I am in the throes of a small financial crisis.
Small, because I don’t have to pay rent, or buy groceries, or support a family.
Crisis, because tuition costs an arm and a leg and half of my dog. (So does pet health insurance – and there goes all my limbs).
I know it’s important to keep in mind my long-term goals – I won’t be working retail and tutoring and interning and schooling forever. Just a year and a half more. But somehow, this side of a-year-and-a-half seems pretty fucking far.
I need to be reminded, once in a while, to sit back and remember that this is only temporary. That I’m doing the difficult stuff now because I have a five-year plan. And I suppose five-year plans are never pretty until you get to the end of it.
And then you read articles about why you should travel when you’re young. You remember soaking in Costa Rica with 9 of your friends, and although you did nothing particularly profound there, you think of the hot and humid days on the beach, in the town, playing Narrator in Mafia (your first time!) with food poisoning (boo), white-water rafting in a scene out of a movie, and the nights in the pool with music and shouting and a drink or three. It wasn’t financially practical to go, and neither were the four music festivals you partook in this year, but then you’ll remember that you finally saw all three members of Swedish House Mafia, and all the UCI alumnus you met that weekend (Brian has a small army of friends), and you’ll remember that you’ve never heard so much amazing music in your life, and you’ll be revisited by that thought whenever you hear the opening bars of Kaskade’s Coachella set, or a Dre and Eminem collaboration, or another Tupac hologram.
For love; we do it all for love.
Also, I am reading The Confessions of Max Tivoli. It makes me incredibly sad, because he ages backwards, and the people he loved never remember him.
Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love.