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Archive for the ‘Goals’ Category

Charity

(This blog is proof I’m a terrible person.)

After stopping at the vending machines on the way to the computer lab, I walked in between a few Charity Guys, shaking jars a third full of petty change, saying, “Feed the hungry!” I felt extremely guilty, opening my Gardettos (a perfect bag, I might add, full of the bagel crisps) and pocketing the few pennies I had left over from my purchase. I would have felt even worse putting only three pennies into the jar. It’s like, “That’s all you can spare, rich girl?”

(disclaimer: I am not rich. I have never claimed to be rich. I only bought Gardettos because they were the only non-granola bar item that was under 70 cents. but compared to the families on the street, I am rich.)

Today in my Philosophy class, we were talking about Utilitarianism. One form of this philosophical theory says that you are not only responsible for the consequences of your actions, but you are responsible for the consequences of your non-actions.

“So,” my professor said, “I blame each and every one of you for the starving children in Darfur.” (or something like that, because I really know nothing about Darfur.)

I guess that’s what planted the seed of my guilt, and walking through the Chairty Guys without donating three pennies just put the nail in my selfish coffin. According to my Philosophy teacher, and all utilitarian philosophers, I should be out there helping the less fortunate every spare moment I have. Forget any of my hobbies or the fact that I’m getting married in six months! (Also, I shouldn’t put any money towards my wedding, besides the bare minimum. If there is an alternative that will benefit more people, I should use the money towards that. So the $2,000 I have for my reception should be donated to Operation Smile or something like that.)

I’ll have you know that every saturday for three hours I volunteer at a pet adoption.

Also, I broke my glasses again today.

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I’ve reached a dead end. I’m a waitress living in an attic, progressing neither mentally nor financially, and I have no motivation to fix it.

“Simple solution,” you say. “Go to school. Get a degree, get a good job, do all that travelling you’ve been wanting to do, and grow up.”

“Oh, well wouldn’t life be just beer and skittles if it were that simple,” I say.

First of all, I don’t want to go to school. I love learning, but I only like it when it’s something I’m intrigued by. For instance, as of late I’ve been gazing up at the stars (what one may call “stargazing”), curious about them. I’ve been studying astronomy on my own, because I want to. I don’t want to be required to take X amount of science credits and Y amount of history classes. I want to see something I don’t understand, and answer my own questions. I hate the education system.

Second of all, even if I wanted to go to school, how am I to pay for it? I don’t want to get a student loan unless I absolutely have to, and I don’t want to go into debt unless I absolutely want to go to school. I can’t go to school unless I have a high-paying job that can support me while I go, and I can’t get a high-paying job unless I go to school.

Typical Catch-22.

It seems my only option is to crawl back to my last school, beg forgiveness for wasting a perfectly good scholarship, and promise not to do it again.

Either that, or work at a Mexican Restaurant for the rest of my life.

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I’ve moved out for the first time.

I was terrified at first. I knew about a month in advance that I was moving, but it didn’t seem real till the last week in my parents’ place. All I could think was, “This is my last Sunday* here.” (*insert day of the week, meal, event, etc.) I thought I was moving on Saturday, and then on Thursday, my roommate-to-be told me my room was ready for me and I should move in that day.

So I did.

I felt a little bad at first; I felt like I needed to have a big last night with the ‘rents, for some reason. Some ceremonial thing that would seal the deal that I’m on my own now. Kind of how graduation solidifies the fact that you’re done with school, and a funeral sets in stone (almost literally) that someone you know is dead.

I didn’t get my graduation from my parents’ house, though. Just a swift move-in and dinner at Red Robin with my new roommates.

It’s been four days since I moved in, and I’m loving it. There’s not much difference from my little basement room at my parents’ (besides the fact that I share this attic room and there’s a light outside my window and i share a bathroom with my two best friends and I buy my own groceries), but now I feel grown-up. I can’t help saying “my roommate” as often as possible. I love telling my family “I have to go home now.” I use the phrase “my parents’ house” as often as possible.

But I’m still nostalgic. I’m going to miss being a little kid, with no cares in the world. I find myself terrified to think about the next 80 years: “What am I going to do with myself?”

And so, I’ve decided to go to school. Starting in January, I will be a pre-communications major. Maybe I really am growing up.

Thank you, moving out. 

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Well, it’s official. I’m never going to school again.

Last year, when I was graduating from high school, I got accepted into BYU. I was going through my rebellious phase at that point in time, so I turned down the scholarship they gave me. I didn’t want to go to school. Then, to please my parents, I decided to go to a local college. They were so happy, they paid the tuition. (Later on, I got a full scholarship so they got their money back.)

That semester, I bombed. I had gone for the completely wrong reasons, and I just lost it. I didn’t even show up to 4 of my 5 finals.

Now, I kinda want to go to school again. I reapplied to BYU as a freshman—not as a transfer student, because I don’t want failed classes on my transcript—and got in. I think I reapplied for the wrong reasons, though, because I was slightly disappointed when I found out I got in. I kinda wanted them to turn me down so I’d have an excuse to live like a hippie for the rest of my life.

But here’s the good/bad news: they say if you went to another semester of college, you have to transfer your credits. You can’t have a fresh start. I don’t know if they’d still let me in if I transferred my credits. I don’t know if I’d want to go to school with that mark on my record.

It’s too much of a hassle, and not worth it to me. School’s not a priority on my list, so I’m just not going to go. Call me crazy, but that’s just how it is.

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I have no idea why, but I think I want to be a talk show host.

It all started with a few off-hand comments from my sister about what a good stand-up comedian I would be. I know I’d be a horrible stand-up comedian, and that the crickets would lose their voices from all the awkward silences I’d cause, but it’s a nice sentiment.

Then I started thinking: I love to perform. I was in plays all through junior high and high school, and now that I’m not, it feels weird. People have told me that I seem like I’ve lost my spark, my love for life, and I think it’s because I’m not performing. I definitely don’t have the talent to continue in theater–which is why I’m not–but I still want to perform.

So why the devil do I want to be a talk show host?

I don’t know. You tell me.

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I found this quote just now that sums up my life pretty well. Mel sent to me ages ago, and I thought it described it pretty well then, but now that I’m actually reading it in context, I have to write it down.

It’s from The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.

 “I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.

From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olypic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

At this point in time, I’d take Constantin and Socrates and Attila.

(By the way, in googling “The Bell Jar” I have just learned that Julia Stiles is to play Esther in the film set to come out this year. I haven’t decided how I feel about that.)

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Everyone has their life ambitions—Get a million dollars, have 12 kids, start a web-based company. These are things I want to accomplish before I die.

  • Be a Flight Attendant
  • Learn Gymnastics
  • Be a mechanic
  • Learn at least two other languages besides English
  • Travel. This requires a list in its own, of where I want to go.
  • Skydive
  • Learn how to sing
  • Live on the road, from my car.
  • Work on a cruise ship.
  • Try my hand at stand up comedy.
  • Go scuba diving. This includes getting over my fear of deep, dark water.
  • Be licensed to marry people. Like a priest, you know? I just think that’d be cool.
  • Break a bone.
  • Do something and not tell anyone about it.

That’s about it for now.  All these goals will, eventually, help me write a book. I’m hoping that by being really experienced, I can write about what I know. Plus, I can be super cool and say I’ve done all that stuff.

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