I’m Sick of Myself

Describe yourself as a student.

I’m sick of myself. After writing countless drafts of college essays on everything from extreme poverty to playtime in elementary school, I’m sick of the word “I”. Sure, I write a column every month, an editorial here and there, and update my personal blog every few days. Expressing my opinion, normally, is great. But after the past few weeks, I may have to kiss my dream job as a columnist goodbye. It’s not that I mind writing in the first person. One particular life goal, in fact, is to write a memoir recounting my exciting travels around the world. (All that’s left to do is the travel part.) What really frustrates me is writing as the person the college wants me to be. One recent prompt asked me to write about a significant person in my life. Sure, I could write about my parents or my best friend, but who’s really had the most significance for me? In all honesty, it’s probably my favorite musician, John Mayer. But I doubt the admissions department will be impressed by the guy rumored to be dating Jessica Simpson. Another option is the woman who sings that annoying car commercial jingle, the one that I somehow know all the words to. She’s certainly had a huge effect on me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had that song stuck in my head during a test. But I suppose those folks wouldn’t make very good essays.Another prompt asked me to recount a life-altering event. Life-altering is, well, huge. I’ve never really and truly had a life-altering event. The past seventeen years, filled with a stable home life and all the stereotypical middle class memories, have mostly been undisturbed and uninterrupted. Is that bad? I’d like to think not. Ideally, I’d like to write about TV’s effect on me. Now that’d be a good essay. From Gilmore Girls I’ve learned to study hard, from Lost that everything is determined by fate (and a random set of numbers), and from Survivor that my personal values are not worth sacrificing for some peanut butter and Oreos (no matter how starved I might be).Ultimately, I guess I’m just sick of worrying about what the admissions directors will think of me. I’m sick of the power they have over the next four years of my life (and beyond). But what can a girl do? Dare I declare my independence and write about my favorite hobby – that is, curling up with my iPod or remote at the end of a long day? Laugh in the face of my peers, who embellish their world travels or special friendships with the elderly?Not a chance.I guess, then, I’m just left with myself.

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