Adultastic Adulting: Lessons Learned

           I stink of sage and summer and progress. Things have changed, but the plans, the goals, the vision remain. Above all, my living situation is different. Due to requests for privacy I will not be explaining why, but there is less conflict in my immediate household and I think everyone has the chance to grow and better themselves independently as a result, though impetus was not a pleasant. Regardless of what the rest of my family ultimately does, I have chosen growth. But the first step of growth is in the planting and recognizing what is and isn’t fertile soil. In that act of sowing seeds, you must also accept that they take time to grow, and longer still the bear something worth reaping. All this is a long and fancy, bombastic way to obfuscate the simple truth: I am not moving yet, but I am improving.

           Circumstance changes, which again, for the sake of others involved, I will not be addressing, but they have made leaving now even less practical than before. So, yet again, I’ll be revisiting the issue in six months and assessing viability. Until then, I am doing the “grow the fuck up” and “get disciplined” things. That being said, I thought I would impart some of the lessons I’ve learned over the last couple years or so about adulting (given, ya know, that was the original intention of this blog):

1.) Filling Tires

           Those fucking pumps at the gas station are comically bad. I lost a quarter pressure in one tire trying to fill it. If you can, get a pump, or borrow one. The design on the gas station attachments is asinine and archaic. It took me so long I eyeballed the trucker refilling the gas station and almost went over like, “Help. I am exactly what I look like and can’t do this.” But I did not. I succeeded with frozen fingers and much profanity. I have no other tips for this and don’t look forward to the winter pressure drop requiring me to do it again.

2.) Laundry

           To be honest, I am still figuring this one out. I’ve completely and officially taken over doing the laundry in the household. Dad helps a little, but mostly it’s just me. I also have really sensitive skin, so I’ve switched to a hypoallergenic, dye-free, natural detergent (Seventh Generation). I can tell there’s a difference in the clothing’s texture afterward, and it wrinkles a little more easily, but mostly it seems softer and nice. Though I also think it might be fading the clothing a bit, which is a major concern (I deeply cherish and often revel in my wardrobe), so I’ll keep an eye on it. But that being said, I do have some insights and observations.

                      A.) My mom came up with this one years ago. Get some small, plastic clips. Like plastic clothes pins. Then find your socks in the dirty laundry and pair them, clipping them together. This makes it easier to fold them after they’re washed and dried because they’re already mated. To save even more time, keep the clips by your hamper or dirty clothes pile and clip the socks as soon as you take them off.

                      B.) Folding laundry will dry your hands out. I’m still not entirely sure why, but they will feel parched as fuck when you’re done, so have some lotion at the ready. Also, folding laundry sucks but if you wait on it, the clothes will wrinkle, so pop the basket in front of the tv and fold while watching something.

                      C.) Hand washing clothing is necessary in a diverse wardrobe. I still have no real clue what I’m doing with it. I fill the sink with cold water, I use some detergent, I pull on gloves and I awkwardly rub my clothing together. My guess is there is a better way to do this. If I figure it out I’ll let you know. But until then, rub-rub-rub, rinse until the water is clear of suds, wring out, and lay flat or hang to dry.

                      D.) Speaking of drying, keep wire hangers with you where you wash stuff or in your bathroom to hang dry certain items. If the clothes have different fabric, feel delicate, or are fancy, you probably need to read the tag and will likely discover special instructions for care. Follow them if you want to preserve your clothing.

                      E.) CHECK YOUR POCKETS BEFORE YOU WASH. Seriously. I glittered my darks load because I had a fatty hunk of mica in my hiking pants that I totally forgot about. I admit it was kinda cool, but you can easily destroy important items, stain or fuck up your clothing. Get in the habit of emptying pockets before you put them in the hamper, but also double check as you’re sorting the clothes.

                      F.) Change your linen more often in the summer. You are sweaty and gross. Okay, this depends on the person, their location, and how often they changed it before. Really, I am talking to me. I leave my linen way too long, but it’s summer again and that is no longer okay. I’m thinking every two to three weeks now, though I change my pillowcase every four days.

                      G.) Finally, just in case it isn’t obvious, please sort your clothes: whites/tans/light grays, blacks/darks, colors. This will keep them happy and stop bleed/staining. The washer has different settings for a reason. Also do your towels together with jeans as they’re both pretty dense. Jeans and things with zippers can also tear thinner clothing so it can be a good idea to do those separately as well.

3.) Dishes

           After you finish cooking your food, or if possible while you’re cooking, toss some water and/or soap into any pots, pans, or cooking utensils that have residue that may need soaking. This lets the dishes loosen before they have a chance to congeal, but also lets you eat your food hot instead of doing the dishes first and getting a cold meal. Now, I was told it isn’t good for the pans to do cold water when they’re still hot. I admit, I kinda ignore that these days and haven’t seen consequences yet, but you may want to use hot water to be safe. Then when you’re done eating, do the dishes immediately before you can procrastinate. Once they pile up, it’s a strain to want to do them.

           On the flip side, I’m the primary cooker in my family. My parents do more pre-made meals or leftovers from eating out. So, when they’re gone, I may not wash the pots or pans for a few days depending on what I made. Like if it was mac’n’cheese, I’d definitely wash it, but if it was just noodles, I’d rinse the starch and leave the pan because I’m likely to use it again. This saves me time, but likewise, can create a psychological burden as the pans mount and take up equal parts counter and head space.

4.) Going to the store

           When I go to the store, I always have a list, though often I get more than is on it. That being said, I recommend adding an item to the list the moment you know you’re running low. In our house, we try to have a back-up of things that aren’t fresh food. So one bottle of ketchup in the fridge, one in the cupboard. When we finish the fridge one off, ketchup goes on the list. That way we’re never out of staple food stuffs. Dad thinks it’s silly (though he complains and is frustrated when we’re out of things), but mom and I think it’s essential and time-saving. I enjoy shopping, but not the time it takes, so I usually buy a few of non-perishable foods that I use often so I don’t have to go back for a month. But I’m starting to realize I may need to accept the time hit and go more often because we just do not eat the produce fast enough, even when I buy less. Really, the issue is I’m almost the sole consumer of produce and it’s difficult to buy produce for less than two people. I’m thinking meal planning for the week would be a good way to go about fixing this, but I’m not quite there yet. So, I’ll keep it in mind for the future.

5.) Planning

           Do not put more on your plate for the week than you can hope to reasonably accomplish. I highly recommend finding a planner you like and using that, but once you do, gauge your energy level, what needs to get done, what you would like to get done, and how much work that will be with your standing commitments like work, family and school. Don’t schedule things that you know you probably aren’t going to get to. That just sets you up to collect a defeat, which is psychologically damaging and reinforces the narrative that you cannot succeed.

6.) Multitasking

           When you’re trying to be productive and multitask, remember not to mix similar task types. For example, if you’re writing something, don’t get into a messenger conversation. Those tasks both use the same part of the brain for language processing, meaning every time you switch you derail yourself. But if you’re cleaning and talking on the phone, that’s viable because you’re using different parts of your brain. For example, I always workout while watching tv.

7.) Prescriptions

           This country is a shit show right now with insurance, so I’m skipping that as I have no good advice and lots of anxiety. However, with prescriptions, it is helpful to know that pharmacies often have a recording system for starting a refill. So you can start your refill without going out or talking to a person (good news for introverts) and you can do it in the middle of the night (good news for vampires). Also, GoodRx is a free service that you can sign up for on your computer or phone and it’ll tell you where you can get your prescription the cheapest.

8.) Learning to Cook: Recipes

           Go to a bookstore and browse through the cookbooks. Used bookstores have a lot too. Find one that has a fair amount of things that look good to you and buy it. Then start cooking your way through it. I recommend making notes each time you make a recipe as you’ll find things they failed to mention or that you needed to know or didn’t like. Adding these will improve the recipe for the future. Even little reminders like “Gather all ingredients before you start!” can help with timing, which is a major factor in the kitchen. It’s also why I should not talk while I cook. I will inevitably fuck up the timing and things will finish in weird orders leading to part of the meal burning or being cold.

9.) Learning to Cook: Spices

           As my brother says, just play around with spices. You know how to do stirfry but you’re bored with the same seasoning? Sniff around your spice rack or buy a new spice at the store. You won’t ruin a dish unless you add too much, so just go slowly. You can always add more, but you cannot add less.

10.) Being on Time

           Set a cutoff time the night before so you get to bed with plenty of time. To figure out when that cutoff should be, time your average bedtime routines and cut off with the amount of time they’ll take plus 10 to 30 if you’re like me. I need about two hours but rarely give myself that. This leads to sleep deprivation and I am still working on that. Also, do everything you need to do for the next day, that you can accomplish the night before, before you cutoff and start your bed prep. For example, I prep my breakfast shakes, put my morning pills in my purse, pack my backpack, and lay out my outfit on school and work nights. This prepping means I can have a quick morning: get up, do Morning Pages (new addition and definitely more time consuming), meditate, get dressed, make tea and the shake, then go. It also helps to know where you’re going, how long it takes, and what parking is like if you’re driving. The less you know, the more time you should give yourself. Also Google Maps is a life saver. If you know you are always late, put all calendar, planner and phone reminders in a half hour before you actually need to be there. That way if you’re late, you’re actually still early. However, if you are late, notify those involved. It’s rude as fuck to keep people waiting without notice, so if you can, shoot a text or call. Honesty makes a better impression than excuses.

11.) City Driving

           I did it. I drove in the city. Several times. It sucks. Every time it sucks. But I’m doing it. I still can’t parallel park and when my friend did it for me, I love-tapped the car behind me trying to get out. I suck at spatial orientation. The biggest saving grace here is, again, Google Maps on my phone. We were never able to get my Jeep’s nav system fixed (apparently those systems are the biggest complaint Jeep gets; they’re not made by Jeep). But I bought a vent mount for my phone. This drastically reduced my driving tension when going unfamiliar places. If you use your phone to navigate, please get one. Holding it is not safe and is illegal in a lot of places. Because the location feature kills my phone’s battery, I have it charging while I’m navigating, ensuring I have a moderately full battery when I arrive. Charging it in advance also helps. I definitely recommend checking the route traffic before leaving and using the “switch route” option when it pops up, particularly if traffic gives you the jitters (yo). While I have no advice for the nightmare of people not letting you in, blocking your lane, or parallel parking, Google did add a parking tracker feature so you can pin your parking location and find your car in unfamiliar areas. Assuming you got where you were going in the first place this is neat. Back to timing, if cities aren’t your thing, leave extra early and if possible avoid rush hours. Also breathe. A lot. Deeply. Slowly. You will be fine. Smile. It won’t last forever. Just be in the moment and the anxiety will melt.

12.) Cleaning: Dusting & Swiffering/Sweeping/Vacuuming

           The final point is another domestic one. I dislike dusting and swiffering. Or rather, I dislike the idea of needing to do it. But here’s the thing: I feel better once it’s done and it’s not actually that difficult to do. There are two methods I use to get myself to start. The first is calling someone. I have a headset and put my phone in my pocket. Then I can dust and swiffer while I talk. It’s easier to do mindless physical activities when distracted mentally. The second is music. Music makes everything better, so if there’s no one to call or you don’t want to talk, pop on some tunes. I recommend, weather permitting, opening the windows before you start dusting. It makes the process feel less claustrophobic and brings in clean air to help you breathe easier. Also, if you have an air purifier and/or ionizer, it’s good to turn that on while you dust too. Regarding when to dust, I recommend doing it after you’ve done the linen and laundry, and after you’ve put your clothing away as all of that makes more dust. You also want to dust before you Swiffer/sweep/vacuum because inevitably you will not get all the dust and some of it will settle on the floor. The thing I do like about dusting is that it is a chance to move and handle all of your possessions and reevaluate whether or not they should be there, or even remain in your possession.
           
           I do a lot of tidying while dusting and rearrange and relocate things. It’s great for hitting that step and activity count. I am currently trying to get myself to dust and swiffer bi-weekly, as it is much easier when it doesn’t even look like it really needs to be done. But I know doing it weekly wouldn’t happen, so I’m happy with twice a month. One last thing: You will itch. Dusting is super itchy. And I think Swiffer products make it more so, but they’re really effective so I opt to suffer. If you shower at night, this isn’t a big deal, but if you don’t, you may want to make an exception on cleaning days, or at least rinse off and throw your clothes in the hamper.

***

            Tada! Adulting wisdom transferred. In the future, I plan to not do this in bulk again, but rather dedicate a post to each insight as I come across it, but for now, enjoy blogzilla and hit me with any questions or advice or whatever in the comments. Cheers and happy (or at least productive) adulting.

-L.

Advertisements

The Passenger Mentality

 “From the margins, the world looks different.”

-Kim Addonizio

I have lived the majority of my mobile life with a passenger mentality.

Passenger Mentality n.:

1. The state of mind connected to riding in the passenger seat of a vehicle.

I never really gave a thought or glance to those who drove me or how they drove me (excluding instances of blatant errors or extreme recklessness). It only mattered that they were moving me, that we were going somewhere else. In the meantime, I kept to my windows and the world wandering by them, I indulged in the music and more often than not, conversation. I would ask questions and tell stories, quote concepts I had learned and stray factoids, always attempting to engage the driver in my ceaseless thoughts. Naturally, while blathering on and watching out the window, I would also try to share the sights I saw with these drivers. Of course, that usually merited the exasperated reply of “Lauren, I’m driving.” However, despite the frequency of that response, I have discovered that this state of passenger being also extends to licensed drivers when they themselves become passengers. My brother directs attention to peripheral skies while my mother motions to the shoulder buffaloes and exclaims, “Oh look! They’re out!” There seems to be something infectiously speculative about being a passenger, something so mentally encapsulating that it closes off any recollection of the driver’s seat and its rules.

Passenger Mentality n.:

2. A mental state of being in which a vehicle’s passenger asks the driver to look at, do, listen to, or understand one or more things while the vehicle is in motion, neglecting to recall the complex, involved, and focus-mandating nature of operating a motor vehicle.

What makes the phenomena so fascinating for me now is how thoroughly and even defensively, I embraced it. I knew there was a state beyond it, one more conducive to my natural demeanor, but still I refused to relinquish my seat and the skies that chased it. I am a perfectionist with exactingly specific standards and a near non-existent tolerance for any failure to meet them once they are understood. Yet, there I sat, contentedly absent any control, strapped into a metal cage careening down the asphalt at upwards of 65 MPH. Why was I okay with this? I suppose it comes back to fear, to a carefully crafted cowardice. Initially, driving was the adult thing, and like a job, I had no need to worry about it let alone do it. But gradually, it became a peer thing, a thing I was required for the sake of normalcy to do. Then suddenly, kids almost a decade younger than me were doing it, and their eyes quietly questioned me when my baby brother boated me about. But still, I did not want to do it, I could not do it; I did not want to give up the soothing psychological block, I could not give up the protection of my passenger mentality. If I wasn’t the one driving then nothing bad could happen, not when someone else was in control, not when I didn’t have to act or think. Like my parents who had made my world move for years, like teachers and babysitters, like engineers and civil servants, the Driver was an infallible guardian angel with safety net wings and unblinking eyes.

Passenger Mentality n.:

3. A state of denial in which the passenger loses touch with the realities of riding in a vehicle and relinquishes complete control to the driver.

The human brain is impressively fond of clinging to superstitious delusions for comfort. A locked door will only ever be unlocked by family members late at night. Sirens are never used by bad guys. Doctors know all the answers and never miss the mark. The driver of your car knows what he’s doing. What’s truly impressive in my case, is that this protective barrier of passenger belief survived one rear-ending, two black ice spinouts, one mirror-mangling sideswipe (with my window down), and countless collisions with snow banks. I clung to my uncharacteristically firm faith in The Driver like an Old World talisman. That is until, after a hundred visions of death and dismemberment, a thousand excuses, too many years and too little practice, I passed my driving test on December 7, 2012 and was forced to transfer that foundationless faith to myself. Needless to say, something that intangibly fragile did not survive the move. It dropped and cracked open, exposing how hollow it had always been.

Passenger Mentality n.:

4. The antithetical state of being of a driver.

It did not help that the test was dangerously simplistic. No driving on the highway, no U-Turns, no navigation, no parking (let alone parallel), no advanced maneuvers of any kind. After a two and a half hour wait (with an appointment) it was just ten quick minutes down the street, into a neighborhood and back again. I was as relieved as I was appalled. In a generational age of constant phone calls and tenacious texting, an age absent Driver’s Ed. in schools or adequate parental instruction outside of them, this was all the D.M.V. tested would-be drivers on? This was all it took to gain a license to operate high-speed, multi-ton machinery on a road with hundreds and thousands of other drivers every day? No wonder so many advocate defensive driving; the highway has become a battlefield of well-armed but poorly trained soldiers and friendly fire abounds.

Driver Mentality n.:

1. The belief of a driver that no one around him or her knows how to properly operate a motor vehicle.

Paradoxically, I have managed to take this in stride (mile markers). I have begun applying the same exacting perfectionism and control to driving as I do to the rest of my life, ritualizing it into reflex. Open the garage door, slip into the car, place purse on the passenger seat and phone in the cup holder. Turn engine on and simultaneously put seatbelt on, check gas level and tire pressure while releasing the emergency brake, and if it’s night time, turn on headlights. Glance in the mirrors and over a shoulder before backing up and continuing to look in the mirrors. Shut the garage.  A dozen tiny tasks woven repetitively into a fluid blanket of habit.

Driver Mentality n.:

2. The mental state of making a machine’s movements match the driver’s.

Practice breeds perfection. I am not a great driver, but I am a good driver who is getting better. I still can’t parallel park (even with a co-pilot), backing up is like going through the looking-glass in a hall of mirrors, and I require a two-car-sized cushion of empty space in front of me at all times. The tension is ebbing, though and it’s getting easier. I don’t make thoughtless mistakes that would make mother’s gasps turn to taut shrieks. I don’t forget the little things, like turn signals and checking both ways. I don’t grip the wheel so tightly that my fingers pulse when I finally release it. I don’t turn the wheel when I check my blind spots. But most of all, I don’t hate it. I actually like driving alone, thinking and moving alone. So long as I know the roads and which way to take them home, I don’t panic, I don’t fear, I don’t feel any differently that I did before I buckled up. Time is eroding my passenger mentality, making it into something more tangible, more fluid and adaptable, turning the rigid rocks of false belief into soft sands that can roll with the tides.

In a way, I think it’s fitting that my first completed goal, my first learned life skill, was obtaining my driver’s license. After all, driving is all about movement, about momentum, about going forward and controlling the car and yourself. So here’s to having the drive and knowing what to do with it.

Driver Mentality n.:

3. The mental state in which a driver takes control of the vehicle and uses its momentum to move towards his or her intended destination.

Changing Choices

“To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.”

                                                                                                      -Winston Churchill

Change happens like a clockwork calendar, days ticking by, indifferent to life’s little turbulence, weeks moving steadily into months until eventually, bloated by the gathered time, the year breaks open and births the next and we’re left reminding ourselves to write 13 instead of 12. One number takes the place of another and the days go by without a thought for those that came before, save for the small smudge where we erased the old date and deepened the new, denying the mistake.  But change isn’t always so simple, it isn’t always this to that; sometimes it’s this and that, sometimes change is gaining and growing without giving up what came before. Sometimes change is progress, an evolution into more that sacrifices only what hinders, what is no longer needed. I often speak of change and progress, preaching their power like a hypocritical zealot who believes in but does not bow to the doctrines of their religion. This fallacy can no longer sustain me. As trite as it is, the time has come to practice what I preach.

In the beginning, I told you that this blog was conceived to motivate me on my mission to be better, to break the cycle of the Boomerang Generation and to gain the skills to claim independence. But I failed to specify how. Recently I mentioned an epiphany, a revelation about the direction of this blog, the focus that would help me, and maybe even others, find my way. After the ado of absent attention, I offer now my intention to change.

Starting today, I am going to channel the Zeitgeist of the New Year, the spirit of resolve and resolutions that comes with the new, that comes at the beginning. Every two to four weeks I intend to learn a life skill that will ready me for battle with that repulsive monster known as “real life.” From changing my oil to taxes and tracking expenses, I am going to train in the trades of adulthood. Every time I accomplish one of these tasks, I will report the experience and offer advice on it here. The weeks in between will be filled with progress reports and the same types of posts as before, thoughts on the present and past and how they are woven into a transparent tapestry of my future-to-be. I welcome any and all comments, suggestions, and questions on the endeavor or anything I might bring up. It is my hope, that eventually this will become a community of Boomerangs and those who would guide us.

I have yet to decide what my first learned life skill will be, but once I do I’ll post an announcement and my thoughts on the topic before tackling it. And given that driving constitutes a life skill, a milestone of maturity, I’ll be posting my long-awaited adventure at the DMV sometime in the next few days. For now, I’m going to crack and peel my way out of last year’s battered skin, cleaning off the wasted wants and broken promises, the items uncrossed on too many to do lists and procrastination pushed too far, in favor of trying on something new, something sparkling with dids instead of didn’ts, something stained in what I will learn and sewn to witness the changing world and what my Will will make of it.

Endless Academia

Preface: 

Yet again, I have failed to meet my self-imposed deadline by a truly spectacular number of days. The post-semester slump triggered by a paradoxical overabundance of free time and excess of things to do naturally left me lounging in the heart of T.V. Land, shielded from the reality of its unpleasantly bright light by the shadow of my monolithic mountain of things left undone. It’s amazing how much easier it is to ignore something when it’s stuck in the crevices of a thousand other things just like it. I need to write my blog entry? No problem. I need to write my blog entry, revise my essay, sort through potential submissions, check the submissions’ criteria for the aforementioned essay, email my future boss about my hours, put things in my car so it stops looking like a rental, clean the office, clean my room, prepare for my boyfriend’s arrival in a couple weeks, and buy how many Christmas presents? Oh look! A new episode of Dexter recorded, better clean out the DVR first. Anyway, excuses aside, I’m suffering from a far too often squandered bout of inspiration so I thought I might try using it and finally post the Academia blog entry I promised so long ago. But hey, it’s not like I started writing it three times already or anything. Without further ado, here’s a very fracturally Frankensteined blog post built across days and delivered at last in the form of something resembling done:

Beginning Again: 

And lo’ from the depths of the mostly dead she arose once more to give words to the world’s wide web. As known as: I’m back. As promised (though delivered with undo delay), today’s topic, in the spirit of aced finals and the frosty freedom of winter break, is school.

I love school, I really, truly, and with ardently excessive amounts of adverbs, do. If I did not have to, I would never leave. When I think of taking one or two classes every (or every other) semester for the rest of my life, I think of contentment. There are even some classes I wouldn’t mind taking twice (I’ll try to resist the urge to make this post an ode to the English department).

I have a lust for learning that borders on a pathological compulsion. The tiny drops of trivia that trickle down my gullet each day are rarely enough to satiate the thirst that dries a tongue with “Did you knows” a moment later. Every word learned is one regurgitated to whoever is unfortunate enough to be at hand to hear it. “To learn, read. To know, write. To master, teach.” This is a credo I lived long before I drank the tea whose tag taught it to me (it’s amazing how much wisdom a tea bag can hold). But while randomly collected factoids and snippets of synopses are as much a passion as they ever were—many of them entering and exiting my present education to add their unique highlights—there was a time when they all but made up the whole of my education, a time when the call to formally complete or even attempt that education came not from my mouth but from the mouths of modern mandate, from parents and the state. Yes, there was a time when even reading and writing repulsed me, a time when four notebooks and one trusty pen weren’t my constant companions. Indeed, in the early years of elementary school, I was actually in Special Ed. for reading.

My hatred of the book-bound act was sourced in part in the dreaded and diabolical Hooked-On-Phonics. This “educational” program was, for many right-brained children, either pure misnomer or a twisted metaphor (every time those cards were put before me I screamed and drenched myself and the staircase I clung to in tears that could only otherwise be inspired by a liberal application of rusty fishhooks). I was four or five when first exposed to the torturous teaching device. My parents thought it was necessary because I did not take to words like my gifted sister who began reading on her own at the age of three. Sadly, being force-fed H.o.P. had a violently counter intuitive effect upon me and landed me squarely in Special Ed. several years later. To this day, I still read and write slowly, at least by the standard of readers and writers. A decade and a half later and sweet irony took control of the table and left me holding a logophilic hand (sometimes I truly believe this lifelong game is rigged to favor the most poetic outcomes). The first card dealt was imagination, an innate desire to deviate from reality into the realm of something more. It outlasted my childhood and left me addicted to what fictions I could find. The second card in the Royal Straight, was storytelling. I did and do talk incessantly, always telling and retelling even the most trivial tales as though getting dressed were an adventure worthy of the word “wondrous.” The third card was written roleplay. Discovered in middle school, it gave me a way to write out another life, a different me who dared to do what I would not. Naturally, others followed her until my head was overcrowded with femmes and fellows all clamoring for their own voice, their own stories. Roleplay led to the fourth card: a need for new words, new ways to describe and vividly delineate. This was fostered by other writers and roleplayers whose styles steadily influenced my own until at some point I turned into a bona fide word nerd and a monger of metaphors. The fifth and final card was genetics. My yaya (that’s Greek for “grandma,” in case any of you were curious) was an English teacher and grammatical tactician of the highest order. According to my parents, she passed that on to me and I’m fairly convinced it’s where my English instincts come from (“No, that doesn’t sound right, it must be this…”) because truth be told, my formal knowledge of grammar, like those of so many in my generation, is lacking in the logistical whys of language.

And that, after a winding, scenic detour and a hand of cards, brings us back to academia. It seems so strange to me that I begrudged working in elementary through high school to the extent of nearly dropping out of the latter. I was distracted by so many meaningless things—social situations so silly as to be par for the soap opera course, clothes that now make me cringe, and video games whose names are no longer known—that I did not find the value latent in my classes or the folly in failing them. I suppose it was a necessary lesson though, for after a long absence from high school, when I finally began attending college, as cliché as it sounds, I did so for me. As a result, I treated the classes with far greater care and attentive appreciation than I had ever done before. Every semester I got better at doing the reading, at completing homework on time, and as of late, at being on time. With each improvement my grades gained momentum until they plateaued on the peaks of A’s and have been holding there for several years. I have changed my intended major and minor three times (a major in Business Management with a minor in Psychology, a major in Business Management with a minor in English, a major in English with a minor in…I’ll get back to you on that). Originally, I intended to only write in my spare time but in the last year and a half I’ve realized that would be a mistake. The more I write, the better I become at it and the easier the words come to me even when inspiration ebbs. And frankly, nothing makes me happier than writing, than stories (mine or others). But still, I do not think it would be wise to depend on my words as a sole source of income and as such I’ve decided that I want to become an editor. Doing so would allow me to constantly experience and aid in the inception of new stories and works, drinking in the changing styles and interests of readers and writers to quench my own muses with new knowledge. I would also become more aware of common errors and issues in writing, which would again strengthen my own. And perhaps most importantly, it would give me a foothold in the industry from which I could launch my work, a map of where to send them and who is looking for what.

However, if I want to be an editor of any renown, I’ll need either bountiful luck or choice schooling. This takes us back to the point of this blog, for, as with so many things, obtaining what I want and need requires first, a confrontation with my Minotaurs and the solving of the riddles they read and the fears and failings that lurk between their lines, haunting my life’s labyrinth. I have already bested my fear of college, but now I’ve become too comfortable at this little two-year school and have dragged my feet through interests rather than requirements, leaving me degree-less after five years of never taking more than three courses in one semester. Three semesters from now, at that same pace, I will have my Associates degree with an emphasis in Creative Writing. But what’s next? First, I suppose I need to stop procrastinating and clinging to finely tailored excuses about time and other things to do, and look at last into four-year colleges and universities. Yet, therein lies the next Minotaur. I have never lived away from home (as previous posts have touched upon) and I could not imagine living out-of-state. I am not yet capable of crossing that rope removed from the safety nets sewn beneath it. There’s no need to lose hope though. As I mentioned in my interim post, I have a new anchor in mind for this blog and my collegiate future ties in tightly to it. So on that note, this ramble has run its course.

Stay tuned for near-future posts on:

  1.             The outcome of my driving test.
  2.             The blog’s new focus.
  3.             Adventures in employment.