Wren's Pen

Sometimes I think that my goal in life is to learn to be honest.


It's just that it's so hard to attach myself completely to any one thing, idea, opinion; and it's so hard to determine which are the important truths and which are irrelevant.  I can be blunt about a hundred little things and people will marvel at my frankness, but does anyone ever wonder how many millions more I might be hiding?  Honesty is a frightening thing.  I've said before that I'd rather be naked than show my thoughts.  Because.  Because in terms of judgement (brutal judgement) the solid form means nothing when compared with the brain that maneuvers it.  Because.  Because the things I think and feel and write with my brain are the only things that describe me.  And even I haven't been able to piece them together well enough to form a marginally whole picture.


I don't know what specifically I'm afraid of.  I only know that I'm afraid of something.  Afraid that people will misconstrue the things I think/feel/say/am.  Afraid that they won't.  Afraid that in the end, I will always be wrong and I will always be helpless.


And when someone says something hurtful about me, it can be so hard to tell if I'm offended because it's a lie, or because someone managed to define an aspect of me that was so deeply buried I'd forgotten it.  How to distinguish between offense and vulnerability?


And I'm trying to prove something by "baring all."  But the entire time I'm not hiding the big things, little ones are slipping by unnoticed.

It's early August, which means it's nearly mid-August, which means that I am leaving for college in a matter of days.  I would say that I am leaving home, but that already happened.  My mom gave notice to our landlord that we would be out of our townhouse by the end of July, so the past month was spent packing, stressing, cleaning, and fighting.  Two weeks ago, a few days before we had to be completely cleared out, my mom and our cat moved in with mom's boyfriend and I went to stay with my big sister and her husband (and their cat).  So, now that the leaving home part has happened, moving another 600 miles doesn't seem like a huge feat.  Well... not that huge, anyway.


So, as I said, the days are ticking down until I attend orientation, register for classes, and move into my dorm, and it's only when I think about those things that I start to panic.  Registering for classes... that means I have to know what I need to take for my major, which means that I need to know my major, which means that unless I want to waste $20,000, I need to figure out what the hell I'm doing.


Cue the tentative plans (masquerading as solid plans).  "Okay, I'll be a veterinarian.  I love animals, I like having a purpose and meaning to my work, and ooh, won't everyone be so proud?"  Except now, I've mentioned it to a couple of people and they think that there are no doubts in my mind, so it becomes a matter of, "is this really what I want to do?  Am I dedicated?  I have to be extremely competitive to get into Davis's Veterinary program, am I really cut out for that?  I mean, I failed Mr. Dustin's Chemistry class!  What if I can't handle it?  Oh God, everyone will be so disappointed in me!"


That is a lot for one kid to wrap her head around.


But it's okay.  I don't like panicking, it feels icky, so I try to avoid it.  This is where rational thought comes in.  "Maybe I'm not cut out for it- but maybe I am. I have to try it to find out.  How can I make it work?  There's a community college near my university, I can figure something out that meets my requirements but saves money.  I know I'm entrepreneurial, maybe I should look into Business after all- it couldn't hurt.  And hey, there are plenty of general requirement classes to get out of the way, so I won't be wasting my year or my money."


Rational thought is great.


Still, even if I had no doubts about what I wanted to do, even if I could map out every course I would ever need to take, money would still be a problem.  I'm lucky enough that I have a small college fund.  I have enough to pay for one year of State school, and I received half a year's worth of education in grants and loans.  But that is still not enough.  College is hella expensive (I'm moving up North, can you tell?) and I am not hella rich.  At all.  I am so, so very not rich.


Luckily, there are a bunch of crazy people out there who will give students real money for writing essays on silly topics deemed important by old guys who were hella rich.  Hallelujah, thank the Lord!  


Therefore, my plans for the rest of my life (or at least the next few years) are to write lots of sweetmoneymaking essays and get really, really good grades until I wind up with a degree and a direction in life.


I think the future looks pretty bright.