Sometimes I wish I could fast-forward through college.
I know, I must be crazy. I am a mostly-successful second year student at a top tier university in one of the most famous cities in the country. And I want out.
When assignments pile high, I often procrastinate by Facebook stalking my thirtysomething-year-old sister. I click through pictures of her adoring husband and sweet kids at the zoo and at the pumpkin patch. I stare at her family glamour shots with an organic chemistry-induced knot in my chest, and am so desperately jealous of her. I want her beautiful suburban home and her rewarding career. I even want her minivan.
I imagine that being a mom/wife/housekeeper is no easy feat. But there is a big difference between working your ass off surrounded by people that love you and working your ass off surrounded by the laminate-plywood walls of a cubicle in the biology library.
I love learning. I love being young and I love my friends and I love my tiny, moldy apartment. I know I am lucky to be in this position, and I know that millions of people would give their left arm to trade places with me. I know that my parents have made sacrifices to put me here, and I am wholly grateful.
I don’t love that I’ve taken twelve midterms this semester. I don’t love that I need a 3.5 science GPA to even be looked at twice by med schools. I don’t love that I can’t go running or bake cookies or watch a movie if I want to because I have to study. I don’t love that when I inevitably choose to watch a movie anyway, I can’t enjoy it because I feel guilty for not studying. City living isn’t exciting when you spend so much time with your face in a textbook that you forget you live in the city.
I’m sure that years from now when I’m sitting up at four in the morning with a sleepless baby, I’ll long for the good old college days when I had a fast metabolism and a world of opportunities before me. But right now, I’d just like my diploma, stat.
Or maybe that’s just the finals week doldrums talking.>