The good and the bad...

Budgeting is the bane of my existence, next to the IRS - which happens to be a big reason that budgeting is the bane of my existence.

The bad news? I paid $1600 less on my student loan this summer than I had planned. That's a hefty chunk of money.

The good news? It wasn't entirely my fault. I made $1500 less this summer than I had planned. About 450 of that went to the IRS. $250 went to office closures due to university, state, and federal holidays. And the remaining $800 went to time off for a vacation - since I neglected to consider a family vacation when I planned my summer income schedule.

My sense of relief at realizing I did not squander all of $1600 this summer is pretty great - however, it's closely followed by the sense of frustration that I lost $700 to taxes and federal holidays... Especially when a significant portion of that went to Social Security - which I have zero hope of ever seeing in my bank account.

"Money talks. Mine mostly likes to call goodbye as it hurries away."

Viva la Vida. Preferably inexpensively.

Frustration cycle

I'm sitting at my desk, busily checking student statuses for an important project.

The office phone rings. I ignore it and the secretary picks it up. That's fine, it's not my phone. It's not my job to answer it.

Someone walks in the door. He towers over me, probably over six feet tall, and I'm sitting down. I smile politely as the secretary's phone call ends. She helps him. I keep typing numbers. He talks loudly. I realize I've typed in the same name twice. I try to block out the sound and keep working, a smile pasted stickily on my face.

Another student walks in the door. Even taller than the first one. He comes to my desk and looks at me hesitantly. I glance up, he draws a breath... I cut him off and say, "She'll help you in just a minute." He closes his mouth and nods. He stands there waiting, inches in front of my desk. The other student is taking a long time. The second student keeps looking back at me. My sticky smile melts rapidly into a grimace of frustration. My pulse speeds up.My palms are sweaty. My insides scream at me to ask what his question is, to offer to help him. I feel I'm being very rude. He's inches away, he's staring at me, staring me down, wondering who this incompetent student secretary is who won't help him. It's not my job, I think to myself. I have my own work. But I can't remember what name I was on, and the spreadsheets in front of me are blending together into one confusing mass. The first student is still talking, loudly, louder every minute, it's so loud, the second student stares and stares... I stand abruptly and walk into another office until they're gone. It's not my job. I'm not a receptionist. Over and over again, pounding through my head, but he doesn't know that. He doesn't know that there's no REAL office space for me, that I'm just sitting at the front desk looking silly because there's nowhere else to put me. He just sees another student secretary,  younger, probably, and shorter than him, who is being very rude and refusing to help him.

The noise distracts me. I can't think. Finally I return to my desk and pick up where I left off.  They're gone. I can breathe again. My pulse slows. I wipe my hands on my skirt and try to remember what I was doing when it started.

The phone is ringing again. 

Why I love my job...

Father on phone: "So my daughter wants to go to college in the fall. She's been accepted to five universities, but she wants to go to a college that wants her badly enough to give her a full ride scholarship... but she forgot to apply for university scholarships and she didn't audition for the School of Music, but she'd like to come."

Me: "Well... the auditions were four months ago... and all our scholarships were awarded in March, so at this point there's not very much that we can do, the funds have already been awarded."

(conversation goes on)

Later:

Father: "Well. So. Do you have a music scholarship there?"
Me: "Well, I'm not a music student, but I do have a scholarship for my program."
Father (accusingly): "So how did you get yours?"
Me: "Well, for continuing students it's based off GPA."
Father (still accusingly): "So have you had yours for the whole time you've been here?"
Me: "No... Have you talked to the Financial Aid office yet?"

We love those dear, dear "helicopter" parents...

Trapped

Do you ever feel like your life is run by the requirement to always make the most practical and logical decision in every situation, whether it's what you really want to do or not?

I do.

Sometimes I feel like Rapunzel in Tangled, trapped in a tower of my own making, a tower made by the little voice in my head that won't let me do anything that doesn't lead straight to the practical, efficient, logical life I have planned out for myself. No surprises. No major bumps. Prepared for anything. No impulsive decisions, making decisions on whims, or following my heart allowed if it contradicts the life plan and schedule I have.

So it's a fight between the two sides of me: do the practical thing, be prepared, be logical, or take risks, chase dreams, follow whims. Where is the balance?

I feel like I'm forty years old with the weight of my whole life riding on every single decision I make.

The joy of scheduling...

So I'm trying to figure out how to not go crazy next fall semester, so that I'm less busy, have more time for homework, more time for other activities, and less stress all around.

Unfortunately, a solution is eluding me. Between a disappointing lack of happiness in the class offerings, the necessity of working 20 hours a week, my desire to keep trying to pay off my student loans before I graduate, taking dance classes that are low in credit hours... between all that, it's a hopeless cause.

I don't want to graduate, because then a) I have to stop folk dancing, b) my loans start accumulating interest, and c) I have to be a real person... But looking forward to semesters like this makes me awfully anxious to wear that cap and gown.

Book review bashing

So can I just say, that the simple, 4-page book review for my doctrine and covenants class has turned into a giant, 4-page nightmare, because as it turns out, I'm an excellent summary writer, and the analysis is somewhat elusive, I mean, really, how am I supposed to analyze something without summarizing? Despite the seventeen-slide powerpoint on how to write an analytical book review in a concise and precise manner, I find myself sitting at my computer for over two hours, typing out sentences and promptly erasing them, and finally packing up and heading home, frustrated, annoyed, and overall feeling like I wasted the whole night, and even as I pick up my backpack, I'm still tempted to sit back down at the computer and start again, because tonight was the night to write this darn thing, not to sit and start it over and over again.


agggggggghhhhhhhh!

Not thirteen anymore

So today not one, not two, but three people confused me for a freshman.

Yesterday in class someone expressed surprise that I was a junior and almost 21 years old.

A week ago at a folk dance party I was talking to a boy who asked how I liked my first year of college. I told him this is my third year, I'm a junior. He was blown away. I asked him if he was a freshman, he said, "Yeah..." and not ten seconds later excused himself and disappeared into the crowd.

I don't know why this bothers me so much, but it really does. I hate looking years younger than I am. For some reason it makes me feel less capable and less confident. I've tried different hairstyles, different makeup, everything I can think of - but I still look young.

Last year I volunteered at a high school student language bowl on campus, and I got confused for one of the high school students. I was with a group of new friends from a class, and it was a super embarrassing experience. And every time it happens, I inevitably find myself in a bathroom less than half an hour later, staring desperately into the mirror wondering what I'm doing wrong. I really hate that feeling and hate criticizing myself when there's really nothing I can do about it, but the comments just give me a sick and frustrated feeling inside.

And if one more person follows up their mistake with, "Oh, but you'll be so glad to look young when you're forty!" I just might explode...

Read at your own risk

Yes, this is going to be a venting post, because I'm up to my ears right now. Yes, this is about my life and my future and not knowing what the heck I'm doing with it - not for any lack of ideas or resources, but simply for the overabundance of them and my inability to figure out what I really want. Then also, that frustrating longing to dance again like I used to that just plain will not go away, no matter what I do (you know, I thought going to Spain would finally help me get over that - no go. I miss it like crazy.) And then the frustration of not being able to fit a dance class in my schedule this next semester because I have to have a block of time to work. And then there's also wondering what exactly it is that I'm majoring in, and what I want to do with whatever that happens to be, honestly, I'm about ready to throw in the towel and drop out of college and go back to clogging. I think I was happier there - not to mention I was me and I knew what I wanted. To dance. The rest of my life.

What the heck happened?!?!

Spanish-American food wars

Come mas! Come mas!

I hear this every. single. meal. It means "Eat more! Eat more!"

Okay, so my host mom is super nice - I really like her, she cooks very well, the food here is excellent, but every meal is about three times the size what I've eaten my entire life, and every meal is meat. meat, meat, meat, meat. I've tried and tried to eat everything she gives me, but I just can't. Every single meal I eat too much - simply because I'm trying not to offend her, and I'm super sick of it. So I've stopped eating more than I want to eat - it's my body, I'm the one who has to suffer through the stomachache the next two hours if I eat too much, not her. However, she's been getting increasingly frustrated with me every time I leave food on my plate.

Today I went out an hour before lunch and told her I wasn't very hungry, and that I didn't want very much food. She gave me less than normal, but still more than I could eat. When it appeared I wasn't going to finish it all, she started getting agitated - and there we were, the American girl trying to explain she has a small stomach, the Spanish woman trying to tell the American girl she's too skinny, anorexic, and needs to eat more. Anorexia is DEFINITELY not a problem... but geez, how do I even explain that convincingly in Spanish?! I ended up stuffing the rest of the meat in my mouth, excusing myself from the table, and spitting it out in the garbage can in the bathroom.

I'm really looking forward to being in charge of my own meals again.