Metaphor Metamorphosis

I hate metaphors. I’m filling this post with them unintentionally.
I feel as though my life is reminiscent of the Colorado weather: give me 20 minutes, and I’ve completely changed my mind.
This time, it’s nothing that drastic. You might even call it rational.
But I’ve never made a rational decision in my life, so perhaps not.
Business school is not off the table. It’s actually very much on the table, so much so that it might be the table. (I hate metaphors that can’t or won’t end.)
I just need more time. I want to make sure that my math skills are on par with the rest of the world so that I might have a fighting chance. (For some reason, I always type “change” instead of “chance” and vice versa.)
So, the GMAT book is still being pored through, yet I am not preparing to take the test until at least the fall. I’ve even considered the possbility of getting an outside tutor.
I’ve come to see myself as headstrong lately; had I made this realization earlier, my life could have been made very much easier. I never want to ask for help or advice. And if I do, I’m not actually listening to what you’re saying, I’ve already made up my mind.
At least now I understand that.
I’m going to buiness school, I would just like to have some time to make some flashcards and get some more math in me before I do so.
I am terrible at math. Learned helplessness, but actually maybe not. Long division was the first sign of trouble. I never told anyone that. You shouldn’t either, fifth grade Katie will be very hurt. Pre-algebra. Geometry. It’s geometry that gets me. I don’t get it.
But. To succeed at getting into business school without really trying, you at least have to understand your math. And alas, I find myself up a creek without a paddle. I’d like to get a paddle, so I’m going to take some classes at Metro (maybe) or get a private tutor (definitely, but with reservations. We can’t forget the effects of private direction on a young mind. Vern and his mole, anyone?) in order to be prepared to take the test and improve my score in the fall.
I can do a lot with business school and I’ve long been seduced by the lure of the corporate world. (Men in suits, anyone? If that’s not enough, I have a strange love of office supplies – I’ll blame my mother for that one – and a strong desire to lead a life of structure – something that the 9-5 could help with.) None of those answers will be going into my “Where do you see yourself in ten years?” or “Why do you think business school is a good fit for you?” essays.

For now, I’m settling myself to the idea of being back in Denver. I’m terrified. Part of me thinks I should stay in Chicago, but I’ve lived here for four years knowing that I won’t stay here, so I’ve not established any realistically permanent roots. Going home will be nice because I have my family, but other than that, I’ve not got much. Making friends will come in time, I’m sure. (Unless it doesn’t and then I die a cat lady at the age of 23, but that’s realistically not going to happen, probably.) 
Anyway, the logistics of the move have yet to be ironed out and I’m getting a little bit antsy about it. But time will tell. In all honesty, I’m just going to end up selling stuff (hopefully) or breaking down all my shelves, etc and throwing them in the back of a hastily acquired moving van. 
Excitement, fear, dread, anxiety, relief, hope….my god, it’s an emotional stew over here. 


The melancholy waxes and wanes like a tide. Last night, news came to me from the lips of the person who had set it in motion, and I felt my heart collapse a tiny bit. I don’t regret my decision, not for a moment. Child bride, indeed. But I feel sometimes that I’ve lost the ability to find someone suitable. I find myself not projecting outwardly my inner being. I’m more than what I look like. I’m not sure if it’s  confidence issue caused by the transitory period I’m in or if it’s more than that. Perhaps I am plain (both in outward appearance and in personality) and unsuitable to date, lacking in grace and charm, not to mention social fluidity, but I’d prefer to blame my current situation. Stress and the post-graduate, it will be called. It will be a memoir for posterity. 


Ugh, and onward with the ever-upping stack of assignments and duties. My room has lost any hope of resembling that of a sane woman, and instead speaks of post-hurricane destruction (without the mold and rotting things, of course). Focus. Focus. Focus. These are the words I wish I could hear. 

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