I’m currently hiding out in a Starbucks because I somehow got lost at my new school and can’t find my on-campus apartment, so I panicked and speedwalked (is that a word?) here. I feel safe. It’s like I put on a brown turtleneck and matching corduroys and everyone is thinking “Wow, I’m staying away from her, but at the same time I’m jealous of how secure she seems. Good job, weird girl. Bye. Also I see that most of your outfit is actually from Hot Topic. You’re 22. Stop wearing galaxy print pants. Please start buying clothes at grownup stores.” No one here can judge me while I obsessively look at the virtual tour of the school on their website and silently critique them for how crappy it is. But seriously, where on God’s green earth is my apartment… There’s a Walgreens close by, so after I post this I might take cover there. Maybe I’ll pretend to be interested in that weird shampoo meant for horses that girls insist on using while I muster the courage to go back and find my way around campus. Seriously, what is that stuff? Buy human shampoo. Also, I shouldn’t have ordered coffee because I can’t feel my heart beating.
Where am I, you might ask? Grad school in the Midwest. It’s been a while since I last posted, so in case you forgot, I went to college in the Midwest as well. I tried to get out of here and be somewhere warm for grad school, but somehow ended up migrating north and switching to the eastern timezone. Even though I do enjoy that lovely Midwestern hospitality, my plan to never see snow again in my entire life hasn’t worked out too well.
While a lot has happened since I last blogged my sophomore year, it hasn’t been anything super thrilling. I didn’t travel abroad and hike through some far off land to discover my purpose in life. Instead I went to New York twice since I still don’t have a passport and didn’t discover anything except that I can’t afford anything there. I’ll briefly fill you in on the last three years. I was a nursing major through the end of my sophomore year when I realized 1) I couldn’t handle how soul-crushing nursing school is, and 2) I simply didn’t want to be a nurse. I switched to being a health science major and picked up psychology and child studies minors. Just FYI, unless you want to work for the CDC or be the head of a hospital, health science probably isn’t for you. The only thing I walked away with was a great party trick where I can recite the seven responsibilities of a certified health education specialist, learned I never want to hear about cultural competence within the health field again, and passed an exam so I can add the letters CHES after my name (look it up if you’re super bored). I took the max amount of credits each semester in order to finish my new major in two years instead of four, and somehow got all As and Bs in my classes those last two years. Except college trigonometry where I scraped by with a 70.2. Hey, I never said I was perfect, even though we all know it was implied.
The most significant part of my time in college was that I fell in love with the happiest, funniest guy I’ve ever met and we dated from sophomore through senior year. We had our ups and downs like everyone, but I don’t know if I could have made it through college without his support. I broke up with him two weeks before our graduation in May (don’t ever do that, kids. I somehow did surprisingly well on all my finals but I had the movie 500 Days of Summer on a loop that entire week while I cried multiple times to a group of friends and they assured me it was all for the best). It was a mutual breakup and we’ve stayed close and still text each other almost every night at 8:30 telling each other about the best part of our day. We realized our life plans and views about important things like religion and kids just didn’t match up, and neither of us wanted to compromise our goals for the other person. He’s currently working as a horticulturalist in a park and eventually wants to be a ranger in a national park while I want to be a middle school counselor somewhere warm on the east coast. Maybe one day I’ll get my Ph.D. in Forensic Psychology doing research on the brains of psychopaths or helping the FBI create profiles. I’ve seen every single episode of Forensic Files multiple times and know too much about Ted Bundy. I swear I’m actually a lovely, normal person. But if your loved one ever mysteriously dies in a hospital, they were probably given a massive dose of fast-metabolizing acetylcholine by a crazed nurse which won’t show up on a toxicology report. Also if a real estate agent goes missing, check the basements of houses they show. But most importantly, don’t ever, EVER let your spouse take out a life insurance policy on you. Hit me up if you ever want some random serial killer facts.
I had my fair share of crazy roommates, such as my fall semester freshman year roommate who moved out without telling me after being my roommate for about six weeks, got married her junior year, dropped out of college, moved to Japan hoping to teach violin, felt oppressed because she’s a 5’9” white chick with lots of tattoos and they wouldn’t let her into the bathhouses, ran out of money, moved back to the US, worked as a barista for a while, divorced her husband because he spent all her money on Pokemon Go, and then ran off to California with some new dude. My spring semester freshman year roommate dropped out that year, got married for a month, and is now a single mom. My sophomore roommate actually stuck around both semesters, but sharing a small room with someone is difficult. Needless to say, junior and senior year were spent thoroughly enjoying an apartment off campus alone.
My undergraduate career was challenging both academically and emotionally, but looking back I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m hoping to start blogging again at least once a week documenting my life these next few years as I get my Master’s in Counseling. I hope you stick around as you follow my adventures on campus and in the kitchen, since I’m hoping to start cooking again on a grad school budget. I can guarantee you I’ll have plenty of stories, especially since I’ve only been here four days and my 20 year old roommate has already left chorizo on the stove for 48 hours and continues to eat it. I might have to use my nursing school dropout skills on her.