I had one of those frightening revelations yesterday, Independence Day, that just about 7 months from now I'll be facing Real Life. Life has always had a definitive plan, a direct path, and come March 2008 the path abruptly sprouts forks. I'm more of a spoon person, myself, so this fork notion doesn't exactly appeal to me. I suppose I could go to graduate school, but honestly, at this point it'd just be beating a dead horse. Plus I hear loans are a bitch.
Despite three completed years of higher education with the goal of obtaining a piece of paper stating the contrary, I'm not very familiar with the realm of communication. Communication, much like my concept of love, is this sort of grand, romantic ideal that has formed in my head over the years since I've had very few good examples to follow. I'm pretty sure it's the key to a successful relationship, and I've even had imaginary communicative sessions in my head where I, Caribou coffee cup in hand, eloquently deliver my thoughts with poise, and my conversational counterpart is equally as clear and composed as he sips a Chai tea latte. In this imaginary communicative session I listen with interest, making appropriate facial expressions and responsive noises, and I always know the right follow-up questions to ask. Of course, since this is imaginary, that stands to reason, since I was inventing the other side of the conversation myself.
My point? I'm an experiential learner. I need to touch the hot stove to figure out that yes, it is, indeed, hot. So as my life progresses ever closer to those pesky forks, it's becoming incrementally more urgent to actually have a communicative moment or two with certain people. Of course, as with more important things in my life, I'll just put it off until the very last instant, and, because I'm amazing at everything I do, it will go off without a hitch and I'll get an A+. In, uh, life.
What am I going to do without grades to track my progress? I suppose that's what money is for.