(no subject)
I had a party and people came to it and had fun! And ate cupcakes! If you had told the young Katie-child, perhaps around the age of 13, that to celebrate turning 25 she would eat cupcakes and dress in costume and debate the merits of My Little Ponies amongst a crowd of similarly-disported friends, the young girleen would have been, perhaps, perplexed? How strange - by 25 one was supposed to be a grown-up, doing such grown-up things as having a mortgage and a fiscal solvency. And young Katie would have put it away in the back of her mind, to worry about later, and gone back to whatever she was doing at the time, which probably involved writing suicidal poetry or being allowed a single Taco Bell taco for dinner. Maybe sauce, if she had been good that day. If she had earned it.
I have acres of time, simply acres, unspoiled, pristine, full of scampering wide-eyed woodland creature-friends, before I need to get college apps out. This is reassuring to me. I have been taking little baby steps forward, for example attending information sessions where I scribble down details into an enormous, radioactive-orange binder. I raise my hand to ask about resources for older, returning students, only to have every overprotective parent's head swivel wildly around, as they commit to memory the sight of this outspoken, dangerous twentysomething, who will surely devour their tender little froshspawn. The froshspawn ask questions such as how can they possibly choose between majoring in psych and education; the tour guides discuss dorm life and why they haven't chosen a major yet. I tend to wander off once the tour part of the session is underway. Fortunately, I am no longer going to college for the "college experience," which seems to consist of sleeping in piles of your own dirty laundry and growing fat off of terrible, inedible food. I am going to take classes and kick ass and go home and hang out with actual adults in my free time. The ones I was talking about My Little Ponies with.
I have also learned that requesting a course catalog to be mailed to you is like sending a letter to Santa. Maybe somebody does get it and reads it and briefly thinks about honoring that request, but you're much better off getting that pony and that plastic rocket and that undergraduate degree information by your own efforts. (Or, in the case of outlandish Christmas presents and collegiate funding, by pestering your family to give it to you.)
My therapist asked me recently what I like to do for fun, and it genuinely floored me. I'm not a hobby person. Oh, I make a pretense at knitting, but I have long since realized that that craft is mastered by people who tend to possess at least some degree of analytical, mathematical, organizational sense, rather than my periodic outbursts of "HAI GUYZ IM SO KREATIV I MAED A SCARF." While I would like to keep that up as well, I wouldn't mind working out again regularly, as that was genuinely pleasurable for me, and also my arms are getting too soft. Aside from that, though - hmmmm, what? What do twentysomethings do for enjoyment, aside from drinking exuberantly? Things I enjoy include making art* and being active (but not yoga, I've finally decided that's too yuppie for me and I like the good healthy sweat of a tough workout better) and helping people out, possibly in a volunteering capacity? I will have to muse on these themes later.
Basically I am crazy and thinky and disorganized and alive.
*Damn it, I have just realized I can't ever buy this shirt, it would make it seem like my nipples were not only talking but inviting your gaze.
I have acres of time, simply acres, unspoiled, pristine, full of scampering wide-eyed woodland creature-friends, before I need to get college apps out. This is reassuring to me. I have been taking little baby steps forward, for example attending information sessions where I scribble down details into an enormous, radioactive-orange binder. I raise my hand to ask about resources for older, returning students, only to have every overprotective parent's head swivel wildly around, as they commit to memory the sight of this outspoken, dangerous twentysomething, who will surely devour their tender little froshspawn. The froshspawn ask questions such as how can they possibly choose between majoring in psych and education; the tour guides discuss dorm life and why they haven't chosen a major yet. I tend to wander off once the tour part of the session is underway. Fortunately, I am no longer going to college for the "college experience," which seems to consist of sleeping in piles of your own dirty laundry and growing fat off of terrible, inedible food. I am going to take classes and kick ass and go home and hang out with actual adults in my free time. The ones I was talking about My Little Ponies with.
I have also learned that requesting a course catalog to be mailed to you is like sending a letter to Santa. Maybe somebody does get it and reads it and briefly thinks about honoring that request, but you're much better off getting that pony and that plastic rocket and that undergraduate degree information by your own efforts. (Or, in the case of outlandish Christmas presents and collegiate funding, by pestering your family to give it to you.)
My therapist asked me recently what I like to do for fun, and it genuinely floored me. I'm not a hobby person. Oh, I make a pretense at knitting, but I have long since realized that that craft is mastered by people who tend to possess at least some degree of analytical, mathematical, organizational sense, rather than my periodic outbursts of "HAI GUYZ IM SO KREATIV I MAED A SCARF." While I would like to keep that up as well, I wouldn't mind working out again regularly, as that was genuinely pleasurable for me, and also my arms are getting too soft. Aside from that, though - hmmmm, what? What do twentysomethings do for enjoyment, aside from drinking exuberantly? Things I enjoy include making art* and being active (but not yoga, I've finally decided that's too yuppie for me and I like the good healthy sweat of a tough workout better) and helping people out, possibly in a volunteering capacity? I will have to muse on these themes later.
Basically I am crazy and thinky and disorganized and alive.
*Damn it, I have just realized I can't ever buy this shirt, it would make it seem like my nipples were not only talking but inviting your gaze.