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| And then there's redemption.
Only a few hours ago, I wallowed in the misery that is this world, that is this life. But there are some moments that make it worth while. Tonight was one of them. I love you guys.
To tents outside of Lisa's room. To Walking on Sunshine. To The First Wives Club. To room 203 Mitchell Hall. To CPAC. To ashing cigarettes in empty Papa John's pizza boxes. To Zelko in a Schmirnoff bottle. To Badlands. To QAF. To tequila and kamikazes. To "five minutes fast." To Xando's. To Miss Muffy.
To a freshman year full of memories and a senior year full of even more. | | |
| My life is out of control. I pinpoint the start of this madness as September 21, 2004. Being 21 is not good for me. Mentally, physically, emotionally, and definitely financially. There are just too many mornings when I wake up saying, "Fuck, did I really say that last night?" or "Shit, what did I do last night?" To be honest, I'm no more out of control than I was freshman year, but I thought I would have grown out of this by now. I thought I had more self-control.
I hate feeling regret. And I regret a lot from the past two and half weeks. I'd like to issue a formal apology to anyone who has come in contact with me for the past few weeks. I'm sure I started a fight with you, insulted you or made you uncomfortable in some way. So, I'm sorry.
The truth is I've been using alcohol to mask my own insecurities and discontent with my self and my life. It's a family tradition. | | |
| Guess who just got the new Flogging Molly CD? Guess how much it rocks? Guess who's going to see them in two weeks?
That would be me, a lot, and me.
So, I've figured out somewhat what I'm going to do with my life. I'm going to go do good feminist work in New York while living off my boyfriend's salary. I am very excited by this prospect. I can't be taken seriously as a feminist if I don't do feminist work. I need to work with women. I need to help them. At this point in my life, I think the best way for me to do this does not include a law degree. This could change. But right now, it's my plan. I still want a red briefcase, though. That would be cool.
Oh, and to start the countdown...my 21st birthday is in 6 days!!!!!!! | | |
| Does anyone know where I can buy some advice?
Picture this: Little Jackie, eight years old, Mrs. Grant's third grade class project entitled "When I grow up, I'm going to be..." I think one boy said he wanted to be a GI Joe, many of the girls wanted to be singers, actresses, there may have been a doctor or two, most of the boys said firefighter, policeman, blah, blah, blah. You know the story, you were in third grade once. Regardless, little Jackie, with the big eyes and the scraggly hair, painfully quiet most of the time, but prone to self-important outbursts of almost startling confidence, was the first to complete her sheet of construction paper. Across the top, in all capital letters, she wrote LAWYER and proceeded to draw a woman with long brown hair in a black pantsuit carrying a bright red briefcase. Ever since then, it was well-known among little Jackie's family and friends that she was to be a lawyer some day.
Where's confident little Jackie now? I wish my eight year old self could come back and tell me why that's what I always wanted and how to get there. I remember we had to list three reasons why we wanted to be what we wanted to be. One of mine was "I want to help people." I think another was "I want to make a lot of money." I don't remember what the last one was, maybe something about how I liked the show Matlock or how I liked to argue.
The more I think about it the less I want to go in to law. But then what? When you've envisioned yourself as a tall woman in a black pantsuit with a red briefcase and the title LAWYER emblazoned over your head, it's hard to see yourself any other way.
Somebody please tell me what to do with myself? I'll take any and all suggestions. | | |
| So I spent the weekend in Connecticut. I didn't have very high expectations. My only knowledge of Connecticut existed from horrendous stories of bored, overly rich, and maladjusted kids with drug problems from Alexis, stories of bored, overly rich, and maladjusted kids without drug problems from John (to quote John, "Darien?! Oh my God, Jackie, you'll hate it!"), and my own personal hellish experience driving/riding on a train through it for hours on end. I was, to say the least, a bit biased.
My final word on the state as a whole is it's ok. Just that. It's extremely suburban and I am too spoiled by the city to really get into the driving on highways to get to the nearest grocery store jive again. It's basically Jersey in a higher tax bracket. Woohoo. Alan's town isn't anything great, but his apartment is quite nice (overly priced, but nice).
In my most non-feminist statement you will ever see in this xanga, I would go there for him. I would live there as a means to an end. You know, he said something that I really appreciated while we were arguing in this steakhouse Saturday night: If one of us has to submit to capitalism, let it be him. I can be a freedom fighter in due time. I wouldn't mind a sugar daddy while I think and write and study revolutionary things.
We'll see, I guess. My quarter-life crises is raging at full blast right now and I honestly haven't a damn clue what I'm going to be doing or where I'm going to be in a year. | | |
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