Pardon me while I wallow in my own emotional and motivational filth. I am really not that mature. You would want to think that over the last three years of college I would have matured into this presentable young man that parents would want their daughters to bring home. But no, the difference I notice nowadays is that I do not throw up so much on the weekends as I used to.
These last few days with the weather being nice have made me realize that I would gladly skip some class that would probably edumacate me, and this is not a sign of heightened maturity. It is a sad day when Dave Smith comes to the conclusion that he needs to shape up and stop allowing himself hedonistic pleasures for one instant and then leave him emotional empty, naked from the waist down, lying in a ditch and wondering whether it was the Chinese food or the bourbon that got him in this position.
These days all I can think about are the short-term thrills like peeing into the wind or getting a mohawk. The spring has lulled me into this phase of junioritis, where all I can think about is the tan I am not getting, the job I probably will not have when I graduate and the exercise I do not do. This mood is totally lame because it does nothing for me except get me into trouble. I diagnosed myself as having what Dr. Mark Olsen calls “spring fever.”
I have the fever something wicked because I could care less about schoolwork or my future right now. It is not that my classes do not interest me or that I do not think about the future. It is just that when I do think about the future, I think of being a seagull, a party barge or a fire-watcher. How cool would it be to be a seagull? I will not get into it, but can you imagine sitting in the water all day and on top of that being able glide in the wind? Whatever it takes, sign me up for some of that.
Like most people, I think I have a bright future in whatever it turns out to be, but that beacon of light that is supposed to be getting brighter and brighter towards the end of college only seems to be some kind of low-wattage incandescent that flickers when you shut the door too hard. This is not the type of attitude that you want your daughter to bring home. I need to relax and realize my future in middle management so that I grow comfortable in my cheap suit and cubicle.
These are inspirational times for those with that outlook, but the only outlook I have is at the sun to see how long until it really takes to burn my rods and cones. Fun fact: chickens will sometimes stare at the sun until they get sick and die. Perhaps chickens are unmotivated man from prehistory, and I am destined to branch away from homosapiens and into the poultry realm. Can you imagine your daughter bringing home a chicken? “This is my boyfriend Dave Smith. Just do not drop any feed around him because then he will not make conversation.”
I am tired of being scared of my future however dimly lit it is. I will not waste my time getting sunburned in Kogan Plaza; I will not go to the library just to sleep; and I will not peck at the chicken feed that people throw at my feet. I am a mature young adult who has few responsibilities in this world, and I will not be cooped up in my own apathy any longer. Plus, my eyes really hurt from looking at the sun, and I really need to find a job. I guess fire-watcher is out of the question.
