Burnt Popcorn

smells really bad. My roommate burned a bag in our bathroom (where the microwave is...?) earlier and my dorm now smells like a gross mixture of burned paper and burned popcorn and flowery febreeze that isn't really doing it's job.

And all this burned popcorn got me thinking about ideas. Which is a weird thing to think about, because to me that sounds like I'm thinking about thinking which is confusing. But more specifically, the burned popcorn made me think of how this whole hall probably hates me. There's no way they can't smell it. I can practically feel it seeping into my hair and my skin and the carpeting and it's convinced me that I should get used to having this stench around because it's not going anywhere.

Which is why I thought of thinking. Because so often I'll get an idea in my head and once it plants itself, there's no going back. And I so over think everything that eventually I don't even remember what got me so worried. That doesn't make me stop worrying. In fact, it makes me worry just a little bit more.

Mostly I worry about the future. I'm majoring in Journalism, which I keep joking to people is like majoring in unemployment. I'm trying to make light of it, but really, I'm mostly serious. Which is sad, because it sucks that once I finally find something I want to do, something I'm more than just okay about, I can't get out of my head that I'm putting something in the future at risk, something so far into the future I don't even know what it is. And then I worry that I don't even want this. That I'm going to spend 4+ years getting a degree in something I might not even love.

I know I like reading. And I know I love writing. And editing. But it seems like part of growing up might be finding something substantial and coming to like it.

Is this the disillusioning part of growing up? Seems like it to me.

I need to escape this foul smelling room before I forget what actual oxygen smells like.

pieces
Kelly