September 30, 10:36 pm, regular school night. Listening to the arctic monkeys, test in the morning, highlighters and index cards strewn all over my desk. A can of Some energy drink and a stabilo pen to the left of my laptop, my keys and iPhone to the right. I should probably go to sleep or study, but I browse college websites instead, searching for scholarships and trying to find a school fit for me to spend the next 3 to 4 years of my life at. Then the slow realization kinda creeps up on me…
All my friends before me who have went on to college abroad have done it, and it will happen to me, and those after me. I can see the new skin of identity covering me, and how easily I will fit into it. I’ll be content with the new friends I’ve made and not have time for those back home. We’ll all lose touch, of course. And I’ll most likely fall too hard for someone who is painfully involved in his work and doesn’t even notice I exist. I will get my heart broken, move on, be extremely focused and extremely bitter, and send my mom selfies on a daily basis. The “hit the gym” attitude I had before college will vanish into thin air and I’ll gain some weight, and start to resent myself and my appearance. In my spare time I’ll read cheesy romance novels (the free ones off iBooks), and pretend to be artsy on instagram. My hair wont grow because I tear the ends out when I’m stressed -and I am always. stressed.
After college I won’t go home, but my plan to backpack across Europe will not materialize out of fear of being sold into a sex slave trade (see Taken). May marry an average looking/unattractive guy with no sense of humor and drink more than a glass of wine daily. Will read thoughtcatalog every morning (instead of an actual newspaper like a real adult) and scroll obsessively down an outdated tumblr dashboard.
Will become a part of “articulate minority” on twitter and say rude things about politicians and complain about the economy and infrastructure and gas prices and tax office lines and kids school fees and …woah kids? I’m this old already? And when I do realize that, yes, I am that old, I will fall into a deep depression. I will call it “mid-life crisis” and I will wear weird clothes and embarass my alleged children.
Before I start thinking about my cheating husband, perverted boss, and [alleged] drinking problem…I will end this stream of thought and revert to my actual present day self. Young. Hopeful. Dreamer. Enthusiastic.