It might be a quarter-life crisis, or just a stirring in my soul.
I am beginning to think that blogging, journaling, or whatever conjugated verb you prefer to use, is relatively obsolete once you realize that you have finally crossed the barrier into full blown adulthood. I have come to realize that I never really had anything that interesting or profound to say even when I attempted to record such things in an online journal almost every day, but my childlike fascination with myself and the life I was leading at the time propagated writing that emphasized how self-absorbed and self-conscious I tended to be. Still, the realization that my youth officially ended at some point during the last five years stirs the cauldron of emotions that simmer inside of me, almost subconsciously, at any given time.
So, I should probably delete this and other little, sad, neglected online journals that may be floating out there with my screen name pasted to the top of the page. I won't, partially because I'm slightly lame and partially because I would almost (almost) feel like a failure for doing so. I really never finish anything. Or get things off the ground for that matter. Ah, self-consciousness.
In other news, I now have bangs. In less vain news, I am no longer striving toward graduate school, unless it involves a teacher certification that will enable me to teach high school. I am desperately trying to view this as an opportunity to move forward instead of a concession to my sudden loss of a shot at graduate school in East Asian Studies at the hands of the stubborn Mr. Hallmark. Listen, Sir American Greetings, I completely understand why you would not want to offer a course in Japanese language in the middle of nowhere West Texas, but it would not have cost the school a dime to allow the students already enrolled in the program to finish it. You are still paying the teacher for the course even though she isn't teaching it, you insufferable dimwit. You can't hear me, obviously, but I once again let out a pitiful sigh of defeat. Ah, self-absorbedness.
To conclude, the very few friends I care to have on this page that essentially serves as a place for me to post random links, ramble about my coursework, and occasionally delve into my inner self for a few brief moments before I return to playing some mindless computer game or write some ridiculous paper or compose ridiculously long sentences, will continue to get a rare, online glimpse, once every few months, into the stress, boredom, and slight complacency that is adult life. Anyone want to hear about my mortgage?
So, I should probably delete this and other little, sad, neglected online journals that may be floating out there with my screen name pasted to the top of the page. I won't, partially because I'm slightly lame and partially because I would almost (almost) feel like a failure for doing so. I really never finish anything. Or get things off the ground for that matter. Ah, self-consciousness.
In other news, I now have bangs. In less vain news, I am no longer striving toward graduate school, unless it involves a teacher certification that will enable me to teach high school. I am desperately trying to view this as an opportunity to move forward instead of a concession to my sudden loss of a shot at graduate school in East Asian Studies at the hands of the stubborn Mr. Hallmark. Listen, Sir American Greetings, I completely understand why you would not want to offer a course in Japanese language in the middle of nowhere West Texas, but it would not have cost the school a dime to allow the students already enrolled in the program to finish it. You are still paying the teacher for the course even though she isn't teaching it, you insufferable dimwit. You can't hear me, obviously, but I once again let out a pitiful sigh of defeat. Ah, self-absorbedness.
To conclude, the very few friends I care to have on this page that essentially serves as a place for me to post random links, ramble about my coursework, and occasionally delve into my inner self for a few brief moments before I return to playing some mindless computer game or write some ridiculous paper or compose ridiculously long sentences, will continue to get a rare, online glimpse, once every few months, into the stress, boredom, and slight complacency that is adult life. Anyone want to hear about my mortgage?