Illustration by Annie Bueler

I’ve kept Mitski’s song, Because Dreaming Costs Money has been on repeat for my entire undergrad. I find it motivational, thinking that if I work hard now, I  will eventually accomplish what I want. But what if I never get there?

I have just enough coins for laundry and to pay the fare for the bus to work. I have countless assignments with fast approaching deadlines,discussion posts to write and a room in desperate need of a clean.

Dark circles are permanently burned beneath my eyes. I’m not sure what it feels like to be truly awake. As I take the 702 up Johnson Street, I notice the leather starting to peel off my shoes. 

My headphones fell in the sink this morning, so the audio cuts in and out. 

“Darling, play your violin… We will manage, somehow.” 

I’ve got two jobs, a volunteer position, and I’m a member of a club. My grades are average, sometimes worse, and my hunger for something other than peanut butter on stale bread is growing louder than my hunger for success. 

I’ve been rejected from every lab position I’ve applied to because of a substandard grade I received in a research methods course while I was homeless in my second year of university. Yet, I still apply to every new opening, hoping that something will change this time. Is that dreaming or insanity?

“Don’t dare regret anything; remember what you’re here for.”

Since the beginning of undergrad, I knew psychology was my calling. I took every opportunity possible, even when the pay was minimal. In return, my grades dipped, I barely slept, and I rarely saw my friends.

Every time I opened a webpage for a Master’s program I, (aspired for/to)I couldn’t think about all the ways I met the requirements. Instead, I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach, understanding that I was being forced to watch as the future I’d been working so hard for slipped further away from my reach. 

For years, all I could do was compare myself to others who seemed to be accomplishing more than me. 

By fourth year, Mitski was still one of my most played artists however, “Working for the Knife” was now my most repeated song.

“I start the day high, and it ends so low …. I always thought the choice was mine… and I was right but just chose wrong.”

Now, after five years of university, the once-distant deadline to submit my applications is finally reality. As I write my admissions essays, I’m hopeful that I have a chance at acceptance. But when the time comes to hit the submit button, I can’t bring myself to do it. Maybe I could squeeze in one more volunteer position and stare harder at my transcript in an attempt to change my grades. I chose this dream, but now I question whether it’s for me. Now, I can only wait until spring to see if I chose wrong. 

When spring hits and admissions are finalized, I’ll likely have another year of Mitski albums on repeat. Or, perhaps, I’ll get accepted; then, I don’t know whose music I’ll listen to anymore. However, I anticipate that “fulfilled” will never be a lyric that resonates with me, and I’ll realize that dreaming and insanity have the same definition but differing outcomes.