Restlessness is a four letter word.

I kind of feel bad for never blogging, but after failing at multiple blogs before the creation of this one, it’s to be expected that I’m not the best of bloggers. And, as always, when I remember that I should probably blog, I forget any interesting subject matter that I could possibly blog about.

One thing I am definitely bummed about is the shrinking of summer. Remember those blissful summers of grade school when we had a full three months and went back after labor day? That’s the way it should be. I imagine that by the time my little brother graduates, the school system will have made it so that the season of summer no longer exists. Anywhere. They’ll just cut three months out of the year.

So, I received the packet of forms from Foothill today. Wtf? They want us to pay $90 to go to Foothill now? I already feel like I’m way too expensive! Good gawd. Unlike some of my peers, I hate asking my parents for money. I’m so grateful that I am going to be making my own money starting at the beginning of the school year. And yet, it seems like already so many things are starting to creep up and rob me/my parents. Screw you, Foothill. My dad gave you guys a hell of a lot of computers already, so you can go stick your “technology fee” up you’re mother’s arse.

But yeah, anyway. Part of me is looking forward to the upcoming school year, and part of me already wants to crawl up into my bed and not get out, ever. I’ve definitely been spending more time with my friends than in past summers, but sometimes I just want to be alone. You know? I love people, and I love how distracting they can be. I guess I’ve always had a conflict between relationships and goals. Hm, that sounds convoluted. And now I’ve written explanations and erased them, because none of them made sense.

I don’t know. I’ve become a much more social person over time, but summers usually lead me to retreat back into myself, because I don’t see quite as many people as usual, and when I do see people, it’s the same small group of people. And sometimes I am actively anti-social…like, I’ll be invited to something, and yet I just chose not to go. Or, my mom will say I can if I do something first, but I won’t do it because I’m not highly motivated by the event. I don’t know. Although I need/want human interaction, sometimes I deny myself of it. Masochism, perhaps?

Anyway. I should probably tell the nonexistent reader the real reason as to why I’m writing this nonsensical, rambling blog. I’m procrastinating. I’m really supposed to be writing a thank you letter to the people who sponsored me for my Costa Rica trip.

I just can’t write these kinds of letters. It’s like how writing the initial “please give me money” letter was as painful as pulling teeth. And although I am grateful, it’s hard to think of anything else to say other than: “muchos gracias, you’re awesome”. Apparently I’m supposed to give a personalized summary of what happened in Costa Rica, but I can’t even do that when I talk to people. “How was Costa Rica?” “Hot, humid, green, amazing, fun.” Did I really learn anything? Was I inspired? Heck if I know. All I really know is that I would rather be doing that for a year than going to school. I’d rather be sore from scraping walls and hauling sand than be constantly brain-tired from struggling with calculus. Perhaps I only say this because I’m used to being mentally exhausted more than physically exhausted. And when I logically think about it, I was not meant for construction and hard labor. I’m five foot two (debatable), 110 pounds (when I eat three meals a day, which is almost never), and have the hands of a pixie. I was not meant to build houses. Why do I even go on mission’s trips? Is it a selfish desire for the feeling that I’ve actually done something that will physically help people? Is that actually selfish? Is it because I want to travel? Is it the thrill of the unknown?

Even my dad realized that I was not as excited as I should have been before the trip. “You don’t want to go to Costa Rica.” “What? Yes I do.” “No, you don’t. Jeff wants you to go to Costa Rica.” And, sadly enough, it is partially true. Jeff, my youth pastor, called me up on the last possible day of sign ups, and convinced me to go. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have bothered. How pathetic. Why would I not want to go? Because of the price tag? Because after two years of building houses in Mexico, I’ve realized that I’m not cut out for life on the mission’s field? I remember back when I was a freshman, I wanted to be a missionary. Part of me still wishes I could, but I know that any gifts that I have are not in that realm of work. They’re in clean offices, in environments that encourage mental stimulation, not physical exertion.

I guess the real questions come down to this. Which is more important: what I want to be or what I can be? People say that you can do anything if you really want to. Is it true? Part of me wants to say yes, but I know that there are limits. I could never be a fashion model, even if I wanted to. I could never be a body builder, even if I wanted to (thank god I don’t). Could I be an astronaut if I wanted to? If I devoted all my time to the sciences, and worked hard, could I make it? Sadly enough, I am leaning towards no. How ironic that I already feel like it is too late in my life to start over in a new direction. How cynical. How realistic.

And so, I am still searching for my call in life. All I know is that I want to help people and I want to be constantly learning. Let’s hope that somehow I’ll find it.