Sometimes I wonder where my head is at.
That's it. I'm going to finish my generals this year, then I'm going back to English.
I like psychology, it's really interesting. I really am passionate about social work and the homeless and displaced kids and battered women and all of that. But I can't even sit through a single class and pay attention because my head is somewhere else. My instructor is standing at the front of the class giving a lecture about crack cocaine or the square root of pi and I've got no idea what the fuck they're even talking about because I'm thinking about werewolves and Robin Hood and if anyone's ever thought it might be cool to combine the two because I think that would be fucking awesome.
I wish I were a better person and selfless enough to dedicate my life to saving others from their hell, but I'm not. All I want to do is write, anything and everything, I don't even care what it is, and pretending otherwise is driving me crazy. I figure if I'm constantly thinking about something else, my head always in the clouds about something that is not algebra or childhood development or drug addiction or whatever the fuck, then that something else is what I should probably be doing. It's where my head is constantly and I'm not good for anything else. I'd like to be sometimes, but I'm not. I already tried going to school for what I thought I should do and that didn't work out the first time at all. I like to think I'm smart enough to not make that same decision all over again.
There, I said it.
I called my Gran to tell her earlier because I had to just say it to someone and have them hear it. At first, when I told her I had to tell her something, she started to freak out a little because Gran's had it really bad the last month or so. Hell, the last five years or more. It also says something about my family and me specifically that I can't call her and say I have something to tell her without her going quiet and afraid. I feel bad about that, but I'm not sure what I can do about it. She laughed when I told her and think that's partly out of relief that it wasn't something bad in spite of my assurances that it wasn't.
No, Gran, I don't have cancer. If I get it, I hope to God you're gone when I do. I do have this dark spot on the palm of my hand that I worry might be a melanoma, but I won't ever go find out for sure. Even if it kills me, I don't want to know.
It is a huge goddamn relief to me to have decided this and come off the fence about it. I don't know what I'm going to do with English, but I don't care. If I can't do something with it, I'm going to lose my mind, it's just that simple.
I like psychology, it's really interesting. I really am passionate about social work and the homeless and displaced kids and battered women and all of that. But I can't even sit through a single class and pay attention because my head is somewhere else. My instructor is standing at the front of the class giving a lecture about crack cocaine or the square root of pi and I've got no idea what the fuck they're even talking about because I'm thinking about werewolves and Robin Hood and if anyone's ever thought it might be cool to combine the two because I think that would be fucking awesome.
I wish I were a better person and selfless enough to dedicate my life to saving others from their hell, but I'm not. All I want to do is write, anything and everything, I don't even care what it is, and pretending otherwise is driving me crazy. I figure if I'm constantly thinking about something else, my head always in the clouds about something that is not algebra or childhood development or drug addiction or whatever the fuck, then that something else is what I should probably be doing. It's where my head is constantly and I'm not good for anything else. I'd like to be sometimes, but I'm not. I already tried going to school for what I thought I should do and that didn't work out the first time at all. I like to think I'm smart enough to not make that same decision all over again.
There, I said it.
I called my Gran to tell her earlier because I had to just say it to someone and have them hear it. At first, when I told her I had to tell her something, she started to freak out a little because Gran's had it really bad the last month or so. Hell, the last five years or more. It also says something about my family and me specifically that I can't call her and say I have something to tell her without her going quiet and afraid. I feel bad about that, but I'm not sure what I can do about it. She laughed when I told her and think that's partly out of relief that it wasn't something bad in spite of my assurances that it wasn't.
No, Gran, I don't have cancer. If I get it, I hope to God you're gone when I do. I do have this dark spot on the palm of my hand that I worry might be a melanoma, but I won't ever go find out for sure. Even if it kills me, I don't want to know.
It is a huge goddamn relief to me to have decided this and come off the fence about it. I don't know what I'm going to do with English, but I don't care. If I can't do something with it, I'm going to lose my mind, it's just that simple.