Sometimes I wish there was a book hidden away in an attic somewhere with my future mapped out in inked calligraphy. The book would include diagrams, maps, and colorful illustrations. Not saying my future looks mind numbingly boring, but I don’t foresee my life going off the Richter exciting any time soon. Hence, the illustrations are an obvious must-have. I’ve been imagining my future a lot lately; or rather, trying to imagine. As it stands, the calligraphy would probably reveal something to the effect of: “For one year after you graduate, your life will be mundane and boring with intermittent splashes of idealistic excitement.” That sounds more like a depressing fortune cookie, if you ask me. There will be bright spots in my life upon graduation, I’m sure. But, I just can’t shake the fact that I won’t have any sort of plan or path to follow. This whole “no plan or path to follow” thing would be way more fun if I could promptly board a plane en route to Ireland. Let’s face it. There is nothing exciting about having a minimum wage job that just barely allows you to pay off your rent and utilities each month. My parents are literally threatening to completely cut me off when I graduate if I don’t find a good job. I’m not ready for this! I’m not ready for reality to set in. Leave me be to happily flit around in my fantasy world for a bit longer before cutting the ropes, please. Yeah right. It’s time I grow up.

A mapped out future would be great, but the part of the book I would be most interested in reading would be my love forecast. I wish I could ask someone the question, “What is love?” without getting the typical, “Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me…no more.” It’s getting old, guys. I need answers! DAMNIT, WHAT IS LOVE! I guess maybe my book could mush together love and the future into one chapter since, more often than not, love transposes everything. Does it? Have you been in love before? Tell me, please. I think my experiences with love can only be defined as infatuation. Maybe infatuation is a side-effect of love, though. A dangerous side-effect. In fact, they should prescribe medication for it.

The final page in my book would be a picture of a happy pony running through a field. Hopefully I can follow suit.