Part Three- The Future
So I am aware that I've been pretty Sybil around here. Hot job in the faculty of medicine one second, looking for paleopathology programs the next. Molecular biology course all the while. Currently doing cancer and epidemiology research.
I'm going to be honest: I have NO IDEA what I'm doing. "No idea" in the same sense as being handed a sheet of Japanese characters and being asked what they mean. I'm so directionless I couldn't find down if it weren't for gravity. I am planning for the future by sneaking up on it, stealthly jumping onto whatever bandwagon passes in my periphery, hoping to somehow stumble onto what feels like the right path.
It was my Dad actually who pulled the plug on this. I still want to take that job in the faculty of medicine (I just wish it would get posted soon), but my Dad is right that going into grad school there is probably dumb. To be honest, grad school is appealing cause it's a get-out-jail-free card when it comes to making an actual decision.
I am twenty-six years old and I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
The paleopathology is a following-up of my undergrad interest . . . it could be right. A heavyweight forensic anthropologist, a molecular anthropologist, and a paleopathologist have all said they'd take me as a student if I got into grad school. So maybe. But that'd be for NEXT September and I can't take this awful job much longer. Bonus: the paleopathologist is in Peterborough, ending the suckiness of the long-distance relationship.
Those dumbass career tests are not helping make this easier. They all say I should be an astronaut, doctor or actress. Just to underline how valid I think this kind of test is . . . astronaut? Fantastic. I'm only claustrophobic, afraid of heights, and terrified of flying. The freeze-dried food is all right, though. So you know these tests are thorough.
The way I see it is planning your future should be like planning a party. You want to have fun, get drunk, hope lots of people show up, and pray no one throws up on the rug. So why is this all so hard?
Other loose ends: things with Ryan are fantastic. Thanks VERY much for the feedback I got back when we fought; though I didn't reply to all the comments, I really found them helpful. We're still working on making things run more smoothly, but the love is there so I'm optimistic that we'll figure it out somehow.
I got a crummy A- in the molecular course. Bloody exam: B. Knocked me right off the A/A+ fence I'd straddled all summer. But I did the best I could under the circumstances (see previous post). Que sera, sera.
And in conclusion: a new neighbour has moved in upstairs. He plays his stereo very very loud. Therefore, I may play my drums as loud as I like. We have an agreement. I won't complain if he doesn't. Harmony, finally.
And you are all finally caught up. Career suggestions are welcome.
I'm going to be honest: I have NO IDEA what I'm doing. "No idea" in the same sense as being handed a sheet of Japanese characters and being asked what they mean. I'm so directionless I couldn't find down if it weren't for gravity. I am planning for the future by sneaking up on it, stealthly jumping onto whatever bandwagon passes in my periphery, hoping to somehow stumble onto what feels like the right path.
It was my Dad actually who pulled the plug on this. I still want to take that job in the faculty of medicine (I just wish it would get posted soon), but my Dad is right that going into grad school there is probably dumb. To be honest, grad school is appealing cause it's a get-out-jail-free card when it comes to making an actual decision.
I am twenty-six years old and I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
The paleopathology is a following-up of my undergrad interest . . . it could be right. A heavyweight forensic anthropologist, a molecular anthropologist, and a paleopathologist have all said they'd take me as a student if I got into grad school. So maybe. But that'd be for NEXT September and I can't take this awful job much longer. Bonus: the paleopathologist is in Peterborough, ending the suckiness of the long-distance relationship.
Those dumbass career tests are not helping make this easier. They all say I should be an astronaut, doctor or actress. Just to underline how valid I think this kind of test is . . . astronaut? Fantastic. I'm only claustrophobic, afraid of heights, and terrified of flying. The freeze-dried food is all right, though. So you know these tests are thorough.
The way I see it is planning your future should be like planning a party. You want to have fun, get drunk, hope lots of people show up, and pray no one throws up on the rug. So why is this all so hard?
Other loose ends: things with Ryan are fantastic. Thanks VERY much for the feedback I got back when we fought; though I didn't reply to all the comments, I really found them helpful. We're still working on making things run more smoothly, but the love is there so I'm optimistic that we'll figure it out somehow.
I got a crummy A- in the molecular course. Bloody exam: B. Knocked me right off the A/A+ fence I'd straddled all summer. But I did the best I could under the circumstances (see previous post). Que sera, sera.
And in conclusion: a new neighbour has moved in upstairs. He plays his stereo very very loud. Therefore, I may play my drums as loud as I like. We have an agreement. I won't complain if he doesn't. Harmony, finally.
And you are all finally caught up. Career suggestions are welcome.