The countdown is at 17 days now. I never thought I'd say this, but I kind of can't wait to get home. I can't wait to spend time with my family and my friends (especially my best friend, whom I absolutely cannot go any longer without seeing), settle down into my comfy bed that doesn't hurt my back when I get out of it, wake up to the sounds of neighborhood kids riding their bikes down the street instead of sirens and scooters and, most importantly, never have to deal with guys grabbing my ass or whistling at me in the metro. Of course I'll miss the city, the mode de vie here, the bread, the fashion, the history, the art, the eye candy. Of course I'm not done forever. I'm just done for now. Yeah.
I've been looking at jobs for when I come home, and I've got to say, as much as you may think my degrees are worth, they're really not going to get me that far on my quest to be a contributing member of society. Considering I don't really want to do anything with French (sorry, parents) or art history (sorry, professor Felton), I'm going to have a pretty hard time getting my feet on the ground. I'm hoping to get into this writing program at NBC with a mock episode of The Office I'm writing with my friend (seriously, it's going to be one of the funniest episodes ever written), and I may do an episode of How I Met Your Mother and maybe Scrubs too. But that's not a job. It's a class two nights a week starting in September or October, and it's a really selective application process. I applied to be someone's assistant at a production company I interned at, but I'm not really that interested in being someone's bitch for however long it takes me to get where I want to be, wherever that is. I'm thinking of applying to be some writer/producer's assistant, but that's the same problem. Maybe I'll just go around begging for work. Or I'll just write some Katherine Heigl drivel that'll do well at the box office and sell my soul, which should give me enough to live off of for at least a year or so. Because, you know, I can just do that. Like that. (Please, you know whoever wrote 27 Dresses did that while working out and reading a romance novel. Come on.)
But the important part is that I'll be home in 17 days, and all this aspiring writer crap will be a lot easier to take care of from there (and also once I finish my mémoire, I'll be able to spend more time on the actual writing part, which is kind of important, or so I've heard). Man, I've come a long way from wanting to be a Spanish teacher.*
*A short list of all the things I've ever wanted to be in life, in chronological order: cartoonist (age 5), lawyer, doctor, Spanish teacher, architect, entertainment lawyer, talent agent, booking agent, art history professor, museum curator, French professor, producer, playwright, translator, superhero, Tina Fey.
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