We just all want to feel loved.

G0, G1, really jaded G3

I've basically absorbed all characteristics of multiple generations of grad students. I'm obviously a G0 because I have no idea where I'm going to grad school or what I'm going to do in grad school or what's happening in life. A G1 because I'd like to claim credit for being the MacMillan MVP of recruiting and icing this year. A G3 because my thesis project did not and probably will not work and this thesis is a pain to write, super boring to read, and completely inconsequential.

Man, I should have gone into finance/consulting (that's a lie, I would hate my life).

Picking and Choosing

It seems like regardless of what I pick, I'm losing something, disappointing someone else and myself. I thought there wasn't supposed to be a bad choice?

Man, screw grad school, I just want to be friends with everyone.

Say Something

I've never thought of myself as particularly eloquent. Or funny, or witty, or wise. There are beautiful phrases out there that come from beautiful souls and sometimes I wonder if the fact that my words are so cheap means I'm shallow.

I hate repeating myself but it seems that's all I do. What is this cycle I've gotten myself into? Momentum and safety and security, and who ever went outside for a snowball fight to be safe? Did God ever promise our comfort? And which comfort is more worth having? 

I never thought anyone would ever weigh my words and decide they were worth buying. Density was always a characteristic of me and not what I had to offer. 

I always read through old comments in yearbooks. They were all the same but they were all reassuring. Comforting. Could I be proud of them? Just words scrawled on paper from people I barely knew. And maybe that's the only reason why. Because who ever really knows another person? And who ever really wants to be known so deeply by another human being?

I should just take a poll at this point.

On nights like these, when every thought is clamoring for a piece of my mind... Just a little bit of music, a little bit of prayer.

On Twisted Insides and Unclear Paths

For some reason I thought this would be so much easier than I envisioned. This? Just... life. Taking steps. They always say to take it slow, one step at a time, but some steps are bigger than others and it's not my fault I was born short. People and things... I try not to live, to decide, for people, but undoubtedly people are what make the decision worth it. So should I start? You never told me about this, and it seems so materialistic to choose otherwise but how am I supposed to envision life... or anything really... after a half-decade? Sometimes I wonder if I want what I do. Maybe I'm just exceedingly good at sticking to the plan. A plan. Any plan. I never came in thinking of how I'd come out. I sort of trusted it would work.

If nothing else, you won't fault me for not giving credit where it's due.

Well, damn.

I almost wish I weren't having such a good time.

Will I regret joining? Will I regret not?

If I could pick any of the triple threat talents, I'd want to be able to dance.

A Copper Ball

I went to a fortune teller yesterday. I wasn't sure what I wanted to accomplish. A sense of direction maybe, or some meaning to some life, if not my own. I thought I'd learn a thing or two, things not visible in the dog-eared textbooks or solvent fumes of my everyday life. Maybe I just wanted some company for a half hour, and a respite from the dogged wind, even if it came at the price of $15 and shameless lies. Maybe I wanted someone to hold my hand, even if it was to trace the creases on my palm, or to look at me kindly, even if it was through a crystal ball. 

She told me to measure my friendships in stars, in whispers, in misspelled words. That the best stories are made from raw emotion and half-baked ideals, and the best people don't know the difference. She told me about her dog and how it was put down because it attacked a girl to save her from something only it saw. And she told me about the apple pies browning in the oven that she would never eat, because they were too cliché, and she didn't like apples anyways. We went out for frozen yogurt later. 

I didn't mind that it was all a sham. Maybe she was lonely too. And I thought maybe the best way to keep people was to not even try.