Here I am, sipping my black iced coffee (no ice), relaxing and I happen to overhear some lady exclaim, “My god, this life would be so much easier if I just didn’t have kids, but I guess it’s too late for that.” 

Talk about a doodle that can’t be undid…(home skillet)
name that movie 
In the utmost seriousness I’ve been thinking about big decisions lately, partially because I appear to be going no where fast in this lifetime and partially because I am signing my new lease on Thursday.
I’ve made a lot of big decisions in my time on earth: moving to NYC, leaving NYC, living with my ex, falling in love, cheating on someone, breaking up, moving out with my mother, quitting jobs, applying for jobs, etc.
Statistically my choices tend to lean towards the poorer side of the judgement spectrum, and I cannot even trust my gut because the decisions was afraid of were the one’s that turned out the best for me. 
I was terrified to drop out of PACE, horrified to rent an apartment with my mother; I was even apprehensive when I adopted my cat Morticia. 
These were, hands down the best decisions I’ve made.
So this past Monday, when I met my new landlord and signed over my security deposit, all I could feel was sick. 
Hopefully that’s a good sign.
In other news. 
I cannot wait for the semester to end so that I can read books again. 
I spent full days on my winter break devouring novels and I miss that horribly.  
Well this post was basically just to put something up because I’ve been real shitty about posting.
Normally I would go back and edit and stuff, but I’m on break from work and do not have the time so don’t judge me.

To the Reader of My Transfer Application

To The Reader of My Transfer Application:

My life has been one long tumultuous disaster since the day I flopped, screaming out of my mother’s
womb.  If preverbal shit was not hitting a fan, than you can bet your ass real shit was.  It does not take a team of shrinks to decipher my crazy childhood and adolescence as the trigger for my skittish thinking.  For whatever the cause my be, my mind is what it is, and for better or worse I have made a lot of mistakes because I am so fickle.  I wanted to be a lawyer, a psychologist, a journalist and at one point, this girl who took Algebra 1 summer school and dropped out of Pre-Calc, actually changed her major to pre-med. (Thank you PACE University!)

Finally, I have realized my real goal is to be all of these things. I want to be a writer.
With words you can create anything. I can be any person, in any place at any time I want.  The freedom is exhilarating.

Yes, I realize that my becoming the next JKRowling, or David Sedaris, is not likely, but I have a back up plan.  I will go to graduate school and I will teach.  At the lowest level of my goal, I want to know that if I cannot create the next great american novel, then I might have the chance to cultivate the mind that will.

This plan sounds so well laid out; however, there is a catch: I was not always a good student, or even a decent student.  It was not until recently, when I realized the career I need, that I started taking school seriously.

I am scrambling to catch up for years of wasted time.

In January I will start filling out my transfer applications and there are a few things I want the admissions officer, who will hold my fate in their hands, to know.

First: Let us immediately chat about the elephant in the room, my GPA.  I realize it is not the work of a brainchild, and I am no genius at my best, but the way I have pulled up my GPA in one year should speak of my work ethic.  I am smart, I promise.

Second: I am strange.  I think about odd things all the time, most of the time I keep them to myself, but if given the opportunity to work in a respectful and creative environment, I know I can produce something great and unique.

Third: My life has not been easy.  I left for New York City to start my freshman year at PACE University, only to find that by January my home life had fallen apart and my parents were divorcing.  I struggled with crushing depression and guilt for leaving my siblings, and that crippled my academic record. My sophomore year I returned to PACE only to find out in October, at home my seventeen year old sister was raising my two brothers with the aid of an absentee mother.  I left PACE that coming December.  I enrolled in CCRI, but I was living with a boyfriend and when things fell apart I became homeless. I ended up sleeping on the floor of my father’s house for less than two months.  I eventually reconnected with my semi-estranged mother and she and I, both destitute, moved in with one of her friends.  I started working full time and appealed my financial aid at CCRI that had been denied due to my poor academic performance. I was granted financial aid again on a probationary level, I had an apartment, a job, and things were looking calm.  At the start of 2012 my great grandmother slowly passed away and two months later my older sister had a brain aneurism.  Through all this I managed to work full time, keep an extracurricular activity, deal with my family and keep passing grades, even though I missed enough school to throw my financial aid into question. This semester alone should speak to the kind of work, and emotional hardship, I am capable of juggling.

This year no one has died (yet), I still work full time and rent an apartment with my mother, but I also work two internships and help at my college newspaper.  I am hoping to get a 3. something this semester, but it is by no means an easy A. When judging my transcript, I need the viewer to know the story behind it.

Fourth: I love writing.  Not everything I write is coherent, or even remotely worth reading, but I leave everything up on this blog because my words are ever changing and I need to track their development and regression in order to cultivate them. Sometimes I edit, sometimes I do not; each sentence I string together is a line on my emotional map and, to be honest, sometimes I am unedited and improper.
Fifth: Teaching is in my blood.  My aunt is a teacher, my grandmother was an associate professor, my mother home-schooled my brother for kindergarten, and my younger sister is in college to be a teacher.  I tutor presently and it is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I want people to like writing and words as much as I do.  My being able to help someone realize that writing is the most freeing of pass-times is an astounding feeling.

As January comes nearer and application deadlines loom foreboding on the horizon, I feel this pressure to hurry up and write something world changing.  I keep waking up and running to my mirror to see if I have, overnight, morphed into someone visibly great. I want to shock the universe.
I am starting to come to terms with the fact that I will not reach my potential right now, or even before I send those applications.  The reason I am applying to these institutions, is so that I can be aided in my quest for my most amazing self. I know I have potential.  I only hope that whoever sends me my decision letter sees my potential as well.