I never really know what I will be writing about. And how I will be writing it. And in a lot of ways, I find that it’s a good thing.

Last weekend, my sister graduated from university and memories from my own graduation ceremonies came a-flooding. The real world is nothing like they build it up to be in college. In some ways, it’s better, and the end results are excellent; in others, worse, and harsh.

Today the thought of going back to school has been playing on my mind. Or, to be more detailed, it’s been overstaying its welcome – arriving unannounced, guzzling down the soda, raiding the fridge, and hogging the remote control like the unwanted relative you love but can’t stand to entertain for more than 10 minutes.

In an effort to shake the idea off, I plop myself in front of the laptop and search the sites of two of my prospective schools, exploring their respective graduate programs. I think that just by looking at the list of requirements I’d get lazy and successfully kick the grad school notion out of my mind. This doesn’t work. Seeing the words Masters of Science only fuel my curiosity more. The more I see, the more I start to feel excited. I get tingly thinking about all things scholarly. Why anyone would want to ever stop learning in an academic environment is beyond me.

The excitement settles down, and I resent it. At this point real things like a doable schedule and a sustainable living fund enter my brain. I hate it when my dreams get cut down like that. But really. Today’s not a good day. Eventually, of course, I’d want to really take that step towards earning a master’s degree but I don’t think I’d be able to do that when my life’s a mess.

And messes are things masters don’t do.