As it stands presently, I am in my second week of my senior semester of college.
This means, come December, I am planning on exiting the seventeen cushy, consecutive years of schooling to enter into something completely new–hopefully a stable job. In my field. Please?
This also means, come December, I will be finding an apartment, living with my lovely boyfriend and adopting a cat named Tuba.
One of these choices I always knew was coming.
The other is a complete surprise.
I will give you a hint.
My track record of men consists of :
1. one in jail.
2. one who is an autistic cheater
3. one who is a woman.
But here we stand. Nearing the end. And I can calmly state I do not sense I am at a crossroads.
Not at a crossroads, but shot out of a cannon.
I sincerely feel like only the pesky details are waiting to be determined, like:
Where I will live :
1. in the Midwest where I currently reside?
2. elsewhere in the country?
3. refrigerator box?
What I will do:
1. journalism (please don’t let this Bachelor’s go poof.)
2. random retail/waitressing/housekeeping
So while I never fancied myself as someone who would be “settling down” at this point in my life, I am finding joy in picking out energy-efficient curtains and hoarding recipes. I never saw myself in anything other than an independent workaholic single girl, but I am happily lining up my moose-skin moccasins next to his old man slippers.
And I’m thrilled.
So here is my journey of settling in, yet never settling. Of figuring it out, and remaining confused. Of hitting the pavement on my own, and hitting the couch at the end of the day with my other half.
Of being wild … and domesti-cait-ed.