The Future is Scary

Really scary. Like murderer in your closet scary. Like filing taxes when you've embezzled millions scary. Like  Rush Limbaugh scary. But don't hide under your afghan! I promise to only bring delightful banter, nothing more.

In one month I move back to the States. A week after I return, I start my 8th trimester at NCC. Which means I only have 5 more trimesters until I graduate. *see above picture for my reaction* Now, I am fairly certain I know what I want to do after college. And that's Peace Corps. I know for a lot of people it's seen as a cop out to go into the Peace Corps. It's what you do when you don't know what to do. But, let me tell you otherwise. The application is a lengthy and intense process, I'll be working on it for my last year of college, and I sincerely want to use my life and time to help people in a different country. So, is it because I "don't know what to do after college?" No. I want to do this. Sincerely.

But after that? Fulbright? I'm still looking at options, but if I spend 27 months abroad for Peace Corps, and then come back to the States, I think I may have an aneurysm. If I can find a *paid* way to continue teaching English, or do research in another capacity, I will jump on that opportunity. My advisor, my guardian angel, and I are going to have several meetings about this very subject come Winter Term.

So what conclusion will we come to? Peace Corps, Fulbright, ....? I have about 4 years accounted for there, and after that, an infinite abyss of nothing. I'll try my best to find another job abroad. Hopefully Spain's economy will have turned around, and I can live and work there. (Well, here. Since that's currently my location) Or, I'll follow my life-long passion and do theatre in Chicago. I've had my hand in almost every department of theatre, maybe someone will hire me as an usher, or the girl who untangles wigs.

In short, I don't know what the future holds. What career will I have? Where will I live? Will I be living on Ramen when I'm 30? Nobody knows. My grandma will be asking me EVEN MORE if I've met any nice boys who I'm seeing. My mother will be begging for grandchildren (she's already started that). My dad will be drinking a beer. And I will probably be trying, in some part, to save the world, minus the spandex and cape.