It has arrived. The inevitable finals week. Unfortunately, my supply of motivation has run dry with the arrival of this dreaded phase in the semester, and my productivity level has dropped significantly. 

Yeah, i’m only a sophomore, and I am fully conscious of the fact that it only gets worse from here. But honestly, i’m not worth a lick of academic work for the remainder of the semester. I’m at the point where I bring my Little Mermaid coloring book to History. (I guess that explains why history 1700 is my lowest grade.) 

I know, really whiney of me. Boo-hoo, poor girl has to endure post-secondary education so she can make a career and establish herself as an independent woman in this world. Which is why I will cease complaining this very instant. 

I don’t really have a point for this post, really I’m just writing because writing brings me solace. (Gatsby.)

Ha kidding. Rather, I am procrastinating writing my 5-page mass communications paper on algorithms. ALGORITHMS. 

I’m still not 100% sure as to what those are. 

But on the plus side, I get 2 Oreo’s per page I finish this evening. Positive reinforcement is a beautiful motivator. 

Here’s to yet another essay so I can get one more credit closer to obtaining this cute little piece of paper that declares my graduation from a collegiate institution.

Happy finals week, kiddos.  



The Eloquent Salesman

Hate is a strong word, but I really really really don’t like the kiosk guys at the mall. 

As if the infinite, bombarding advertisements in the store windows weren’t enough, we now need walking, talking, breathing advertisements to shove more products down our throats and suck the dough right out of our wallets. 

Kiosk guys are the most incessant, vexatious breed of salespeople. And just as the best of arguers, I am prepared to abet my argument with viable evidence. 

Kiosk guys choose their targets in a very scrupulous manner. Even when you think you’ve escaped their gaze, they’re watching. Waiting. Constantly pursuing their next dupe. 

But, ladies and gentlemen, I am no dupe. 

Exhibit A: 

There I was, artlessly roaming the mall. Consciously desisting eye contact with the enemy. Gazing longingly through store windows at items that I could only afford in my dreams, subconsciously anticipating the possibility of a sales-pitch confrontation. 

And boy, did I get a sales-pitch confrontation. 

A man leaning against a kiosk, selling some kind of fancy hand cream had spotted me. He watched me from behind his spectacles  as I wandered nearer and nearer to his booth. As soon as the opportunity arose, the hawker snatched my dainty wrist and pumped a coin-sized dot of lotion onto my hand and began massaging it into my skin. 

I gave him a befuddled look and attempted to pull my hand back to my side but he resisted. The man didn’t speak English well, but his sales pitch went something along the lines of how his product would enhance and rejuvenate my fair, dry, and cracking skin. I decided i’d humor him, and inquired the price of his miracle cream. The man wanted 29.99 for a 3-month supply of his lotion. Outrageous. 

Do people actually pay that much for lotion? I buy the Equate brand from Walmart that costs me about six bucks and it gets the job done just fine. Plus I only run out of it biannually. 

Continuing with my anecdote, I allowed the kiosk guy to finish verbalizing his rehearsed spiel of reasons why I needed his product. (Mostly because he was rubbing my hands the entire time. Which beyond creepy and made me a captive audience.) I nodded and thanked him for the free handful of lotion, and continued, rather irritatedly, on my way. 

This whole encounter took up roughly five minutes of my valuable time. (Kidding, it’s not really that valuable, and I had nothing better to do.) And the kiosk guy clearly overstepped his boundaries by physically forcing me to listen to his live infomercial. If I remember correctly, I hadn’t shown an ounce of interest in purchasing hand cream that day. 

This aggressive method of selling not only makes me want to visit malls less, it makes me totally resistant to purchasing anything from a kiosk ever in my entire life. 

My words of retail shopping wisdom: Keep your limbs in tight and your eyes on the floor. 

The Young and the Faltering

At 18 years old, I feel like life is passing me by. I can’t scroll through my newsfeed on Facebook without viewing an annoyingly-ecstatic ex-classmate’s engagement announcement. THESE CHICKS ARE MY AGE. I’m all for everyone making their own choices and doing whatever the hell makes them happy, but I’m not going to lie, I’m jealous of these girls. Their lives actually seem to be going somewhere. 

Granted, I am nowhere near being ready to make such a commitment. I can’t even commit to a breakfast cereal long enough to buy the Costco-sized value pack. Which is totally fine, especially for someone as young as myself. But let’s be honest, at this rate, all the relationship-worthy men will be snatched up by my fellow pubescent peers. 

Lately, I feel as though nothing is necessarily wrong, but nothing is definitely right, either. I just want some golden opportunity to jump out at me and steer me in some progressive direction. Currently, I am floating through life. Indecisive, uncommitted, and scared to death. 

The decisions I’m supposed to be making right now will determine the quality of the rest of my life. The thought of making a wrong (or lesser) choice terrifies me. I’d like to wave my rights to make any more life decisions, because past experience serves evidence enough that I am not capable of making aforementioned decisions. 

I think the most frustrating part about it all is that at this time last year, when I was still drifting through the breeze that was high school, I thought i’d have it all figured out by now. I was convinced that somehow, upon my graduation, everything would fall into place, and I would discover who I truly am and what my real passions in life are and all that jazz. I could not have been more wrong. 

To be frank, I don’t have the slightest clue of what I am doing. 

All I want is to be happy, and to find people to surround myself with that will help me be happy. I can no longer endure this wishy-washy, floating-around, take-it-day-by-day lifestyle. I want to pursue something gosh dang it. 

And all this talk about preparing for my “future” is ridiculous. We never stop preparing for the future. I seem to have forgotten how to live in the present. Why do all of my actions have to somehow prepare me for this thing we call “future?” Why can’t I just do something that brings immediate satisfaction every once in a while? 

In summary, I think i’ll pass on the whole “growing up” thing. That way, I won’t have to deal with watching disgusting couples be happy together, choosing a career path, the patriarchy, or anything else for that matter.

I think instead I’ll go back to the days when the hardest decision I had to make was whether or not I wanted sprinkles on my ice cream cones and I could spend hours outside playing in the sprinklers with the neighborhood kids, and nothing was a waste of time.