said.

“We neeeeeed to do this more often!” she insisted, banging her fist on the table.

“I promise we will, babe”

Miranda smiled at that, brushing her curls back from her face and looking into her husband’s eyes.

“You’re so good to me.”

He laughed when her voice cracked, the sheer volume of alcohol was clearly beginning to affect her emotions. As much as he knew he’d be flying solo in the morning while she nursed a hangover, he didn’t care. She deserved to relax for the night, drink and eat whatever she wished. He wasn’t going to be the one to ruin her fun when she was unwinding.

“Let’s get outta here!”

Anderson held onto his wife’s soft waist as she barely managed to remain upright as they walked back to the car. The weather had begun to get a little colder, so he took his suit jacket off and wrapped it over Miranda’s shivering shoulders.

“You ol’ romantic” she grinned, patting his chest.

He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as his wife giggled for no reason on his arm, muttering things under her breath and laughing when she told a joke she thought was funny. By the time they reached the car, Miranda’s heels were throbbing so he made her hold onto the car bonnet, lifting each of her feet up and taking her heels off before lifting her into the car, hearing her giggle once again.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted some more dessert!”

“Nice try, babe.” he laughed, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Your parents need us back. The girls have probably turned the house upside down by now.”

“Can’t we just book into a hotel for the night?!” Miranda groaned, stomping her bare foot on the dashboard. He laughed when a slight yawn escaped her lips.

“You’re worse than Luna!!”

“They won’t mind! We can call them and let them know an—“

“Ran…” her husband chuckled. “You know how much I’d love that but —“

“Don’t say we can at home because we can’t. One of them will wake up.” she sighed, clearly pissed off.

“So we’ll be quiet”

“I’m sick of that!!!” she huffed again. Anderson couldn’t help but laugh. He hadn’t seen his wife this drunk in a long time. He’d grown accustomed to her being a responsible mom-of-two. He forgot how much he loved this side of her.

“Well you just hang in there, baby.” he said, starting up the engine. “I’ve got an idea.”

________

“Mike?” Miranda questioned when he drove in the opposite direction from their farm. “Where are we going?”

“You sit your pretty little butt there and wait and see” he winked.

Miranda felt butterflies begin to gather in the pit of her stomach - a mix of the wine and the excitement.

Pulling up by a deserted field, Miranda looked over at him confused.

“I’m not doing it in a field when it’s dark and freezing!!” she protested, a little disappointed with his plan. Their bed was sounding better by the second.

“I don’t mean the field…” he whispered, leaning over and breathing into her neck, leaving a soft kiss. “It’s quiet here and there’s three perfectly good seats in the back.”

Miranda smirked, leaning closer into her husband, leaving a kiss on his puckered lips.

“I love you.”

“Show me.” he smirked, moving closer and attacking her red lips.

As Miranda got acquainted in the backseats of the mustang, she giggled when he cuddled in beside her, playing with the hem of her little black dress. It reminded her of the beginning of their relationship when everything was new and exciting. Somehow her husband still managed to make her feel like he had eight years previous.

Unzipping the back of her dress, Anderson shrugged it off her body, laughing when she kicked it off her ankles and it flew into his face. He gave her a wink, throwing the dress into the front seat to retrieve later - for now his attention was all on her.

After unbuttoning his shirt, Miranda smiled into the steamy kiss as he leaned down, running his fingers through her curls, rejoicing in the soft moans escaping her lips. She had missed this.

As both their hands roamed each other, Miranda sighed when she heard her phone ring, the soulful voice of her husband filling the car.

“Leave it.”

“What if it’s your parents?” he questioned, trying his hardest to resist her attempts to pull him back onto her.

“They’ll survive”

Anderson laughed as Miranda pulled him back down, her hands running through his curls as she kissed him deeply. She groaned when he pulled back, the ringtone starting back up again.

“It’s gotta be the girls! They’ll try my phone if you don’t answer yours, babe.”

Miranda sighed, knowing he was right. Managing to find the space to sit up in the cramped space, Miranda leaned over the middle of the car, picking her phone up from the dock in the front. She smirked when she felt her husband’s hands grip her ass.

“Hey mom.”

“We’re just calling to check up on you.”

“What am I? Fifteen again?” she laughed, biting her lip when Anderson began to kiss her neck, his hands resting on her bare hips. “Are the girls okay?”

“Charlotte fell asleep watching Cinderella, she’s in bed now. And Luna’s been an angel.”

“That’s great, mom.” Miranda managed to blurt out, trying her best to keep her emotions in check as she felt her husband’s lips against her soft skin.

“I’ll see you when you get home then” Bev chirped, ready to hang up the phone. “You two lovebirds have fun!”

The second that Bev hung up, Miranda threw her phone into the front seat and laid back down in the backseats of the car again. Gripping at Anderson’s neck, she pulled him down further, crashing her lips against his.

Pulling the shirt off his back, Miranda giggled as he unclasped her bra and threw it in the front seat beside her dress.

“I’ve missed this” she whispered in his ear breathily, masking another yawn the best she could.

“You’re already tired?” he chuckled, leaving another breathless kiss on her lips.

“In my defence…” she returned the kiss. “It is ten thirty, we’re usually asleep by this time.”

Anderson rubbed her hips before taking his left hand and stroking it down her slowly ageing face, brushing over her cheeks as he looked into her eyes.

“You just lay back and let me do all the work, baby.”

Giving her one last kiss, Anderson ran around to the front of the car, sitting in the driver’s seat as he flicked through the numerous tapes before placing the mixtape he had made to impress her eight years ago in the deck. He smiled when Mariah Carey began to play through the speakers, running back round to the back of the car and climbing back in, laughing at the mess his wife’s blonde hair had become in the last 15 minutes.

He leaned down, placing wet kisses on her chest before making his way up to her neck, closely followed by her face. As he placed a final passionate kiss on her lips, he looked down confused.

“Ran?”

Covering his hand over his mouth to stop a laugh escaping them, he squeezed in beside her, laying on his hip so she still had enough room. As he listened to her light snores, Anderson pulled her on top of him, using his shirt as a make shift blanket for her.

Stroking her head, he looked down at her peaceful face as she slept. He knew she’d reprimand him tomorrow for not waking her up to continue their love affair but he didn’t have the heart to disturb her. Cuddling into her soft folds, he kissed her face and watched her sleep. He knew they’d have to head back to the farm soon but for now, there was nowhere he’d rather be.

[thisisbraeden]

moved in // 8.21.17

Well friends, the day finally came. On Thursday, August 17th, I packed the last of my things into my little Xterra and drove off with a single destination, Nashville, Tennessee. We spent the night in a hotel, and then woke up the next day in order to make it to my move-in time (8:00 AM). Which, by the way, Move-in Day was incredible. I pulled up to my building, a girl asked me what my name and room number was, and within LITERAL seconds, all of my stuff was completely unloaded by volunteers. By the time I parked and got signed in, everything was in my room. The experience was quite surreal. After multiple hours of unpacking and a “quick” trip to Target, I am finally (almost) all unpacked. I had the early move-in which means that even though I moved in on the 18th, people will still be moving in the next day.

My schedule for the next week is insane. Meet-ups, welcome sessions, tours, fairs and much more. Everything is happening so fast and I am actually enjoying it. Along with all of this happiness that I currently have, I have some mixed emotions in tow. Moving out of my childhood home was HARDLY what I would call easy. Partially due to the feelings of leaving somewhere so familiar, and partially due to the fact my room was a literal tornado of various clothes and items that I either had to pack away, or put away. When it came time to say goodbye to my mom and grandparents though, it wasn’t as hard for me as it was for them. I'm sure that has to do with the fact I am so excited to actually be living on my own in a big city having loads of fun and getting an amazing education (gotta throw that in for my family who is reading this).

I read somewhere that the sadness for families when their child moves out for college comes early, and then they slowly adapt and come to terms with it. Apparently for me though, the sadness will come later--I guess it will come when I am half-way through the semester and stressed out of my mind. “Homesickness” is what they call it. I am sure most people have heard of this, but I am hoping it doesn’t hit me too hard. I’ll let you guys know how it goes.

Anyways, I am enjoying the company of my three roommates and I hope it stays that way. Most of us seem to have the same general mindset about things, which is very lucky if I say so myself. It is crazy to me when I see all these Snapchat stories of people in high school going to football games and hanging out. Like, that was me a year ago and now I am here. I am just so in awe of the amazing opportunities I have been given, and I promise (to my family) that I will not waste them. But for now I am sitting in my room writing this, listening to “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor being blasted on the lawn outside. In 10 minutes the first event of Welcome Week starts, a barbecue picnic on the lawn. Time to go make some new friends!

(roommates ^)