2004-02-24 - 1:10 a.m.
A Sense of Entropy: At Least Ten Years
By: Jenn K
Like many at this school, like many across this country, I am set to graduate this May. While I may not have reveled in every moment spent on our lovely, well-manicured campus, I am scared as hell to step off these grounds with such a sense of finality. Seriously. It seems as though lately, with only the slightest provocation, I am capable of little more than bursting into tears and wringing my hands over the looming future.
Future: one of the most repulsive, horrifying words in the English language.
It seems to bring down even the liveliest event. And it’s always those who’ve got the future all planned, or the older generations who know damn well the amount of fear the word inspires, who are ready to attack.
At a recent family function, the rest of my life suddenly became the topic of choice. It seems as though adults revel in our young, floundering plans. My relatives gathered much like sharks who have suddenly smelled freshly spilled blood. She’s graduating! , I could hear them thinking as they chuckled manically. Bring her down! Make her worry! Remind her about the dismal economy! Then they would gleefully rub their hands together, anticipating my uncertain, stuttering response.
“Um. G-g-grad school? An apartment? A j-j-job?”
My answers always lilt at the end, twisting upward, cementing them for the questions they are. In truth, a fortuneteller could probably give me better suggestions about what to do with the rest of my life than what I’ve been able to think up.
If we are talking about reality here, well, I’ve just been ignoring this whole future problem. Instead, I have secret hopes that the school will request I stay on until I’m comfortable enough to leave. Or my mom will finally win the lottery. Or the CIA will discover how brilliant I am, kicking themselves for all these lost years. The list of impossibilities is truly endless. I should know; I’ve dedicated mental pages to situations that lack the likelihood of fruition.
It’s not a dream world that I reside in; it’s just the best I can do right now. Sometimes, when I force myself to start my resume or just plan for something-anything-I find myself gasping for air. As I sit here in these my dorm room and stare out the window, unburdened by any real responsibility beyond some textbook reading and a thesis, I realize that I am consciously collecting my last moments of true freedom.
This isn’t a drama queen sensibility that I’ve succumbed to. Instead, it’s that scary stretch of time when you see an adult for what they really are: someone who used to be in your shoes.
Ever since I was young, when posed with the ubiquitous superpower question*, I would choose the ability to see the future. Now, more than ever, I wish one of those elementary school party queries would come true. It would be useful, a decade after my answer, to know what lies only a few months from now.
Because right now, as far as I can tell, the only way I’m going to be able to see the future is to wait it out and eventually live it.
*(If you could have any superpower what would it be and why?)
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