look away from my window look away from my door i fear my dear it’s all to clear and the paper heart’s been torn can’t you stay through the night please? can’t we pray on our knees? to keep us calm right where we belong in a fortress of pine trees the wind sighs button up now don’t look behind, keep your vows let the moon cry and the bricks to crumble down
I’ve just put third-year to rest and it’s yet to hit me (entirely).
The boxes engulfing my room are just a bit of physical proof of how much harder it is to move back home with each quarter’s end. And I can’t help but feel caught between the strangest state of limbo.
I find that college creates some kind of alternate fantasy that we’re all adults. I mean, legally we are. But really I think we all know that we aren’t.
(But then again, maybe I’m the only one under this impression).
People try exceptionally hard to prove that they are “headed somewhere” - whether it be law school, medical school, or simply graduate school for the many aspiring professors I know. Grad school conversations are an infectious disease of the most contagious variety.
I feel corroded with cynicism for predicting failures of so many proclaiming their statuses as “pre-law/med/etc.” I see peers with no idea what they want, aside from labels of prestige that they believe demand respect.
While I’m probably partially envious of the fact that they have a “direction” to turn toward, really, I think that it’s a safety blanket. In 5 months I will be a college graduate. It’s terrifying.
My younger brother is now a high school graduate - yet another reality that has yet to sink in.
It’s summer and I feel as though I should be happy. I wish I could be. My family is an earthquake of drama and not a soul of them - try as they might - really understands my major or intended fields of interest or the pressure that I feel. It’s not imposed by them, but there’s an overwhelming sense of inadequacy weighing me down. I scoff at those rushing into grad school and yet deep down I feel as though I am a lesser person for not chasing the same madness.
Is it wrong to be exhausted? Because I am. I am exhausted of being a student. Granted, I love learning. I love reading. I love art. And I still have much to learn. But I am tired of writing rushed essays. I am tired of cramming in the wee hours of the morning for tests that result in a blood bowl of GPA competitions. I’m tired of my knowledge being judged on a 50/50% grading percentage of midterms and final papers by TAs with something to prove. It’s old.
I want nothing more than to find a career involved in the art world. I don’t even care what. I am open to anything. That and the ability to pay rent free from my parents is all that I want. And yet I worry this is an unrealistic desire.
I find that many of my desires are unattainable. I have resigned to spinsterdom, I am incapable of attracting anyone under the age of 30, and my ideas of flirtation lead me to be a male girl consultant regarding other pursuits. I just want to know that everything will work out. I want to know what my choices will affect and know that they are the right choices, but don’t we all?
If patience is a virtue, I have none. I want love. I want my life.