Inquiring minds want to know...

People always ask me what I think about when I'm in bed and can't sleep. Well, here you go.

My future is kind of a mess right now. Since early December 2008, I have changed career fields and post-collegiate plans countless times. Should I take time off after graduation? Should I take the GRE, LSAT, or Foreign Service Officer Exam this summer? What classes should I take this fall? I could potentially graduate this coming December, as I really only have to take one more psych class. Should I stick around for another semester? My psych major would already be complete, so what else would I do? Should I submit my application to the Peace Corps? Should I try to get a full-time job with my useless degree in psychology?

I'm having a mid-college crisis and have no idea what to do with myself. Pick one and hope for the best? No one can make this decision for me, but I can't decide for myself.

That's what she said...

I rarely save texts or tell people about them, but I thought I would share this one with you.

A: F my butt hurts so bad.
E: That's what she said.
A: I'd laugh if it didn't hurt me.

To give you a little context, A did biff it on the ice today and landed on her ass. Nice work, champ!

I want my credibility back.

I've always been the one to have a plan. I'm not really a spontaneous person, unless I'm forced to choose a restaurant. In recent months, I've gone from psych grad school to teaching high school history to history grad school. Needless to say, my parents are not enthused. I have become the child that can't decide what he wants to do with himself. The one who's off in his own world, floating along. You have a moment or two of doubt and suddenly you're the problem child who wants to be a professional student. What the hell? Don't I deserve a little time to figure things out? I haven't even exceeded the four-year plan. Yes, I have had my share of majors. First it was a double major in Psych and Poli Sci, then Poli Sci became a minor, then I added Spanish as a major which later became a minor, and now I'm about to declare a History major. For those of you who were paying attention, that leaves me with a double major in Psych and History and a double minor in Poli Sci and Spanish. In four years. I think that's pretty impressive. What the hell are the parents complaining for? I am not an infant.

Leaving

Sometimes I wish I could just live in the shower. Leaving the sanctity of my hot, relaxing water is terrible to contemplate. It's probably the favorite part of my day. No, I am not a hypochondriac, but I will address that later on. It's where I do most of my thinking, at least creatively-speaking. Well that's not entirely true. Waiting for sleep to come in my bed is where a lot happens, too. But we're not talking about beds. We're talking about my showers and how wonderful they are. As I was in the shower, this lovely idea popped into my head. I should write a collection of short stories and call them Meditations on Tragedy. Too cold? Too simple? Too passe? I don't know. Maybe I'll write them. Maybe I won't. Getting back to glorifying the Almighty Shower, I can't think of a better place to sing [insert favorite shower song here, for I have many], cry [it's happened before], or just be.

Now, I promised I would discuss the issue of hypochondria, if you were paying attention earlier. For those of you who have made it this far, you're doing well. The end is in sight. I'm not a hypochondriac. Do you ever think of how you're going to die? Some people try not to. They find it terrifying. Some people are enamoured by Death and how it will find them. I am not of either group--just somewhere in the middle. I'm not terrified by the idea of dying. What I do mind is aging. But that's not what I wanted to talk about right now. I have thought of how I will die--some people want to go in there sleep, others guns blazing. I have this sneaky suspicion that I'm going to end up in one of those hospitals you see on tv. I will use Seattle Grace for my example, to all of you Grey's Anatomy fans. I was catching up online and watched three episodes in a row. I saw that little boy die and his parents donated his organs. I know I'm not that young anymore, but my life is just as unlived. That's how I think I'm gonna go, bite the dust, eat it, etc. Is that natural, after having watched the depressing tv that I do? Or abnormal? I don't know. How will you leave?

A New Era

Just to recap what's happened since I last wrote:
1. Barack = 44
2. School started.
3. I'm in Minneapolis.
4. I think this might be the semester in which I actually enjoy my classes.

So my schedule's kicking my ass. I picked it, though, so I'm not going to complain too much. Thus far, I really like my professors. I'll check back in with you soon to give you a progress report on the State of my Classes. I'm definitely working for the weekend of respite. Oh yeah. That starts Friday, suckas.

Welcome to the New Year

Normally, I make some lame resolution about working out more. Needless to say, they rarely last long. So this year, I'm going to do things a little differently. If I work out more, it will be of my own volition, not in upholding some ridiculous resolution. I've decided that I'm going to focus on two things: being more mature/respecting the choices of others (even if I don't agree with them) and learning to let go of things I cannot change (for myself and others). It's not going to be easy, but I will make a conscious effort.

And with that resolution in mind, I vow to end any silent grudges. Well. At least one. I am only human, afterall.

Apologize...

The following is an anonymous love letter I found online. I won't even pretend to claim that it's mine. I may not relate to everything the author wrote, but it definitely touched me.

Thank you, I hate you, I'm sorry

Thank you
because without your support, I wouldn't be here.
I wouldn't have stayed when things got hard.
I wouldn't have believed that I could find a life.
Thank you for the way you know me,
for being my best friend for what feels like forever,
and for raising the bar so high that I don't know where to begin.
Thank you for knowing to let go before things got ugly.
On some level, you must have known that forcing me to fly
would force you to fly too, to do the things you know you need.
And maybe you even share the belief that our paths
will join us together again, and for always.

I hate you
for not wanting it badly enough
for not believing that we could do this together,
for not following through.
I hate that you didn't have the balls to take a chance,
to explore this place that's filled with your dreams.
I hate how you don't even seem to be doing
the things that made you stay.
I hate that the way you tell me how you feel almost always hurts,
and that most of the time you just don't tell me at all.
I hate that you are the only guy I can imaging loving,
and you make letting go seem so easy,
like it doesn't hurt at all,
like you don't ever cry.

I'm sorry
I left the way I did,
because of what it said to you:
that I would always expect you to follow.
I'm sorry I didn't ever see it like that.
I thought paving the way would create
an adventure that would change our lives.
I'm sorry I didn't wait until you were ready,
that I didn't think I could, so the decision didn't feel like yours.
I'm sorry that it seemed like your opinion wasn't important,
when nothing could be further from the truth.
I'm sorry that I doubted our future, and made you doubt it too.
I didn't know myself well enough to tell you
all the things that needed to change, and why.
We both thought we'd have more time, and then I left.
I'll always be sorry for that.