“These artificial divisions of time turn into benchmarks, ways to measure your life, as you can’t help but turn back and think about what you were doing four years ago today, and what’s changed since then, and what you’ve done in the interim.”
Four years ago I was 17 years old, a senior in high school. My sociology professor shook her head and said “Tonight, we better be prayin’ to the goddess,” because just like this year, it was so close. I followed Brent to vote at Heights Elementary School, being annoying.
Four years ago I was with The Ex, who bought me a talking Eeyore doll (it’s a donkey! for Democrats! ((because back then, I still thought I was a Democrat))) for an election night gift. We sat on the floor of my bedroom and watched the results come in, until he had to be home, and it still wasn’t decided.
Four years ago I was just sending in my applications to college, my first choice being an wacky school called “Hampshire” which would become my home for 10 months.
Tonight, I’m 21, about to graduate from college, and embark on the “real world.” For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m not tied down to anything.
I also got involved in NaNoWriMo, which may be the best thing that’s happened to me in a LONG time, because it’s forcing me to write, and just have fun with writing. It’s going to be angsty! Dramatic!
I just spent tonight sprinting on stream of consciousness writing, talking to fellow NaNo-ers, and ranting to Brent about how I couldn’t stop smiling.
Tomorrow is the election day, for better or worse, I just want it to be OVER. No one could have predicted the messy recount that was 2000, but the lawyers, media pundits, and election officials are already in place should this election be as close as polls are claiming.
And I, senior government major, writer of an honors reserrch paper, earner of departmental honors say “Who. Cares.” I am burned out on the politcal.
The ONLY thing that tips me over to Kerry is the fact that Renquist has cancer, and several other “liberal” Supreme court justices are getting old. On one hand, I don’t want my Supreme Court being appointed by a pro-life, anti-stem cell research, lets ban gay marriage with a constitutional amendment man. On the other, I am forced to have a degree of faith in the system; the same court that handed Bush the presidency also issued the most fervent checks upon the Patriot Act.
I have to remember, that no matter what happens, my life will go on as usual. Just as it did in 2000 when I got ridiculsouly outraged; my outrage was justified based on what was going on but it certainly didn’t change anything.
So, I’ll be sitting downstairs with my housmates, half an eye on the television as the results come in, half an eye on my computer, as the words of my new novel race across the page. NaNo has given me with an enthusiasm I haven’t felt in a long time.
What I’m writing isn’t good. Much of it is dialogue taken from conversations I had in real life; when I put them into my story, I wonder if the reader will think “does anyone really talk like that?” and then I think “Yes. We did,” It’s part stream of consciousness, part fictionalized situation, all mixed up with a healthy dose of angst. I’m having so much fun with it.
In real life, I spend so much time and energy trying not to be emotional. The biggest insult to me would be to call me a drama queen or to claim I’m over emotional and thus, self pitying. But I mean, I am kind of a drama queen. I’m perfectly aware of my flaws. I’ve just learned to live with them; it’s who I am. I’m a smart girl. I make the right decisions, 99% of the time. The emotions that occasionally mar the reason are what I’m writing about. I’m writing for the drama queen in me. The part of me that’s watched too many episodes of Dawson’s Creek too many times. That part of me that hasn’t escaped in four years.
I’m better off than I was 4 years ago. I’ve gained weight so I’d no longer fit into my gray Mudd pants, but I walk with the confidence that the 17 year old girl who skipped after Brent, holding a “Lefty” donkey beanie baby from McDonalds, ever possessed. Just like at 17, I am facing a future that is uncertain. This time, however, I don’t have anyone to answer to, except myself. There’s no one to blame, except myself.
Because I’m going to be ok. I’m going to graduate. I’m going to do what I have to do to feed myself. I’ll probably work at Barnes and Noble until August, and then go teach English in Europe for a year. I’ve been beating myself up that B&N isn’t good enough because I have a college degree, but that’s not based on my assessment; that’s based on society’s assessment, and me constantly comparing myself to other people (yes, I have been reading Rouseesua’s Second Discourse lately, why do you ask???).
But it oculd be a million times worse. And I actually kind of look forward to getting back to B&N, some café crfew will still be there, and many of the booksellers will. I hate most customers, but in a twisted way, I love my job. I work my ass off, my mangers love me, and I distract myself while I’m there. It’s decent pay, and it’s full benefits. There’s nothing wrong with doing that for six months; it’s only my irrational ego that has jugedd it as such. In September, I’m going to go to Italy or the Czech Republic or Russia, to teach English to brats; I won’t get paid more then enough to live on, but it’s the greatest opportunity I could ask for
Then I”ll come back. Go to grad school. Spend my life in the world of ideas.
It’s not what I would have predicted four years ago.