Sigh. A brief news interlude: The Absurdists were mentioned in today's issue of the local alt-weekly.
Anyway, the thing is, you've gotta know that I really don't care if I do all that well in any one of these classes in and of itself. The time has passed for being that concerned—I probably stopped being that concerned when I decided that forces beyond my control, like the whims of the director of bands, were going to decide certain things for me, like whether I have a future in music. Sure, it's great to know things, but I simply don't feel motivated. I'm really not interested. All I want is a big, long break. Whether I get to see anyone over break is really immaterial—I just need some time to get away. Once I've gotten over the shell shock of being here almost 24/7 for the past year, of this constant blamming, crashing torrent of people trying to get me to do things and people living around me and people giving me assignments, yeah, maybe then I'll take time to miss people and try to do things. At the moment, I only worry about these classes because I'd really like to spend my break in quiet repose without hearing about what a screw-up I am at every meal. Sure, people are losing their respect for me. Hell, I'm losing respect for myself. You can think what you want. I still have standards, I'm just not meeting them. So it goes, to my way of thinking. There are certain limits to my endurance, and beyond that point I quit.
Y'all probably think things about me similar to what my ex's suitemates think about him for dropping all his classes and starting over next semester. Yes, it's loathsome. I know, intelligent students with such promise as we've shown shouldn't be throwing their lives away. But what're you gonna do? I'd be more concerned, but few are doing that well right now. Look where another ex is now (regardless of whether the immoral deserve such things)—he's in Fargo, North Dakota, working at a Chinese food place. Ex No. 1's taken a leave of absence for the rest of the semester and starting over again after break. He's still going to get done in four years. Austin's on a leave of absence. So it goes, neh? Perhaps we're not living up to our potential, but we're still alive. We still exist, we're not dead yet, and it's not the end of the world if we're not perfect.
As unfortunate as all this is, it seems unavoidable that we're each going to experience a bit of letdown, a bit of the old need to compromise and muddle through. Each of us will most likely be a "disappointment" (à la John) in some respect. I think about this a lot, and it always comes back to the fact that although the business-speak ideal of the being in some mythical peak performance "zone" territory has a strong allure, these things won't magically happen just yet. There will be decades more muddling through and failure and rebuilding before anything is accomplished—such is youth, for most of us, and this is how we spend it.
I had a dream this morning that I had to go back here to the university for something I'd left behind on my way home, and called my mother to come get me 'cause I'd left my purse in my boyfriend's sister's friend's truck, and many muddled, unfortunate things occurred, but the end is what really matters. I was climbing up this huge hill of a parking lot to get to where the fairgrounds were so I could get through them to wherever it was that I'd left my card and key, and all I wanted to do was get away from there, as I knew this Joker-esque/Green Goblin-type guy was going to unleash a fireworks bomb that might look pretty, but carry some neurotoxin and/or radioactive substances that would kill everyone present. It was a big joke for him, to see us panic, as no one knew whether the bomb would be a fake or actually full of the toxin.
By the time I got to the top of the hill, it was too late. I caught up to my mother, only to see the fireworks bomb shot off. I saw it rise into the sky almost in slow motion, and I prayed that m'darlin' was somewhere far away enough that it wouldn't kill him, that he wasn't heading here to find me. I crossed myself, then watched as the fireworks unfurled a huge couple of pirate flags, undulating in the wind, then shot off a rocket that landed in a tent nearby. The fireworks finally went off, releasing this purple mist that drifted phenolphthalein-like, blowing towards us and spreading, caught by the slight wind. The rocket in the tent gave off a white dusty fog that spread much like the purple mist, and all I could think about was that I might die without seeing m'love again.
Then I woke up.