My so called life

18 Jan

Sometimes I don’t know whether to laugh or cry about my current state of affairs.  It’s starting to look more and more like a telenovela these days, although something tells me the virgencita isn’t going to magically save me.  Maybe I should make her a shrine like the one I had for her in el DF.  Either way, things can only go up from here, at least I hope so.  Let’s see where to start.  I broke my arm a week after returning from Guatemala and suddenly found myself broke, unemployed, disabled, and with no car or health insurance.  And I had just turned 26 the week before.  Seriously?

Now, a broken wrist isn’t such a big deal.  It happens to people a lot.  The real, searing irony of this situation was that this was the fifth time I have broken a bone.  NUMBER FIVE people.  Now, how many people have that claim to fame?  So let’s see- my waitressing job obviously wasn’t happening, and neither was me riding my bicycle around town.  Nope, I was stuck at my Dad’s house with no TV and nothing to numb the pain (literal and figurative) except my GRE study book.

One would think I would have used this time to channel all my energies on applying for graduate school and studying for the GRE, right?  Well I kind of did, but there were quite a few pity parties along the way.  I did pretty badly on my GRE and am now wondering why I bothered applying to all those schools in the first place.

But now for the good news.  The cast is off, I’m running again and dreaming of a marathon in a few months.  I’m looking for a job and applying to like 5 or 10 a day.  I’m networking with alumni friends and anyone who might be able to help me find one, and I’m trying my very best to stop having those pity parties and focus on getting my life together again.

It’s not at all where I thought I would be when I was 26, but at the same time, I can’t complain too much.  My days, for the most part, are pretty stress free.  I wake up around 9 or 10, go for a run, come home to my father’s homemade cappuccino and the New York Times, and eventually wander out to some coffee shop and start the job search.  I like to believe everything happens for a reason, yet when I broke my arm I found myself desperately searching for some kind of meaning to this unfair predicament I found myself in.  Truth be told, if I hadn’t broken my arm I would have ended up waiting tables again, which is something I had promised myself I would never do again.  I want to do more in my life then just serve other people food (not that it’s not an honorable profession) and I have suddenly been forced to find a way how.

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