Courtney?

I remember driving in the car with my grandpaw. He said, “that’s it” and pointed. I didn’t know it was in Louisiana. I thought it must be of too much importance to grace my presence. Flash forward about 5 years, freshman year, I start thinking about where I want to go to college. Realistically, I know out-of-state is beyond me, but we all have our dreams right? So I think I the only other place I could imagine going is Tulane. Probably because it held ivy league status in my mind. Speed it up to senior year, I go to a Tulane reception, I visit the campus atleast 3 times before December. I think okay I just need to get in. I got in..Probably the biggest excitement of my short 18 years. No word on scholarships. I think okay that will come. I call after about a month. I get an answering machine. I get the phone call back that drove me temporarily into a nice little bout of depression. They tell me that they just had so many applicants and I suppose not enough money. They’re applications went from 3,000 just last year to a record 30,000. So basically my dream would have had the potential to be fulfilled if only I had been born a year earlier. A little drastic but the best logic I could compose. So my dream, my love of this school is all shattered with one phone call, and I feel like they’ve left me out in the cold. So then I find out LA legislators each have one 4 year full paid scholarship. So that’s it I print the list send out 200 letters including my resume and act/sat scores (keep in mind with all of these papers I have to use 2 stamps for each letter). So I send those out then come to find out we’re in the middle of an election for a lot of the districts, so lucky me I get to send out 100 more letters. Out of all of those 300 letters I got about 50 typed responses saying no. I got another 24 emails also saying no. So a big thank you to the 200 and some odd legislators who couldn’t even bother to slam the door in my face.

I thought about taking out pieces of each letter and posting them but they were all the same so it was pointless. The point of this blog isn’t poor me. It’s more so my heart was broken and this is my recovery. This is closure. This is me putting down my middle finger and moving on with my life. And even though you’ll be a good 10 feet away from my school I’ll be fine.

My blog is beginning to look more and more like my diary. Sparse entries with little to no substance. Nothing worth remembering anyway. I think that’s the way i like it. It just seems as if I attempt to express “emotion” I turn around, glance back, and wonder if cliche is encoded in my dna. It pops up everywhere I can’t have a decent conversation without reminding myself of my mother. And perhaps I’m confusing cliche with dramatic. As in this self analysis is cliche, but then again the fact that this is even important is slightly melo-dramatic. Maybe it’s an age thing. I know I’m definitely not past the insecurity complex stage that comes 2-for-1 with puberty/adolescence. I think it’s possible that I second guess my judgement..my confidence in the way I feel. But then again, maybe my concern is warranted. Maybe I’m turning around and saying, “look at that, you just made a scene and it was all for nothing.” Who knows I don’t even know where I’m going with this anymore. I just have those days where nothing really makes since. Sometimes I just feel like I’m in a movie(dramatic?) I feel like I’m standing still and the scenes are changing around me, the characters are changing, the plot is changing, and no one told me anything so I just get confused and bounce between high and low. I don’t even know if any of this makes sense.

I know that I’ve been extremely concerned with society lately. It’s just…I can’t think of the right word…despairing? depressing? I’ve tried explaining it, but it seems to only make sense in my head so I’m thinking if i can read it and see it maybe it’ll change my perspective or help me to explain it better, but I’m beginning to think life is a game. At this point I’ve yet to find a purpose in life worth pursuing other than repairing the mistakes made by the blind ambitions of careless people. Everything else just seems worthless and self-indulgent. I feel like we’re all walking around looking for a purpose, looking for security. It’s human nature i understand it we’re impulsive creatures, we react to stimulus, we don’t want to be alone. What I’ve learned and been taught to expect from life is that I’ll receive my education, find a husband, have children, be successful, and have faith in God. Not only should this equation make me happy on Earth, but it should also make me eternally happy. But I just can’t see the appeal, it looks so one dimensional to me so unappealing. I want more. I want to feel full. I’m not certain if that includes a spouse or children, but I know the only way I’ll be able to look back and feel satisfied with my life is if I dedicate it to something other than myself. It’s the only thing that feels right. I’ve tried the life everyone else lives. I’ve tried God, I’ve tried money, the only thing that has satisfied me is having a mate and children (although I’ve yet to try either on my own terms) those are the two I know I don’t particularly want to live without. I just don’t understand the preoccupation with “hollister, starbucks, sex and the city, mercedes benz, marrying someone just to say you’re married, having children and allowing your parents to raise them.” I would be very hypocritical if i said I wasn’t materialistic. I love grey’s anatomy. I love banana republic. I love my cell phone. I love this laptop. But i think the difference comes between recognizing the value of those things. I know if I could go to Africa/India/Iraq/etc. to do anything, dig ditches, talk to girls my age about the benefits of an education, or help in a clinic, I would give all of that up.

I’m afraid to re-read this post I’m afraid I might have dove a little too far, and I might be entering cliche/dramatic territory. I’m not sure, but I know that there’s still a piece of me that wants to be a writer, and for some reason it makes sense to me to pour everything out. I feel like if i confront all of my demons, then if writing is something I choose they’ll be less likely to make appearances in what i write.