February 21, 2010
growing up is the worst thing a person could do
It's about that time of year when I feel the need to change something about myself. And I'm not talking about changing the inner-me because I'm basically perfect--no, I want to change the superficial. I want long hair but I want to cut it, and I want bangs, but not the kind you brush to the side and I want highlights or blonder hair. BUT I have no money to get any of this done and I think that hair really can make or break a person so I'm always skeptical about this kind of change. I mean, if a guy has a bad haircut, it's a no-go in most instances and I'm sure most guys feel the same way about women, whether they notice that it's the bad hair that repels them from a girl or not. But I guess I really have no guys to impress and don't really care what anyone thinks about me at the moment, so maybe I should just throw caution to the wind and DO IT already.
I'm really proud about how I'm doing this semester because I feel like, for the most part, I've been able to keep up with all my reading and assignments. This is a lesson to all those aspiring to be english majors that it's really more productive to take four lit classes than five. This is true in regards to the short-term (being able to actually read all assigned material, going to class prepared, not staying up until three am stressing about the mountain of work you didn't get to then going to bed crying) and the long-term (your sanity remains fully intact and you will most likely not become an alcoholic).
In Techniques of Poetry, we're finally starting to write. We have to email a work to everyone by next Friday and I'm really excited because I'm already finished with mine (for the most part). It's called "The Virgin Dreams Apocalypse" and I lo-lo-love it. Hopefully I'm one-thousand times better than everyone in my class and my teacher tells me that I must get published immediately and that I'm the voice of our generation.
Crazy-Amazing-Melissa is in town this weekend and so Annie and I hung out with her on Friday night. We went over to her house to find her in an old pair of pajama bottoms and a 2004 Patrick Henry Women's Field Hockey sweatshirt. She wasn't even on the team. We sat around, catching up and watching two hours of ABDC (please tell me you guys have seen the new season!); it was wonderful to see her (as always), but talking with her made me feel really behind on planning my future. See, Melissa's always been something of a wild girl. She was always right there with me when I would complain about having no future; I mean, she technically had plans, but they included breeding miniature kittens and discovering the fountain of youth--not impossible, but pretty impractical. And so, in her uncertainty, I had company. I was not alone. But now she's gone and figured out her life which is GREAT, and I'm very happy that she has goals and dreams (even if she said they will keep her below the line of poverty for the rest of her life), but it also made me go into a panic about my lack of any future prospects. I SERIOUSLY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM GOING TO ACTUALLY DO WITH MYSELF. I've always been lucky enough to have had the power of positive thinking propel me to where I currently am in life. Usually if I want something bad enough, I'll just kind of . . . get it. And I don't really work for it, it just kind of falls into my lap. This passivity has gotten me so far, I just kind of assumed it would be with me forever. But when you get to a certain age, perhaps fortunate coincidences no longer pull through? And even if they do, even if I somehow get a couple poems published in a couple journals, where's that going to take me? My dreams are now too small in scope--they're nothing to live off of. I hate resigning myself to practicality, but I think I'm at the point where fantasy has to be set aside. It's really kind of depressing, having to come to terms with the "real world."
I'm really proud about how I'm doing this semester because I feel like, for the most part, I've been able to keep up with all my reading and assignments. This is a lesson to all those aspiring to be english majors that it's really more productive to take four lit classes than five. This is true in regards to the short-term (being able to actually read all assigned material, going to class prepared, not staying up until three am stressing about the mountain of work you didn't get to then going to bed crying) and the long-term (your sanity remains fully intact and you will most likely not become an alcoholic).
In Techniques of Poetry, we're finally starting to write. We have to email a work to everyone by next Friday and I'm really excited because I'm already finished with mine (for the most part). It's called "The Virgin Dreams Apocalypse" and I lo-lo-love it. Hopefully I'm one-thousand times better than everyone in my class and my teacher tells me that I must get published immediately and that I'm the voice of our generation.
Crazy-Amazing-Melissa is in town this weekend and so Annie and I hung out with her on Friday night. We went over to her house to find her in an old pair of pajama bottoms and a 2004 Patrick Henry Women's Field Hockey sweatshirt. She wasn't even on the team. We sat around, catching up and watching two hours of ABDC (please tell me you guys have seen the new season!); it was wonderful to see her (as always), but talking with her made me feel really behind on planning my future. See, Melissa's always been something of a wild girl. She was always right there with me when I would complain about having no future; I mean, she technically had plans, but they included breeding miniature kittens and discovering the fountain of youth--not impossible, but pretty impractical. And so, in her uncertainty, I had company. I was not alone. But now she's gone and figured out her life which is GREAT, and I'm very happy that she has goals and dreams (even if she said they will keep her below the line of poverty for the rest of her life), but it also made me go into a panic about my lack of any future prospects. I SERIOUSLY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM GOING TO ACTUALLY DO WITH MYSELF. I've always been lucky enough to have had the power of positive thinking propel me to where I currently am in life. Usually if I want something bad enough, I'll just kind of . . . get it. And I don't really work for it, it just kind of falls into my lap. This passivity has gotten me so far, I just kind of assumed it would be with me forever. But when you get to a certain age, perhaps fortunate coincidences no longer pull through? And even if they do, even if I somehow get a couple poems published in a couple journals, where's that going to take me? My dreams are now too small in scope--they're nothing to live off of. I hate resigning myself to practicality, but I think I'm at the point where fantasy has to be set aside. It's really kind of depressing, having to come to terms with the "real world."
gina
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Active Discussion
Jeff Micklos • February 21st 2010 • Reply
Don't listen to the real world, it is full with a bunch of naysayers telling you what you can't do.
Annie Szafranski • February 23rd 2010 • Reply
1. I think you just want a tattoo
2. Moving somewhere (ahem north?) should be the next step..
gina • February 24th 2010 • Reply
Annie, you're probably right on both accounts. And my response is the same for both of those as well: we'll have to wait and see.