So Long, South City

Today’s my last day home for the summer. I’m leaving for SLO in a little bit to spend the night at Noelle’s, then tomorrow morning I’ll be able to move into my apartment. It’s a weird feeling. This is my last summer before college. I have no idea where I’m going to be this time next year. Last year, I knew that I’d have one more year of college, so nothing suspenseful there. The year before that, I knew that I would be transferring somewhere, I just didn’t know where exactly. But I knew I’d be somewhere. Graduating from college is a lot scarier than graduating from high school. After high school, I feel as though we have so many more options. If you don’t have the grades to go to college, or, as in my case, have no idea as to where you want to be or what exactly you want to do, or if you don’t get into the school you wanted to go to, you can go to community college. I would like to be in grad school this time next year, but that means applying now. And if I don’t get in, that’s kind of it. Sure, I can go to work or something and then apply again, but then I’d just kind of be idling. At least with going to community college, I was working towards something. If I don’t get into grad school for next year, then I’d just be killing time until I can apply again. I’m trying to kill time right now because I have to add some classes and my pass time is at 3:15. Hopefully I can get into the classes that I need. Stupid budget cuts. I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. Thanks to the budget cuts, it’s going to be harder to get the classes that I need to graduate, since they either are offering less spaces, or not offering them at all. I guess that’ll give me time to put off applying for grad school.

I guess it all comes down to procrastination again. Three years of undergrad has gone by very quickly. Now it’s almost down to the wire, and I’m starting to freak out about the next step. I was fine all this past year. I put off freaking out over things until the last minute, which makes the freak-out even worse. Like my room. I came home at the beginning of the summer and only unpacked things when I needed them. Yesterday was the first time all summer that my room hasn’t been filled with boxes, because I had to pack everything up for today. I just was never motivated to clean it. Maybe because I felt that I was just going to have to pack it all up again at the end of summer, so why bother. Who knows.

I went to Target three times since Friday. As much as I love Target, I think that I’m kind of sick of the smell. You know, that popcorn smell from the cafe. I wouldn’t want to work there because of that smell. And the khaki pants. Speaking of work, I need to get a job. Here’s hoping I even am able to find one. It’s strange how much faster life seems to go when you’re reaching the end of a point, but don’t feel ready to. I’m definitely not ready for college to end. One of the things I regret about being a transfer student is having a shorter “college experience.” Sure, I had fun my first two years while at community college, and it’s not like my parents treated me like a little kid or anything, but going away and living in a community of people your age makes life so much different, and there’s a certain window for when that’s still fun. I feel as though I’ve been given a smaller window than everyone else. I feel like it’s one of those vent-type windows. I want a bay window. But then again, I know that I’m probably just being overly dramatic, and I say that I don’t want college to end now, but maybe once midterms hit this quarter, I’ll be glad that it’s my last year. And I can remember thinking that 18 was super old when I was 15, and once I turned 18, I felt like 21 was so old. And now that I’m 21, I feel like all the life will be sucked out of me by 28, and I’m sure that won’t be the case, the way it wasn’t with 18 and 21.

Being 21 is a funny stage. It’s like being 18. At 18, you feel that you’ve reached an important age. You can vote, buy cigarettes, and no longer qualify for juvy. At 21, you can buy alcohol. But after 21, you’re kind of out of significant birthdays. I guess 25 could count, since you can rent a car without an underage fee. And then 30 is probably sadly significant. And then 50. And then birthdays aren’t really important anymore until you start getting even older. Like an 80th birthday is probably kind of a big deal. And 90 definitely is. The oldest woman died a few weeks ago. She was 115. Oh my.

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