The Lester File
What is it that I am thinking? What is it?
Is it that I need to work harder?
Is it that I need to be stronger?
Is it even about me?
Streamlining such thoughts is difficult when you purposefully divert yourself. Being at home puts a voice to the vexing concerns that follow you into quarter-life with questions like, "so... what's next?," "And what will this help you accomplish then?"
So far, I've learned that the best answers to these questions are quick creative quirky exaggerations of the truth that sound something like, "its all under control and there's no need to worry." Throw in some words like "consulting work," "market research opportunities," and "non-profit companies" and you have a best selling life on your hands.
Oh, the turning point. That trite realization that the choice you've been avoiding for weeks has finally eaten its way to your consciousness and now threatens to obliterate your reality in its obesity. Today, I had that kind of experience.
Graduate school is a terrifying endeavor that goes by so quickly; yet, the memories of those months of pure hell are enough to haunt your dreams for the rest of your life. But, until today, I'm fairly certain my concept of being a grad student can be summed up as straight up denial. It took 2 Bs, a language requirement, and some botched half-hearted romantic episodes to make that reality sink in so that I could wake up to the real nightmare.
I spent some time mourning the loss of pre-graduate school euphoria of living in an exciting new city with new friends and new digs, but as the city turns cold, I find I must as well...