Make a Choice

In my creative writing class, the number one critique I have for every single story is "Make a decision." About perspective, about punctuation, about tense, it's all about making the decision and going with it, regardless of the consequences. Sure your story might still suck, but at least you had the back bone to defend it until the last period.

Well, ever the metaphorical conversationalist, I decided to bring this up when having an intense heart-to-heart with my roommate this evening. She's been, well, she's deep in a situation and can't see the light at the end of the tunnel, so instead she stands still, awaiting for the switch to be flipped for her. You can understand how this could frustrate her loved ones, especially one who is as assertive as myself. The conversation ended pleasantly, but I like to think she couldn't ignore the steel behind my sweet-lined analogies.

More often than not, it's the thing we don't want to hear: You have to make a choice, you can't just stand there waiting for the sky to fall. You can move forward, you can move back, just as long as you do something. Perhaps this is my naivete speaking, but when faced with a school year that is wholeheartedly devoted to some of the most important decisions I've made thus far, it can seem so much bigger than that. It's our lives. If we can't make up our minds, how can we expect anyone else to do it?

Nobody likes making decisions. It's so very easy to choose wrong, even in the odds are ever in your favor. Between yes or no, the gray area is boundless. But this is the life we have. We chose freedom, we chose free will. That should have been the red flag that decision-making would always be a burden over a glory.

I sit here, ignoring my Spanish notes, facing my life and wanting nothing more than to bury my head in the sand, pull the covers over my head. It's sounds more perfect than you could imagine. How could I ever choose between careers or paths when crawling back to my comfy college classes is so much more choice? However, I fancy myself a realist and I know without a shadow of a doubt that when May comes, I will have done the unthinkable and made my decision. Because I can't not. I'm too stubborn to fall to ground in defeat and have spent way too much time poring over flashcards and obscure theorists to not have the life I want.

So my friends flounder in their loves lives, their school lives, even their social lives and put off decisions with GRE tests and law school applications. Perhaps the act of not choosing is nothing more than the greatest decision of all, but the bottom line I constantly draw is that the decision will get made regardless of my actions; I would just rather have a say in what happens to me than not. That, above all else, is what makes me memorize the pasado subjuntivo and move on with my life.

All in.

I've somewhat been dreading this post.

It's been a tumultuous few weeks of school and life in general, after a summer of sheer chaos so I guess you can say whatever few moments of down time I've had have been spent lounging on the couch, gloriously and guiltlessly enjoying my new cable.

However, when I came home from school, I decided to bite the bullet, despite having no free time, a to do list that is comically long and an embarrassing amount of laundry to do.

Mostly, because I want to rant about my classes. It's fun!

Interdisciplinary: Kerouac--This one is super require by my major, which is why every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, I spend an hour listening to the MOST pretentious, self-important lovers of Kerouac spout their ideals about the Beat generation in very loud voices. Ugh. Well, I do like the professor and I think he likes me, too because I am the only person willing to argue a point (shock, I know) and can actually back it up.

Creating Writing: WAIT, WHAT!?! I HAVE TO WRITE FICTION!??!? I was genuinely floored. And what sucks more is that there was always this part of me that kept being a writer/novelist as a possibility, in my back pocket. And then, whammy, turns out I am not creative. At all. We have 3 creative stories due this semester and I can't do anything about it. Crap.

Spanish IV: this is a joke, right? I don't know Spanish whatsoever. This will be my ending. Circlin' the drain, people.

Intercultural Communication: We had a geography quiz of America and Canada yesterday. That sums up the class pretty well. Luckily, my professor is the Comm Club advisor and he adores me, so we're good.

Rhetorical Criticism: I know nothing about this subject at all. There's no foundation, not even for the criticism part it turns out. It's philosophical and complex and multi-layered and also necessary for graduation. I had the professor for public speaking last semester, but this will not help me. My palms are starting to sweat just thinking about the upcoming work and my shocking ability not to find the easy way out at all.

Silly-ness aside, there is a deep-set panic within me about this semester; it's the slow ride to the end that turns out to be a heck of a lot harder and scarier than I could have thought. Graduation looms and not a day goes by that I don't have a minor panic attack about it. Fortunately, classes and various demands of clubs and work push the nightmarish thoughts out of my pretty little head.

Silly-ness back, I'm having fun! I've made some cool friends, there's huge interest in the club that I'm president of, and my professors are now my friends. There's tons of work to be done and I am eager to do it (so far). Speaking of which, I have emails to send, a family tree to make for Intercultural and On the Road to read. Oy. But baby, I'm back!