The Remedy

It is Thursday night/ Friday morning as I write this. My computer clock tells me it's 1:00 a.m., although I suspect it is still on eastern time and I have moved ever so slightly west into the central time zone. In that case, it is probably just now midnight. Either way, it is long past the time of when I had the intentions of writing.

I could make excuses for my lack of writing. I am at my boyfriend's house in Indiana. My time up until this point has been spent sleeping, petting animals, searching for a cat, bike riding, visiting Milwaukee, cursing at fax machines, making smoothies, watching 3 movies, stuffing my face with my boyfriend's Italian grandma's home-cooking, and passing a total of 13 hours in the car. Listing the random activities I have engaged in makes it seem like I've actually been productive over the past few days. But quite honestly, just sitting here in this queen sized-bed typing while the rest of the house sleeps is the most productive thing I've done.

So here I am. Writing. Not even sure what I want to write about or what I need to say. Which in my case is never good. My blog is driven by my personal experiences, the emotional turmoil of a college girl facing the big questions that seem to determine the rest of her life: Where will I live? Will I find a job? Is it a job that I want? What will my boyfriend and I do? Can we go long-distance? Will I give up my dreams to be with him? Will I give up him for my dreams? Will I be able to have the life I've always dreamed of?

These questions exhaust me. They haunt me. They're my little Caspers, popping up when I'm trying to go about my day and scaring the hell out of me. And I have dealt with them so many times before I don't want to think about them anymore. So I avoid them. And in turn, I avoid writing.

For a while I was thinking I had a slight case of writer's block. I wanted to sit down and write but I couldn't find a topic I felt passionate writing about. And there is plenty I could share. Like being almost officially done with college, or my first impression of Milwaukee, or how I feel about my boyfriend's avoidance on the topic of marriage, or how pumped I am for my internship…you get the picture. But I don't want to deal with those topics. I don't want to sort out the thoughts and feelings for them. I don't want to think about my career or my relationship or my future. And truth be told, I don't think writing about those topics would be much help anyway.

When it comes to my blog, I write for me. I write to sort things out, to see what it is that's running through my mind right before me. My blog acts as a mirror, a reflection of the things that aren't so obvious to me until I take the time to really analyze them. This has always been a useful tool for me. I have little epiphanies when I write my posts. Then I post them, in hopes that someone else might find some use out of them as well. And if they don't, well, I hope they're still at least somewhat entertaining.

But as time has taught me, you can only analyze things so much before you just have to put them to rest. I have contemplated what will happen after this summer numerous times and the result has remained the same: I don't know. I don't know where I will be. I don't know what I'll be doing. I don't know what it will mean for my boyfriend and I. I simply don't know. And I probably won't know until this summer has passed.

Uncertainty frustrates me. But wasting my time worrying about it is even worse. There is no point analyzing how I feel about these things because in the end it might not matter. Only time will tell what my course of action will be. And that time is not now.

But you can certainly bet that when the time is right I will face those questions and hopefully have some answers for them. And when the time comes, I'll be here, writing, questioning, thinking, and over-analyzing away. Until then, I'll shoo those questions away. I have more important things to enjoy than to waste my time with worry.