L'ete

This summer has actually been really fun. I was kind of expecting it to be relatively mediocre, but I guess I was wrong. I've taken roadtrips all over the place. It's been really unconventional, but I like it. Going to South Dakota and Medora made me realize how much I'm going to miss Fargo and the rest of the area, though. I can't even imagine what it's going to be like not to live here. I'm excited to start anew, but for so much of high school I maintained the mentality that Fargo was something I had to escape from, and now I've realized I'm not upgrading by going away -- I'm just moving horizontally to something different, but not really any better. I guess that's okay, though.

I hate that everyone starts school before I do. I'm going to be so bored, especially since my job ends pretty soon.

It seems like I don't really have much to say. Perhaps I'll come back later and add another entry this month.

I hope I keep blogging during college. This is a good compendium of my life, although I'm not very consistent about my updating.

Happy, sort of.

Yesterday I wasn't really having a good day to begin with. Then I got a scholarship rejection letter. It was really annoying to read, so I assumed my day would only get worse. The scholarship was for Latin, and so my first thought when I saw my rejection was, "Fine, I'll show you! I'll never take a Latin class again! That's right, bitchez..." For some reason, thinking something so stupidly vindictive made me laugh and my day got better immediately.

I'm actually kind of happy now, still. I do feel like a freak for being joyous over rejection, though. It's happy in a sort of cautious way, though. I'm concerned that the contentment will evaporate pre-maturely.

I'm not looking forward to doing the stupid online alcohol workshop I have to do before I go to school. I don't know why they 1. Assume I'm an irresponsible imbecile and 2. Think a "workshop" is going to curb anyone's penchant for binge drinking. College is the apotheosis of poor alcohol habits, and a little mini online class is not going to change that at all.

Oh! And I finally signed up for Nationals. I'm very excited!

So, here's the deal:

I'm looking for a "passion." You should totally find me one.

All of these people who have music, theatre, international relations, even something disgusting like engineering--all of them are set. I know the people who are majoring in stuff like music won't be ridiculously wealthy, but at least they know what they want to do and they're actually going for it. I, on the other hand, haven't the foggiest what I ought to do with the rest of my life. To be perfectly honest, it's a very stressful feeling to be aimless and retarded, and I'm getting really tired of it.

I know I'm not dumb. But that's not the problem. I'm painfully mediocre. And it pisses me off when people try to tell me different, because I know it's not true. I'm fairly smart, yeah. I'm not bad at very many things. If anything, though, that makes it all the more painful that I don't have a "passion" to be in love with. At least people who are bad at everything have no hope. I'm so close.

Today I was researching possible occupations, and these are the only things I could come up with...

Law: All of the books I read about it say "DO NOT ENTER LAW FOR LACK OF SOMETHING BETTER TO DO. YOU WILL HATE IT." Maybe I should take their advice, and look elsewhere. Honestly, my interest in law school only arose because I realized that I desperately need a feasible career option. However, I feel like I could probably make it work. I don't really have a passion for legal pursuits, but I think I could be okay at being a lawyer, and I like thinking and arguing.

Business: Who am I kidding? I don't like people that much, especially when I have to small talk with them and "schmooze." That's essentially what business is. Gross. But it pays well. And I could probably suck it up, work hard, and do okay at it. I hate that you have to trade comfort (i.e. not being forced to "schmooze") for success (i.e. munniez.)

International Relations: I like foreign languages, and I've always wanted to travel. It would be a fun challenge. I would probably only need to get a masters degree, which I'm sure would be a lot easier than Law School and maybe even easier than business school. I don't think it pays very well though.

Journalism: I'm good at writing. But then again, so are a lot of people. That's probably why I'd get paid so little as a journalist, which is a major detractor from the career. Also, I don't really like the prospect of interviewing people. I would rather write something fantastical than have to talk to real people. Then again, I should probably overcome my distaste for human interaction. Maybe journalism would be good for me. I'd actually be forced out into the world, required to interact with people. Hmm...

I know I need to stop obsessing. It's stupid. It's not getting me anywhere. But I want to KNOW WHAT I OUGHT TO DO OMSOKJSDLFKJ.

I was talking to Brie about this last night: How my biggest problem is that, while I'm deathly afraid of failure, I also don't really want to succeed. I suppose "don't want to succeed" maya be a bit misleading. I don't really want to put in the effort to succeed is probably more apt.

Regardless, that's not really a winning combination, and I feel like it's the root of my problem.

HO HUM :(

I wish I didn't live in a mini-dungeon enclosed by homely beige curtains

My room is so messy. I want to clean it, almost.

Yesterday when I woke up, I thought about the benefits of being a disorganized slob like myself. It makes me feel human. Doing everything on time, perfectly, and with pristine neatness is too mechanical. I know it's what I'm supposed to aspire to, but being any semblance of "well-organized" and "on top of things" makes me almost nauseous (nauseated?). I know playing catch-up once my procrastination and disorganization have forced me into a corner is annoying and unnecessary, but at least it's somewhat exhilarating.

I know that all sounds like a retarded pretense I'm using to be messy with impunity, but I do actually feel that way. I'm not sure why. I should want to be organized.

That having been ranted, I do need one thing: a planner. I'm tired of forgetting about everything I have to do. There's disorganized, and then there's chaos. I've reached chaos stage. I need salvation, and I think that can only be attained with a sexy planner.

I hate how planners always start in January or September, depending on whether they've been designed on a yearly or school-yearly calendar. Do these bitches actually think that everyone who needs a planner buys theirs so near to January or September that either variety is a practical option? Essentially, if I want a planner now I'm being bullied into purchasing a planner that has a measly 4 months left. I don't want to waste 8 months of planner, just so I can be organized for 4 months. God damn. I suppose I have to start somewhere.

No one likes chocolates. Boxes of chocolates, that is. Think about it. They don't even really taste exceptional in any way. Even a regular Hershey's bar is more satisfying than a nappy chocolate containing with questionable filling. People should always give flowers.

Also, life is not like a box of chocolates.

1. There is a fucking map in your box of chocolates. Almost always. Use it, and you'll "know what you're gonna get." Maybe Forrest Gump and his mom just said their little axom because they're a pair of illiterate fools.

2. Assuming there is no map, you can still get the "gist" of each chocolate. For example, you no to stay away from the chocolate with the nasty nut on top. That's just common sense.

I suppose "Life is like a box of chocolates" could refer to the quality of the chocolates. As in, you never know to what extent your taste buds will be defiled. However, since that's the case with almost everything we eat (we never know whether it'll be nasty or not.) I'm going to go with the former interpretation, and say that quotes officially sucks.

I need to go to the doctor. My allergies are out of control, and I'm tired of blowing my nose incessantly. I'm fairly sure my kleenex usage accounts for at least 1/2 of kleenex' yearly sales. I wish I didn't have so much disdain for everyone related to the practice of medicine.

It's weird to wake up when school was just ending two weeks ago. It feels good.

At least I have a job, now?

My neurosis is out of control. I don't know how everyone else can be spending their summer doing anything but worrying uncontrollably. Fretting about my future has essentially consumed me. I feel like a fool for letting this happen.

I'm trying to channel my neurotic tendencies into re-learning French and reading books I've always wanted to read, but it's not working that well. I can't get past page 80 of The Sound and The Fury, and studying French is sort of boring and requires too much motivation.

Maybe once work starts I'll be able to spend more time being productive. I can only hope.

I wish I were going to Europe or something exciting like that. I feel like a trip is something that would be good for me. Some time to clear my mind would be helpful. I need renewed clarity, to realign my sense of purpose.

I'm ready to move out, as well. My parents, the children, everything is driving me crazy. As much as I detest communal living, dorm life is going to be light-years superior to my homelife.

I got my job at the park district back. At least I'll have some money saved up for next year, now. Ho hum.

Don't wait, act now, this amazing offer won't last long.

It's hard to believe that Phoebe's gone. She's the friend I've had for the longest time continuously, and seeing her move away prematurely is just reminding me of how hard it's going to be to leave home this fall. I guess we all have to do it some time, though.

What I find the strangest is the fact that a batch of people go through this ever year. I feel like this graduation ought to be the only graduation ever. The whole "moving on" process feels too strange to be no more than a ritual that goes on year after year. But that is all it is. A ritual. Strange. Sad.

I'm worried I made the wrong decision. Maybe I should have gone to the U of M or somewhere less intense and scary than Northwestern. I know I'm not stupid, but I'm also not that motivated. I know it college I won't be able to rely solely on my ability "wing it" on things. And what if the people there are mean? I know I can be mean, but I'm not very good at handling mean people. Ugh. I sound ridiculous. At least I now have some melodramatic teen rambling to look back on and make fun of later, now...

Mostly I just wish college started now. These bitches are providing me with too much time to worry, and when I have time to worry, anxiety basically consumes my thoughts. I want school to just start already so I don't have to fret about it continuously for three months. Perhaps the most obnoxious part is that fretting literally does no good. If worrying would prepare me for college, it wouldn't be so bad. But it doesn't. If anything, it distorts my expectations and will screw me over and I will fail and be kicked out and live on the streets and die. That's called a logical chain of events.

I don't want to get a job this summer. My parents won't quit pressuring me though. I understand where they're coming from. I could use the money, and it's clearly the best way for me to spend my summer, but at the same time it feels like the "summer job" boat has already sailed, and with Nationals in August and school in September, it seems a bit silly to start a job now. If only ChaCha guiding paid decently...

Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?

Thirteen years.

Forty-eight teachers.

Hundreds of pencils.

Thousands of worksheets.

Countless late nights, frantically finishing homework. Countless excruciating mornings, stumbling out of bed comatose.

I have spent more than half of my life as a student of Fargo Public Schools: Eating the schools' questionable lunches, completing the schools' arcane assigned reading lists, memorizing tidbits of the information articulated by the schools' curriculum, and playing on the schools' rickety playgrounds.

And it ends here.

Somewhat unfortunately, the end to a good story is rarely one of straight euphoria. Although excited, I am so sad and scared, and all of the emotions have enveloped me so suddenly. How odd that school is over. Just like that. Done. Honestly and truly, It just hit me.

I have been knifing to escape Fargo for so long, and now my plotting and planning has finally caught up with me. It is eerie and bizarre that everything is finally coming to fruition, and it is strangely ironic that it took so long to realize that everything is about to change unalterably--especially when I've been planning such a change for half a decade.

And I know this is melodramatic.

I know I should have realized what the end of senior year means long ago.

But honestly, this is a legitimate epiphany, and it is legitimately scary.

What scares me the most, I think, is that I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I waffle between law school, grad school, writing, and dozens of other equally unlikely pursuits. I suppose what worries me the most is that I will end up giving up, becoming one of those adults who leads a life of quiet, inconsequential tragedy.

Actually, the only thing that worries me more than leading a pathetic life is this: Not caring that my life is one of desperation. I want to care. I want to live. I want to change the world.

But at 18, how am I supposed to do that? I can barely do my own laundry, complete homework on time, and keep track of my wallet. How does the world expect me to go to college and begin my life already?

I don't know. That is all I have to say, and it is really all I can say. I have no idea what is going to happen.

I am glad this revelation--that I am moving on, and not coming back--came at the very end of senior year. It really allowed me to enjoy the year to its fullest. Now that it has ended, I can begin to worry about all that comes next.