Saturday, April 7, 2018

The stuff about getting better

I don't know, man, sometimes you just have to come here and type and say what your brain is thinking.

My drafts folder on this blog are... good. It's a dated history of my depression (still undiagnosed, fwiw). I can look back now, with the knowledge I have, and see where I went wrong, see all the things I beat myself up about, see all the toxicity. I'm glad those posts never got published. They were just a bit too... emo/dark to share with other people. Too dramatic, too personal. Some of that stuff I've told other people anyway, in other words. Some of it I've figured out on my own.

I keep thinking about the future. In two weeks I move back home for grad school. A week later, I come back here. For the next two weeks, I travel with family and friends and then I spend a week packing up the rest of my life here and moving back home. My summer at home will consist of living with my family again- Freckles included. I have friends still in the city I can hang out with while I adjust to doing long distance with Redbeard. I'm not worried it won't work, just worried about being sad and things being hard. But in a way, I'm glad I'm not staying here.

The last school-related thing I did last April was go to the lab and make sure I hadn't left anything important behind, say my last goodbyes. I walked out towards home. It was a nice day, a sunny day. I was miserable. I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. My summer job fell through because there's no fucking funding for science, much less for kids with my GPA, and I think at that point I may still not have had a place to move when my lease ended. I was trying to find a good time to bus home to get my car and other moving supplies, staying in the house while my parents were out of town. I sat on the grass and cried for half an hour. I was so sad that everything familiar was ending. How much had I wished to be doing anything else during all that studying? And now I'd give anything to have it back. Why had I applied to graduate? Why hadn't I just taken another year? Why hadn't I discussed moving back home with my parents? Everything was a mess.

I'd like to say I felt the comforting hand of what was then future-me. I'd like to say I believed it would all be okay, that I'd figure it out, but I didn't. I wish more than anything I could have given myself some comfort at that moment. But there wasn't. Eventually I had to go home and stop crying. Eventually I had to leave that spot.

Over the summer I came back to campus a couple of times. Redbeard was working on campus so sometimes I met him for lunch, other times I had to pick up grad stuff, or I thought campus would be a good place to work. But it just made me sad. I would walk through the old halls, take my old paths to class, and be overcome with emotion. Let me be clear- I loved getting my degree. I had a great time. I have a lot of good memories, and I'm still sad it's over, but in a better way now. But being on campus then just made me sad I didn't have a purpose there. September was worse. My sister was living with me, and going back to school on the campus I had just left. Redbeard was going to school. A lot of my friends were going back to school, and I was right to predict that that's when it really hit me- I wasn't going back to school. On the first day, Freckles got ready and left, Redbeard texted her to let her know he'd be on campus if she needed anything, and I... I probably sat around the apartment being sad. I felt so lost. It was sitting on the grass in quad all over again. A month later I watched Lorelai's graduation scene in gilmore girls- or more accurately, I skipped past it and bawled like a baby because it made me so upset.

When I had a job in November- for a nightmare micromanaging boss who refused to listen to anyone's ideas but his own- walking on campus was a little more okay. It felt good to be useful. To be doing something. Seeing people every day. Walking. Making money. I only wish it could have lasted longer and being fired had me scream-crying in a bathroom stall for half an hour before I went to get my things. I paid for another new ID card for that. It says alumnus on the back. Just another reminder.

But now, I get a new ID card. I get to live far away from what is now- and always will be- my alma mater. I don't think about wandering the halls anymore- but now it won't even be an option. I'll visit the city, but to see people, not my old academic haunts. Granted, I'll be going back to a lab I've spent a lot of time in already, but now in a new way. Now in the fall and the winter. Now I might even get a key (one can only hope- I got keys as an undergrad in a lab, I should get a building key as a master's student, right?). My parents are helping me rearrange my room so it doesn't feel like I'm reverting back to childhood.

In some ways, it feels really good to move on. To move forward. That was my word for the year, in the words of the cheesy feel-good self-help podcast I listen to semi-regularly: pick a word for the year. Forward. As in, away from the past. As in, I have trouble moving in this direction. As in: I need to practice making big life changes. It's time for a new one.

And this time I'm ready for it.

Sunday, January 21, 2018

On Resolutions

Over Christmas, I got a book from my boyfriend about feminism. "Beauty Sick" was the title (Author: Renee Engeln, who has a whole entire Ph.D in this area). I read it, liked it, reviewed it on goodreads, had my reservations about it. It was pretty good. Of course, then my parents just had to ask about what it was about, which lead to a whole discussion about weight and health and beauty that just felt like it went nowhere, and they didn't care to admit that maybe I- and the book- had a point. It's really hard to have those conversations when one parent is a physician and the other was a nutritionist who talks endlessly about gut bacteria. I know they're smart, given how well they both perform in their respective field, but sometimes I question their advice. The takeaway from the conversation ended up as: weight can be an indicator of health, regardless of beauty, and just focusing on what your body can do and ignoring its weight is irresponsible.

I don't know why these things.. I don't want to use the word trigger, but that's what it does, it triggers my own damn insecurities. I used to not have these- which sounds completely unbelievable, except that I was wildly underweight for my entire damn childhood until I stopped dancing, and even then it took 6 years before I actually felt insecure about how much I weighed because some dresses I bought no longer fit me (I still have them. They are just too pretty to give up). Christmas is, hands down, THE WORST TIME to have this shit come up. My family eats terribly over Christmas- and there's that word, terribly. Is it really terrible to enjoy delicious home cooked food? To eat Christmas goodies? To sit and read in front of the fire and play board games and piece together puzzles? I really don't feel like it is, but of course, as they said, gaining weight is bad when it's out of control.

The process of trying to lose weight is a really odd one. For one, I have to approach it a certain way. If I'm too obnoxious about it, or too restrictive, or too obsessed, I damage my relationships. Nobody wants to hang out with the girl who won't eat with them at restaurants or who is constantly talking about how her change in diet is going (yes, friends, I am on that train: crash diets don't work, temporary changes don't work, you have to commit to changing forever). For another, I have been avoiding this for so long because I just fucking love candy. I have a massive sweet tooth. My mom would say that's the fault of my gut bacteria, and maybe they have changed since I started this endeavor, but who's to say. So I can't restrict myself or I'll go insane. I can't not eat "bad" food, like pasta (I really, really hate that carbs are the enemy now. It's basically the worst thing in the entire world), brownies, all that good shit. I keep maintaining that life just isn't as enjoyable without these foods, which of course I can't say around my parents anymore because then we get trapped in that cycle of That Conversation I Hate.

I've been tracking my food intake and exercise, is what I'm getting to here. Since the start of the year, not so much on the weekends. For better or worse I hit a point where I can't just keep gaining weight forever. At some point, it has to STOP. I know what my BMR is, so I can make sure the app doesn't trick me into starving myself (another app tried before, and that lasted all of a day after a lunch of green tea didn't really seem like the best option), but the rest is all guesstimation. I can't add recipes to the app without paying a monthly fee, so I've started calculating calorie amounts on my own for recipes, figuring out how much I ate on paper, and then plugging that into the app with a similar item. It is working. I've been genuinely trying to eat healthier foods- no more Kraft Dinner for lunch, you fool- and it is true that some foods make you feel very full while containing a low caloric value. I've been cooking more. I've been eating more plants. It's all very good. At the end of the day, especially after I've gone to the gym (and trust me, my friends, I am getting BUFF AF), sometimes I will have enough caloric room for like, 3 brownies, and I take advantage of that every time. So I'm doing okay. Slowly losing weight. Not spending a ton of time feeling hungry. But things have changed.

Mostly it's my own awareness of what I eat. If I keep track, I'm forced to confront the calories in everything I eat, which makes me feel like maybe a glass of orange juice at breakfast isn't the best option unless I really want some fucking orange juice. It makes me reconsider. It also makes snacking a lot less appealing, because when you snack it's hard to know how much you really ate and if you have to try and guesstimate that later- it's just a pain. I'd prefer to avoid it. So overall I'm probably eating less, and eating less candy because hot damn. And I have just given up trying to track during special events, like a party at my boyfriends' house last weekend (like an adult party for real adults with small children, not a woohoo alcohol party), or the girls' night I hosted on Friday (that was a woohoo alcohol party). It's just not worth it to me to not be able to let loose and have fun and trust my own judgement, although I suppose alcohol probably impairs that a little. If I tried to track that, I'd have to keep track of shit like how many triscuits did I eat and what volume of this salsa-boursin cheese mix did I ingest, like maybe 50ml? I have no clue and I just do not have the patience for that kind of bullshit. (The boursin-salsa thing, btw, is the most amazing invention in the world, and you have my dad's friends' family from Saskatchewan to thank for it: put a whole thing of boursin cheese on the middle of a plate. Pour salsa around it. Microwave until everything is warm. Et voila, pour a bowl of tortilla chips for dipping and your friends will love you FOREVER).

But now that it's working, I'm thinking ahead. Mainly the question is- when does this stop? On a semi-related note, I found a grad school supervisor and will submit my application later this week to start in May- I'll be moving back home to go to the university there, but it's my best option and I'm very happy about it. Of course, at the start of May, my family, plus my sister's friend and Redbeard, are going on a two week trip. How do I tackle both of those things? Do I have a set weight in mind? How do I even find where my body's natural set weight is when I don't maintain when I just eat how I feel? I used to think it was about 30 pounds below what I am now, but I'm starting to wonder if that's the case. Do I stop tracking when I get there? Do I track until I feel like I can trust myself? When is that point, exactly? Do I just get to pick a set weight? Am I going to have to buy new jeans again when the ones I bought to accomodate the weight gain no longer fit? And then, what do I do with those jeans? Do I keep them around just in case? Is that a bad idea? I have no idea where this thing ends. I'm starting to think I might just have to pick a set weight and aim to maintain it, and be prepared for that to not be the right number and to have to adjust my expectations. I also don't know how much the BMI can be trusted. According to that measure, I'm overweight. Which feels really odd to think about, since I don't think my body has changed too much. Most of my clothes I can still wear. My face is a little rounder, something which bothers me a lot (when you're constantly mistaken for being 6 years younger than you are, a rounder face does not help). I don't feel like "overweight" is a term I'd apply to myself. I feel like "average" is a better one. Maybe even "pretty healthy" at this point.

So what was the point of this post? It's just something I've been thinking about a lot recently. I really do loathe how much brain space this takes up now, but I do honestly think that for my own health, in a preventative way, I needed to make this change. I was already going to the gym and really enjoying it, actually (it's a women's only gym, too, which I LOVE). The food thing was secondary. I know I have friends who will probably insist that I'm fine- and I am. I'm not yet at the point where I'm horrifically out of shape, or unable to do things I could before (and fitting into those dresses doesn't fit this category since the dresses are the wrong size for me, not the other way around) (I'm still not giving them up though. One of them has pockets, you guys), or experiencing actual health issues (like someone close to me recently did due to weight gain, which yes, did spook me a little). I'm just trying to do what I think is right... and on that note, I seriously slept in today (lol "today") and it is time for a very late brunch.

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

it's so weird how you can like understand that something is true but not really believe it. Like the whole "just apply, you have nothing to lose" mantra that everyone from my mom to my friends to literally my own self has been telling me while I'm stuck in this gap. "Just apply!" they say. "They put up those requirements expecting perfection, but nobody meets those requirements. Just do it! You never know!"

Part of the problem is references. I have four, but I only really ever use three, one of whom is notoriously busy and takes a long ass time to get back to people, but is easily my best and most supportive reference. Can I really ask them to write letters of recommendation for multiple different programs? Not even the same program at different schools, mind you- different programs at different schools. There's a rotation program here I'm interested in, that I've been told to apply to even though I just BARELY don't meet the GPA requirements (I have a 3.4, they require a 3.5 or higher). There's a grad school which accepts ALL applicants into a rotation program halfway across the country I'm interested in. I've considered a couple of postgraduate certification programs. I've been trying to pursue the traditional grad school route with very little luck. There's a lab tech kind of program here that I just found out today has a master's program, which you can technically apply to without an approved supervisor (the deadline is November 15 for the winter term I think, so a little late to try and find a supervisor).

So yes in theory I could just... apply to things. I could just throw my hat in the ring. I am fortunate enough to have enough to cover the application fees. Except... I have asked these references to help me about 50 times each, and I am so worried I am becoming a burden to them because none of those 50 things have worked out. Not a single job as a cashier, a waitress, a salesperson, nor a job that actually uses my B.Sc. Half the time those opportunities simply just don't work out for me and I never have to give them my references.

I don't know what next step to take.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

I don't really have a title for this it was just a realization that didn't really fit anywhere except for here.

I keep feeling like shit because I don't have a job yet, I haven't gotten into grad school yet. I can break down for myself how this is disqualifying the positive because I have had grad school interviews that went in a promising direction and how I've barely scratched the surface of where I could pursue grad school, not to mention it could still be a possibility in the future if not now so I'm magnifying the problem to unreasonable proportions. I've had job interviews that didn't work out but had employers say they would keep me on file- whether or not that's true will be told by time I guess. The support I'm getting from my parents is being offered without guilt, and I know they would have told me to come home and work for my dad if they really didn't approve of what I'm doing.

The thing is... I keep telling myself once I get a job or a grad student position, I'll feel better. The other day, I remembered: I was depressed when I was in school this year, even though some days now it feels like I'll feel better if I'm in school having something to do. I also remembered: I had a job last summer and was depressed then too, constantly convinced I wasn't doing enough and nobody there really liked me and that the few really tasteless comments I had made at the beginning of the summer were well remembered by all and used against me. So no, getting into school or work isn't going to solve this depression for me.

I honestly still can't believe this is my life right now, I'm volunteering and living off of savings and my parents. It sounds pathetic. I keep thinking it is. But I think this is just an overcompensation. I mean, I have friends who still live at home. They are, technically, living off their parents in that way. Do I think less of them? No, they are doing what they need to do. Am I better than them? No. Am I worse than them because my parents are able to offer more/different help? That doesn't even make any sense- of course not. My situation is what it is, discussion of privilege aside (that is to say, I am enormously privileged to be living as I am right now, and I recognize that I have not earned this, and that others do not enjoy this standard of living and they have not earned that treatment either; I receive this life unearned, and that is a value judgement on societal structures and not on me as a person). My situation just is. It doesn't make me good or bad, lazy or productive. It also doesn't make me depressed.

Sure, it's disheartening to be out of work, but I was disheartened in work too. My depression will always find a way to tell me I am worthless, and it will not be logical. If I have a job, then I'm not working hard enough. If I don't have a job, then I'm worthless and lazy and a loser. This doesn't make any sense.

Honestly, I have my friends to thank for this more than myself. My friends have pointed out to me: this won't last forever. You're allowed to enjoy this period of your life even as you look for work. Maybe instead of rushing back to school to take open studies because it's all you know how to do, you should just figure things out instead.

Even as I feel like life is passing me by, it's happening. I don't like to believe this is my life because to face a reality where I graduated and have done nothing but volunteer since is too painful for me because of the distorted thoughts I have about it.

This problem is far from over; even after writing this post and trying to remember to go through the motion of deconstructing these thoughts on paper as they happen, I still feel like I am worthless, that I am a hopeless loser, etc. I know these thoughts are illogical and false and entirely created and yet I still feel on some level that they are deep and unalterable truths about my life.

I don't really know what else there is to say except that I'm still here and struggling, but at least that's better than doing nothing.

Thursday, September 28, 2017

I keep thinking about summer

It mystifies me how I spent 4 months doing almost nothing. I finished my finals, moved into the crapshack, and... was. I applied for a couple of jobs, I know, I got a volunteer position at the science centre, and I did that faithfully. I visited home, I went to a shakespeare in the park thing. I went to a food festival and a carnival. I went to the woods, a couple of times. I went to the gym, a couple of times. I wrote an essay applying for status as a special student and was declined. I was declined from a graduate position. I was delayed for another. I was rejected from a waitressing job. I was rejected from a lab position.

I remember bits and pieces from the summer in horrifying chunks. Buying my own dresser from IKEA and taking three days to assemble it, getting stumped at the step where you had to join two halves together and get about 8 pieces to line up at once- after trying to do it myself and hearing a crunch from one piece, I gave up. It got together eventually and then I unpacked my clothes. I also unpacked the supplies on my desk... but never my jewellery, and only a couple of pots and pans (which were mishandled by my roommates). I remember having to clean everything though, before I could move in- vacuuming as best I could with the shitty vacuum supplied, cleaning literal piles of fine silt off of furniture. On my third day there I was eating fried rice in bed when a bug larger than my pinky nail crawled out from underneath me somehow. I trapped it under a glass jar on my desk and didn't deal with it until I moved out.

At some point I reasoned that working at the desk and keeping my computer there might make me more productive. I'm not sure why I thought that would work, since it didn't. It was probably good for me to be sitting with better posture, I guess, and good for me to get out of bed. Lord knows there were days when the only reason I got out of bed was for food, and even then it was begrudingly since the kitchen was upstairs- an apartment with three floors is never a good idea. I remember a lot of lying in bed, scrolling through my phone until I ran out of content, adjusting and readjusting when my neck was uncomfortable. I remember getting irritated by my greasy hair, starting at the edges on the first day and gradually having that itch move closer and closer to my core until I finally gave in and used the shower that didn't quite drain properly to have a shower, four days later.

I remember my graduation. Sitting in the auditorium, listening to speeches I don't remember, watching name after name get called and listening for friends I knew so I could cheer a little louder. I remember that I didn't take my family up on the offer to stay with them and wishing I had. I got ready alone in my room, in the full length mirror, makeup next to me on a makeshift stand consisting of three empty shoeboxes that once held the desk supplies. I covered a painful, deep zit and hoped it wouldn't show on the photos. I tried my best to contour my chin, doubled by months of eating white cheese popcorn and doritos for dinner, and make my face, grown rounder for the same reasons, appear more like it used to look. I remember going out for dinner and enjoying it but wishing that my graduation had been a bigger deal. It was just sort of something that... happened.

The bigger deal was when I was driving my boyfriend home to get his things so he could stay the night and we pulled over to watch the sunset. While we were sitting there, snuggling as best you can in a car with a centre console, I admitted that once I had very different plans for that evening. Once upon a time I had told myself that if I made it to my grad, that was the last big event I really needed to see, and if I hadn't gotten into grad school by that time, I'd kill myself. June 13 was my Death Date. I wasn't supposed to live beyond it.

It's been 106 days. Maybe 107 by the time I publish this.

I didn't kill myself. My boyfriend came over and spent the night, and during the summer we also went camping again, I saw my dogs again, and I had a friend recommend a book to me that helped me get out of the worst of it. On our two year anniversary, my boyfriend and I celebrated together by spending the day together and spending the night together in my new apartment. The one I now share with my little sister, who got into school here. I'm responsible for picking her up after her night class and her choir practice. Who would be doing that if I wasn't here?

So maybe I spent a summer in a crappy little room with crappy blinds on big windows that faced a busy street and were always so noisy. Maybe I spent hours sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed wearing as little as possible eating frozen fruit and orange juice blended together because it was the only way I knew how to stay cool. Maybe I joined a gym and for the first month went only three times. So maybe my landlord was a crazy psychotic bitch intent on threatening me for money and not paying her rent to her landlord, who was incompetent and lazy. So maybe the place was dirty- in desperate need of TLC beyond what I have the professional know-how to provide or the responsibility to fix. Maybe I spent four months cooking without a microwave. Maybe I spent four months avoiding my roommates if at all possible- staying in my room when I heard their footsteps in the kitchen.

I got out of there. But I still think about it.

I was already depressed when I moved into a depressing situation. That's what I get for leaving the apartment search to the very last minute I suppose. But the memory is such a stain now- I don't remember a lot of good about this summer. Mostly a lot of bad, a lot of being hot and sweaty, the night I stayed up all night and then couldn't sleep because the blinds didn't block the sun at 5 AM and the traffic started at 6. A lot of feeling miserable and worthless. A lot of paranoia- does my landlord have a key? Will she come back? Where's this missing item- did I misplace it or did someone take it? Am I ever going to see my damage deposit again? How am I going to explain this gap to employers, or potential graduate supervisors? A lot of feeling like I was just burning money, pissing it away by lying around doing nothing in the city instead of just sucking it up and moving back home.

For all the terrible that was my final year at school, this summer was a thousand times worse.


Sunday, September 24, 2017

Guess who hasn't written a word of any book since that post lol

You know what I have done? Absolutely nothing! Somehow! Two job interviews, neither of which worked out (but one of which I know for sure was not my fault... the other people just never got back to me ever and sometimes no answer is an answer ya feel)... two prof emails, one of which actually DID work out recently after I thought the prof had left me in the lurch. I finally got the insurance issues with my car sorted out. I ordered winter tires. I refilled my prescriptions. I found out I no longer have health insurance. I now have to pay full price for all my prescriptions. Did you know the birth control patch is $11/patch?

I've read a bunch of books. I mean, not compared to some people I know who read religiously, but compared to what I have managed to read over the past four years it's a lot.

I feel so stagnant. Almost everyone around me is in school or is at least...really, actively trying for something, with a job in the meantime. The other day I considered doing a degree in medical lab science and my parents' response was "I thought you wanted to do medical genetics" and "We just don't want to see you throw away your potential because you think you can't do it" like ok lol preeeeeetty sure a 3.4 won't get me into med and you guys just don't understand the system AT ALL but nope this is just me not thinking I'm good enough, sure.

I mean like. I do still want medical genetics. But like. I do want other things to. I still want to write a book, in theory. I'd still like to work. MLS is appealing as something I could feasibly get into that is y'know like ACTUAL JOB TRAINING for a job that is NECESSARY IN THE HEALTH CARE SYSTEM and is something we have ESTABLISHED I AM GOOD AT but

I know. I know someday I will look back and I will think wow! Why did I think that was hard? Everything turned out all right! But, future me, you arrogant asshole, I can't see what's going to happen here. I don't see how I work my way out of this. I can't see the path to Something while I'm wandering in the midst of Nothing. If time travel IS possible I'd really appreciate a sign for what it is I need to do to get out of this mess. Or just some borrowed motivation would be great.

I mean everyone has to learn what rejection after rejection after rejection feels like right? Well, if you haven't gotten there yet, let me tell you firsthand that after being the sort of kid who never ever failed at anything ever, it fucking sucks. I wish my first exposure to failure had been at the age of 10 or something so that I could have dealt with it in my developmental years but instead here I am, a week short of 22, 12 years later and STILL failing for the first time! Astonishing.

It's been a bad week. It's so hard to keep myself afloat, it's so hard to keep trying to keep my brain in check and my thoughts where I want them. I just had control of them and now everything's changed and shifted around me into a new situation I don't have a pattern of control to deal with. I went to the gym three times this week and have started actually monitoring what I eat in an effort to lose weight because being depressed let my weight get out of control and in this wack ass situation I'm in where I feel entitled to complain still somehow, this is one thing I have power over.

I really just want something to work out or for some epiphany or motivation to hit me. I really, really need a win and it's only been a month. How long is this going to last?


Thursday, August 10, 2017

But like what would you do if money were no object

First of all, buy a new computer, since I wrecked this one by accident. Sure, it still WORKS, but the screen resolution is shot, it probably can't be fixed without taking the whole thing apart and costing a fuckton of money, and I have to use it on a perfectly flat surface or the screen can't really... adjust. The second thing I'd do is write a book.

Oh, wow, that's it, that's your life's purpose? No, probably not. Just that, if I wasn't worried about money for living- rent and other bills, and light expenses for fun- as well as all the money I just spent getting my B.Sc, I'd write a book. I mean, even with that as an object- the book can be about genetics. I don't really care what it's about. But if I could spend my days neck deep in a manuscript- up to my ears in either research or character and plot design- I think I'd enjoy that. It would fulfill my creative outlet. It would technically be following the advice of "think about what you enjoyed doing as a child, and do that now."

To be more specific, I'd go back to school first. I'd get my B.Fa or something, or at least take some fucking classes. Let's be real, I'm not a bad writer, but I did just spend the last four years being trained in a very particular type of writing that's not very fun to read. To be fair though... the best way I found to write it, and my presentations, was by thinking of them as a story. They need to flow. The thing you say next needs to build on the things you just said, needs to make them intertwine together. Those things you just said need to add up and you need to explain the math. That's all a presentation is, that's all a fucking scientific article is. We know x fact from these studies and Y fact from those studies so we decided to look at Z. We tested it this way, this is why. This is what we would have done if money/time/physical possibility weren't in the way. This is what we found. Here are the numbers. We quantified it. The end. Of course in order to get there you need an awful lot of background knowledge and even more patience, but it's really pretty simple.

When I was little I said I wanted to be an artist. Then I wanted to be a writer. Then I didn't know. I thought for the past few years that I wanted to be a scientist and I still think that would be nice. The thing is now I've given five or so different people a different answer about what it is I am doing because people don't really like you very much if you tell them you're just figuring things out. I know it's a luxury to be able to do that, but god, does it really make me that horrible of a person? I just got an undergraduate degree, can I chill for a second?

The problem with me is that when people ask what I want to do I don't have an answer. I don't have a dream. I don't even have a goal, which is I think what most people pursue because we don't all have a dream that has concrete steps. I mean, when I think of my friends in nursing- is that really their dream? Or is it just a goal? I feel like it's the latter- but at least there are concrete steps they can take to get there. If you don't have a goal you just sort of... drift.

And of course there are people who are invested in my decision. I wish I was completely independent. I wish I had that freedom. But as it is I feel there are people who deserve a little input if I'm going to keep asking for their help like this. People who will not pay to send me back for another undergrad because... god, what a waste of money if that doesn't work out. I'm an investment and I want to be a good one.

I know, I know... it's possible to write a book while doing other things with your life. I could get a job- any job, really- or even go to graduate school like I've been telling everyone I want to, and write a book in my downtime. I'm not in any rush, I don't even know what I'd like to write about, so I'd obviously have to start with just learning to write again. The club I made at school would probably still let me come to meetings, and they're going to have a much easier time arranging those with fewer politics and general starting-out struggles in the way. I could benefit from my own legacy. I could take other classes not from that school, classes that might be a hell of a lot cheaper; I could read books about writing and publishing, I could just read books in general to figure out what kind of one I might like to write.

What my parents always told me-- their poor silly daughter who thought that writing books could earn a living!-- was that I could do something else (something that makes some money so she can live, oh please) and write in the meantime. As awful and practical as that advice was, I think they were probably onto something.

So like-- there. A project for this year, whatever the fuck I choose to do with it. Write again. Learn to write again. Write about whatever the fuck you want, wherever you want, however you want. Find a community in it. And hopefully figure out something I could write a book about.

Putting it out there would be scary, but I think I kind of have to do it. Maybe I won't be done until I'm like, 35, but I guess there's no point in rushing it. Being published would taste just as good at 23 as at 35 as at 68.

Some part of me thinks I'll feel differently in the morning. We'll see. I feel, though, that this doesn't have to be the right answer- or the only answer. There's a lot of room in my life for things to want to do.