Starting

It's really hard for me to start things. Like my thesis for example. I feel like every time I type in a topic sentence it sounds so cliche: "Holden Caulfield was us and we were Holden Caulfield," "Catcher in the Rye still catches today," and my personal not-so-favorite: "It was the sentence that changed adolescence forever-" Cue Star Wars music and my adviser vomiting and giving me a failing grade. So far the things I'm trying to start are all things that could potentially change my life, be it GPA-wise or experience-wise:


1) My thesis: Adviser reads this, adviser grades this, adviser talks to the head of the department and tells her whether I suck or rock at a major that is potentially going to serve me usefully as I cobble my future together.

2) Living in the city after graduation: I should be looking at possible jobs. I should be looking at possible apartments. But when I do, I begin to get that sinking feeling in my stomach that signifies an immense panic attack (that can only be cured by watching Grey's Anatomy and having some coffee handy).

3) The GRE: Another torturous form of the SAT via computers. Same old song and dance: ace the English, do so-so on the math. I think what's worse is that when you get an answer wrong it tells you on the spot. "WRONG-go back one level, minion!"

4) Cleaning my room: The carpet has become like another shelf, housing a big blue bin that is spilling with (clean) clothes that need to be folded. I wade through a mass of papers, books, spotless tupperware, and c.d's. In the middle of the night when I had to get up to pee, I stumbled over my sock box and scattered argyle everywhere. And yet. It has been almost a month and I refuse. Maybe this is a sign that unless my room becomes uncluttered my life won't.

5) Accepting that not all relationships can last: This one just sucks a big one. Self-explanatory.

6) Sitting at a table to do work: Every time I try to start doing this, I get called by my mattress-topped bed with the down comforter that could stop a war and make everyone hug: "Oh, Kiran. You don't want to work in that uncomfortable space. Come lean against your boyfriend (pillow) and do your research here." And I wonder why I have the neck and back of an eighty-year-old man.

7) Realizing that our microwave is now dead: Ants invaded. Roommate sprayed with deadly insecticide. Other roommate tried to wash it out with soap and water (I want you pause and think about this one). Microwave went into an irreversible coma. RIP all things defrosted. Hello stovetop oatmeal.

Starting to realize these things is just hard-there is no "especially number five." All of these things are equally yucky in their own ways. And yet. I have a feeling that if I keep nagging myself to not go into hysterics and get these things done, I'll be able to figure it all out (one can only tolerate boiling water on the stove for so long).

Here's to when that day comes.