Hey internet. It is a beautimous day here in where-I-live and the tourists are flowing regularly through the visitor’s centre. It’s move-in weekend for both of the colleges up here, so we’ve had a regular flow of people moving their kids in and wanting to know how to get to Bed Bath and Beyond and Tarjay and Weggies to buy bed sheets and computer cords and stuff.
If I may wax poetic for a moment (and I may, because it’s my blog and I do what I want) I feel weird about student move-in this year. Not like, I-really-miss-being-in-college-and-wish-I-was-moving-in-myself weird, but more of a I-feel-very-disconnected-from-this-entire-process weird. Which is in itself weird, because last year when the students came back, I was so upset that I moped around for a week and had long conversations with anyone who would listen that I hated everything and wanted to move back to my college town.
Weird weird weird.
You know when you write a word too many times and it just starts to look like it’s not a real word anymore?
Yet I digress.
Life is like that. One day you’re pretty sure you are going to be a princess when you grow up, or that you’re meant to be with the person you’re dating for the rest of forever, or that you can’t graduate from college and become a real person being the idea makes you physically ill. In the moment, your emotions are too big and spiky and powerful to disconnect from them.
So you ride it out. And you deal with the fallout, and take the day moment by minute by millisecond.
The next day, or week, or year, miraculously, things change. You’re pretty sure that you actually want to be a doctor, not a princess, and yeah, thinking back on it, your last boyfriend was a total ass, and weirdly enough, you are really glad you don’t go to college anymore.
If you’re going through that right now, it won’t last, I promise.
Ride it out, my friends.
This is what adulthood looks like, college kids. Mac and cheese on a kitchen counter in your new downtown apartment that looks like a bed and breakfast from the 1920’s. From the pan. With a lunch beer. In your workout clothing, because real clothes are hard.
So stop panicking about graduation, because life continues to be awesome (actually, better) afterward.
And call your mother. She worries about you.
PS – All of those dishes in the sink are clean now. Stop worrying about it.
PPS – Mac and cheese is a perfectly legitimate lunch option.
PPPS – Stop judging me.
I forget to write a post today, internet.
Shame on me.
So instead, enjoy, word-for-word, a slam poem I wrote Freshman year of college.
I got a question so I hope you’ll spare a listen
you say I’m an addiction
but there isn’t an affliction
I can tell a lover from someone who feigns condition
this prompt is here to let you know I’m searching for admission because
I don’t want to be here if you’re only falsely smitten
I deserve somebody who has love that’s truly driven
If you aren’t here for me then I suggest you start to flee
I can’t date a player when the game’s not over me
Don’t call me your shorty cuz you best believe that if I’m just a honey then I’m going to leave
feel free to mess around boo just don’t mess with me
playing rough is only good when played consistently
You’re right calling me beauty cuz you’re acting beast
and to say I deserve better is to say the least
my worth’s measured in millions don’t put in just a dime
NOW SHOO SHOO BOO BOO YOU WASTIN MY TIME.
I was recently approached to host this drinking game graphic on my blog in return for some free publicity.
Read this and then read this more compelling article about my own drinking game experiences, which are way more fun than any of these.
Source: Best College Reviews
Need a drink now?
Try one of these.
Well folks, here it is.
The day I never thought would come (well, that’s clearly hyperbole, but you get the point. At any rate I didn’t think it would get here as fast as it did.).
It is the eve of my One Year Out of College Anniversary.
On May 20th, 2012, I graduated as a double major in Art and English with a French minor, with honors. I’m going to go ahead and brush my shoulders off.
Fun fact about me – I didn’t bother going to my graduation ceremony. Mamma Mia and I went to the beach and drank warm Corona instead. It turned out to be an awesome idea, because the day ended up being about 80 some degrees and the ceremony was held outside. No thanks. I gotta work on my tan.
Nevertheless, the graduating thing did happen, and I packed up and left my cozy little apartment and my ex-boyfriend Dali and my lazy life in a college town and moved back home.
Looking back, I’m immediately startled at how far I’ve come since then (as I should be). When I left college, I was a burnt-out emotional wreak. I was in a low point. I left my freedom and my friends and my carefree attitude behind and came home to live with my parents after failing to get into grad school (attempt#1) and trying and failing to justify staying in the city where I lived. I had a job at the yoga studio and with my catering company, but I was intellectually and creatively and emotionally unsatisfied.
I felt, quite honestly, like a useless sack of shit, and I resented the intervention of my family and friends in even the smallest ways, from asking if I was going out that night to asking me to pass the salt. I was deeply, deeply depressed for almost 4 months. I hated or was indifferent to my surroundings. I kept butting heads with my parents about everything.
Things started to look up in October when I went to yoga training. I started getting really involved with my teaching. I generated a bit of a following at my studio. I started writing a whole lot, under the generous tutelage of A, applied for grad school (attempt #2), and started practicing music and playing live shows with Captain Apollo.
In December, I started this blog, and I’ve written about how this blog has changed my life, internet, and I firmly believe that it has. I’ve never felt so organized and productive and worthwhile in my entire life, and I know a big part of that is trying to find time to write everyday. I celebrated Post 100 two months ago and I’m rapidly approaching 150. Whether or not the quality of the content has improved is up for debate, but you can’t say I haven’t been prolific.
I’ve recently started a new job at the local visitor’s center I’ve been loving. I played a successful gig last Sunday and I can now proudly say I can sing live without feeling like I want to vomit. All in all, things are going well.
I guess, to sum, life goes on after college, and in fact, gets much, much better. If I saw myself from a year ago, I don’t think I recognize me. I’m not a wilting flower anymore. I have thoughts and ideas and opinions and I can and will assert myself, even against my parents, which I NEVER did in high school. I’m discovering assets of my personality that I never would have figured out in college.
Leaving college is scary and traumatic and awful. You want to cling to theme parties and having a flexible schedule and some semblance of “freedom”, and looking into the future last year, I didn’t see any of that being possible to keep. However, here’s a sappy takeaway – life makes things out of what you put into it. It’s like a mixer. If you don’t put in the ingredients, you won’t get any cookies, no matter how high the blade setting is.
Oh, internet. I have been trying to stay away from you. Waiting on grad school is officially one of the worst things ever. It’s right up there with people that talk with food in their mouths and getting a speeding ticket for going 6 miles over when you were just about to break, officer, you swear you were.
I’ve just been sitting here on my computer refreshing my internet and my email over and over and over again. It’s like the least exciting video game you’ve ever played. I go on grad cafe and type the names of my various schools into the results search and just stare at the screen going WHY DID THAT PERSON HEAR BACK TWO DAYS AGO AND I HAVEN’T???!!??!?!?
I was planning on writing an elegant piece on gender politics, but I just refreshed my email 4 more times between these two paragraphs, so I think it’s in my best interest to leave that till Saturday and go find some where without internet to chill out and read Cloud Atlas or something.
Peace out, y’all. I’ll leave you with this pictures as a testament to my thoughts on applying to grad school:
I applied super casual like:
And then it sunk in like:
So now I feel:
But hopefully next week it’ll be like:
I got my first grad school rejection letter from university yesterday, and in the ultimate my-life-is-a-series-of-metaphors move, the first thing I did after reading the email was clean out the litter box, because nothing else could so perfectly encapsulate that particular shit happens kind of moment. The second thing I did was post a tragically emotional, sympathy seeking Facebook status abut it, because at heart I’m still a 15 year old girl who just got dumped on Valentine’s day. Then I told my mum, who was in her room dancing to Grease music, went and made a cup of tea, had a mini temper tantrum in my room, played the ukulele sobbing, dried my face off, and got on my computer to write this blog post, because hot damn, I got things to do.
I think the worst part is that I work for a catering company, and I have to cater an event for the program I just got rejected from tomorrow by myself. It’s a ritzy wine reception. So I get to stand there serving wine to the people in the program I really wanted to be in while they gripe about literature and exams and Randian philosophy or whatever. Which, you have to admit, is pretty high up on the unfortunate coincidences list.
I double checked my four other schools because I’d so rather just get rejected all at once, but of course they haven’t made decisions yet. So I probably get to do the whole drawn out temper tantrum situation four more times. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I don’t know. I got rejected last year from three different schools for graphic design, and I was upset, but not upset about it. I had already rationalized not getting in. I knew my portfolio wasn’t very good. I had thought it through.
This time though, in my heart-of-hearts, I was positive I was going to get into this university. So I kind feel like I just got hit in the face with a porcelain mug. It hurts pretty badly with the initial impact, and then you have to find all the sharp little pieces that got down your clothes and into your shoes, and every time you find one, you think, oh yeah, I got hit in the face with a mug. Man, I DID NOT see that one coming.
Boo, internet. Booooooo.