So I've been reflecting a lot on old goals and old things that used to matter so much to me and how they've kind of faded. I used to be so into finding and discovering and knowing and learning new music, books, art, film, travel, everything and, I don't know what happened, I don't know when that part of me trailed off. I've been trying to address depression and anxiety head on, and I've come to the conclusion that I hate my chosen career path. I mentioned in a few posts earlier my love of YA lit, and that still stands. What I mean is my major, this Communication with the Bachelor's of in front of it that I've been working towards. Publishing isn't even offered at my school, I've had to pave my own way. Which has helped me to network, but here I am, in my last semester, about to graduate and finally scraping in all those classes that I need in order to get the degree. And none of them are classes I enjoy, I'm just taking them to finish everything off. For the first time, I truly detest my semester. I have no fall -back joy-class, no side project to keep me distracted because there is no time for one this time around.
My husband is passionate and so in love with his path, I find myself growing green with envy when he talks about it. I want so much to shove all these classes aside and work on what I want to work on, which only leads me to the anger of Why did you ever sign up for a degree in which you can't get what you what? I know all this editing, journalism and advertising experience is good for me, but it's nothing that I want after I make the walk in April.
You know what I want? The new Animal Collective album. To write the last two novels I outlined for "future completion." To move back to Portland, or just somewhere completley new. To have an interest graphic design again.
I shouldn't complain. Things are actually going really well.
I just wish whatever creative rocketship I was on three years ago would come back into my orbit. I mean, I don't even own a lomo camera. How behind am I?
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