via Blinks of Life

Okay, so this is me breathing.

Remember how I mentioned the little back-and-forth I’ve been having about my student loans? After a month of fighting with the loan companies, it looked like this time, things really, honestly weren’t going to work. This time, my father and I had to sit down and have The Talk. You know, the one about my future, and about taking “time off” to adjust my plans. Of course, when one is already in a SIGNIFICANT amount of student loan debt, “taking time off” pretty much means “dropping out”. Translation? How the effing eff am I going to pay off my student loans/ move on with my life without a college degree.

Guys, here’s the thing. The whole control freak thing? Applies to just about EVERYTHING. Including my future. And in the last few months, as senior year and graduation have started getting closer and closer, I’ve come up with such big plans for what I want to do with my life. And I fell in love with those plans. Even when work was killing me, or I couldn’t keep my head above the work I had to do, the mere thought of these Big Adventurous Plans I had for myself were enough to make my heart swell. So when I had to sit down and pull those beautiful dream plans apart, it was like getting kicked in the gut. Over and over again. I couldn’t think more than a day ahead of myself, because I didn’t know where I was going to be in a few weeks. I all but went crazy (over not going to school? Yeah, I know, seven-year-old me would have kicked my ass.)

And to be honest? I took up most of the last two weeks sulking and not sleeping and listening to this song on repeat before I kind of got over it. I mean, not really, but I guess I came to one of those Grand Realizations that there are so many things about my life I can’t control, so it just makes more sense to worry about the things that I can. You know, like what to have for dinner. Or how long I can go without doing laundry before it becomes socially unacceptable to wear my clothes out of the house.

(Like I said, not really.)

And then, as they always seem to do, things worked out. My uncle ended up saving my butt, only strengthening my case for having the most incredible family ever in the history of EVER, and as of yesterday I was back to being a college student. POOF. I can have my meticulously planned future back, sorry for the inconvenience. Except, after two weeks of coming to terms with not having it, I’m starting to think I might not be so in love with it anymore. I mean, we can probably be friends with benefits, I guess, and if that’s where I end up in 10 or 20 years, I’ll be thrilled, but sometimes it’s just easier to think of laundry. Or peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches. Or maybe how lucky I am that I can even afford to worry about things like this. And maybe by letting go a little bit, and rolling with the punches (and moving back in with my parents, which is a whole other story), things will end up better for me in the long run.

Of course, we all know that somewhere, the Universe is looking down and laughing at it’s successful attempt to drill this Moral of the Story into my head. Touché, Universe, tou-frigging-ché.