Like kissing cyanide
I was told the other day that I'm going to have to start sacrificing things in my life, and that life is not meant to be happy and carefree.
And well, this was exactly what I'd known (and feared).
You know, I was desperate for an answer about what I should do next year.
If I should just have a happy, stress-free year doing things I love; working, picking up guitar again, painting again, writing, learning to skateboard again, and doing a few interest courses and papers as my gap year.
Or if I should accept the place I was offered at Otago's P.E school that only 200 people get into.
And really, I did not want to accept that place.
I know if it were me six months ago, I would have jumped at the chance.
And that thought made me think that maybe this was what I really wanted, and even if it seemed hard, I should accept it.
So two days ago, I sent it away, after about a week of insomnia and weeping, you know, all that fun stuff.
I sat on my bed the night before and realised that praying was not providing an answer, and I just had to do something.
So I signed everything.
Well, almost everything, I still have some more documentation that doesn't have to be sent away until November the 9th.
So I subscribed myself to a decidedly more expensive, difficult and heart-wrenching year than the next year that would have been safe and happy.
And the next day I suddenly thought-
I don't think this is for me.
But I don't think I can back out.
Partially because I'm worried that the only reason I don't want to move a six hour drive away is because I'm in love.
And I found it hard enough to believe in love to begin with, and I'm terrified that I'll be forgotten if I tried to do anything long-distance.
Partially because I like to conquer my fears.
And the thought of Otago is damn scary.
And partially because I know if I have this sort of 'gap year,' working, painting, doing some english and french papers, I won't want to stop.
But then I think, well, what's the point of doing P.E?
I don't want to go if all I'm going to do is become a P.E teacher instead of Sport Scientist or conditioner or whatever the hell I decide I want to major in.
I'd much rather give up on a career than love.
Maybe that's simply because I have no career ambitions.
In fact, I don't really have many ambitions anymore.
I have no idea what I want to do for a job, a career, whatever.
My boss told me a couple of weeks ago that in the battle between the head and the heart, the heart eventually wins.
But I won't let it win, even though it breaks it.
And well, this was exactly what I'd known (and feared).
You know, I was desperate for an answer about what I should do next year.
If I should just have a happy, stress-free year doing things I love; working, picking up guitar again, painting again, writing, learning to skateboard again, and doing a few interest courses and papers as my gap year.
Or if I should accept the place I was offered at Otago's P.E school that only 200 people get into.
And really, I did not want to accept that place.
I know if it were me six months ago, I would have jumped at the chance.
And that thought made me think that maybe this was what I really wanted, and even if it seemed hard, I should accept it.
So two days ago, I sent it away, after about a week of insomnia and weeping, you know, all that fun stuff.
I sat on my bed the night before and realised that praying was not providing an answer, and I just had to do something.
So I signed everything.
Well, almost everything, I still have some more documentation that doesn't have to be sent away until November the 9th.
So I subscribed myself to a decidedly more expensive, difficult and heart-wrenching year than the next year that would have been safe and happy.
And the next day I suddenly thought-
I don't think this is for me.
But I don't think I can back out.
Partially because I'm worried that the only reason I don't want to move a six hour drive away is because I'm in love.
And I found it hard enough to believe in love to begin with, and I'm terrified that I'll be forgotten if I tried to do anything long-distance.
Partially because I like to conquer my fears.
And the thought of Otago is damn scary.
And partially because I know if I have this sort of 'gap year,' working, painting, doing some english and french papers, I won't want to stop.
But then I think, well, what's the point of doing P.E?
I don't want to go if all I'm going to do is become a P.E teacher instead of Sport Scientist or conditioner or whatever the hell I decide I want to major in.
I'd much rather give up on a career than love.
Maybe that's simply because I have no career ambitions.
In fact, I don't really have many ambitions anymore.
I have no idea what I want to do for a job, a career, whatever.
My boss told me a couple of weeks ago that in the battle between the head and the heart, the heart eventually wins.
But I won't let it win, even though it breaks it.
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