I like to plan. I like filling up the little planner with things to do and places to be in at certain times. I like moving and adjusting, and making sure everything fits into my day, with the corners tucked down neatly, and I get annoyed if people suddenly change on me at the last minute, 'cause then my pretty planner wouldn't accurately reflect my life on a given day anymore.

I think in long term too. I know what I want to happen after college, I know what I would want to have obtained by the time I'm twenty-five, and I know what I'm NOT going to be until I'm at least thirty. Granted, that might not seem all that long-term to some, but rest assured that by that time I would have extended my life plan somewhat.All these carefully laid-out preparations, all these are reflective of my irrepressible need to feel like I'm moving towards a certain direction. Like I'm going somewhere.

The danger of all this manifests itself in that miniscule thought of monumental implications, the one that sounds like Steinbeck mocking me into the self-doubt that threatens to lumps me among those of my generation, who continuously whine about not knowing what to do with their lives. Those who never could have been me. It refuses to go away. And even if I could compel it to, it asks me if I really would. It could be the next great epiphany I'm chasing away, instead of a doubt casting shadows on my dreams.

Being inundated with stupid phrases like ignore all obstacles external and within, nothing worth doing is easy directly contrasting with others such as don't ignore the signs, listen to yourself has that effect on you.Christ, did I have to plan so...well?For one, the niggling little thought insists, how the hell did I arrive at this plan?

It's not like the plan that traces the path to becoming a Broadway smash, where talent, training, and opportunity all come to work for you, with talent being your primary capital. Talent, god-given ability, points the way for you. How could you be anything else? But oh, in my plan.

There are many things I am capable of. I know what they are.

While this may be the case, I am not particularly exceptional at anything. With the exception of the fine sense of what abilities I inherently lack, that is. This forces me to face the unthinkable idea that perhaps the life-plan that I am dutifully preparing for, was arbitrarily assigned to me...by myself.

I'm not sure I can live with that knowledge. I like there to be motives and agendas behind the motives and agendas. I like to know what my own are. Carrrying out this whole plan without knowing why is embracing a mechanized existence. Which on the flip side won't last very long, as I will never survive.

The alternative would be to reevaluate everything, and redirect the entire flow. I know it's ridiculous to say this at twenty-two...but I've already done too much for this plan. I feel that it must go this way. The obvious solution is to find out why I'm doing all this. But no one will be able to answer that one, least of all me.