I'm not normally a ridiculously impatient person. Really, I'm not. I fill my time to keep myself from becoming impatient. Often this results in slight bouts of craziness when I have TOO much to do, but I think I might actually have the opposite problem this semester.
I'm in my last semester of college. This means Real Life is looming, right around the corner. It's creeping forward with this awful gaping mouth ready to swallow us almost-graduates whole, chew us up a bit, and spit us back into the Big Bad World. Some of us might have jobs lined up. Some of us have internships that might lead somewhere. Some of us don't.
I like to think I had my "stuff" together at some point. I mean, I had an internship in London during my sophomore year, I've kept busy with 18 units of classes almost every semester, I've got two sort-of jobs that give me a sort-of income so I can have a little fun. It works. It keeps me busy. But after becoming a part-time student this semester, I came to the HUGE realization that... holy hell, life is actually real. Like, gaping maw, chewing jaws, spitting us out into the world isn't just an analogy. It's a fact.
A cold hard fact that makes me kind of wish I could magically tap on a fortune cookie and be all: "yo, tell me what to do, bro." Or, I guess, something along those lines (preferably in less surfer/douchey language). Win some, lose some. But, in all seriousness, I've spent the last weekend (because I get 4 day-weekends due to my schedule) looking for a third job, internships that don't conflict with my current jobs or classes, et cetera. I feel like a maniac. On top of that, I'm actually close to fulfilling my goal of writing a novel (at least the first draft) in a month.
I started the 18th. My deadline is the 17th. I'm at 81k as of today, which means I've got somewhere around 10k words before I'm finished. At least that's what I'm estimating, looking at my current point in the story.
And yet EVEN THAT hasn't kept me from wondering what in the hell I'm doing with my life. I know what I WANT to do. I want to be a writer. I bleed writing. But seriously, it's kind of my obsession and the one thing I've remained committed to all my life (definitely failed in the whole relationships aspect of commitment so far... thanks books). Okay, maybe some commitment to happy hour as well once I became legal, but in all seriousness, I know that the road I'd love to take.
But then you get all those lovely articles about how damn hard it is to make it as a writer. Oh, I KNOW. Thank you world, for that one. But I guess it wouldn't be as much of an accomplishment if it was easy. Doesn't make my happy, though. If anyone who reads this (if anyone does) needs someone to write for a magazine... online journal... let's do this. I'm all about "How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days."
Anyhow, I applied to grad schools. Of course, that was on a whim and I have no idea if it'll actually pan out, or if I want it to pan out. Life is confusing. Life is hard. Life is real. Life kind of sucks sometimes, even with happy hour.
I've managed to kind of block this fear with some time with friends, some classes (I get - not have - to write another novel for one of them in about 2 months), and lots of gym and writing time. Although I definitely missed out on my run today as I pounded out 11k words. I kid you not. My mind is absolutely fried. But I love it. I've also been trying cooking experiments. Seriously. I made the best friggin omelette the other day. Check it:
I guess what I have to say, after all of this, is to keep looking forward. Something's going to happen at some point. I just hope it's a good something. Good luck to everyone else out there struggling with the same fears and realizations!