collegiate diversion

So as I knelt over the toilet tonight, puking after one too many coffees and my nerves fried, I looked up and saw something on the dorm bathroom stall: “That’s right, it’s that time of year again.”

Indeed, although I do believe this was referencing some sort of National Recycling exercise, it is that time. Fucking midterms here at Ithaca College.

Forget what they told you was fun about these “best years of your life,” no one could prepare you for this. But then again, they never did prepare you for anything did they?

All those regretful stories of past college students, know grumpy alumni preparing for dinner and homework with the kids, where did those golden years fly off too?

Oh, that’s right, the dysfunctional memory of your brain.

It came up in discussion the other night amongst some other collegiate colleagues, just how many movies can you name about college life? 2, maybe 4? I mean, maybe we were wrong, but there’s more high school films than college, and the rest is just left up to the American imagination.

I used to humor myself in high school, doodling in my Chem notebook about philosophy and religion: just who the fuck needs stochiometry (sp?) anyway? What are all these theories and formulas really for?

“Are we trying to find God?”

That is something I wrote down in a notebook I found during the Xmas clean out back home. Just what is it about all this knowledge and education and learning abilities that is so damn attractive?

ADD is on the rise. I’m not judging, but don’t you think those baby boomers have stressed out the next generation just a little too much? All the psycho degrees say so. Typo there, I meant Psych.

So what is this grade average bullshit, learning bell curve, reconstructive deconstructive creation and propanda-ing race? Are trying to keep up with China?

Maybe we should all reconsider.

This blog is after all called collegiate diversion, just why do so many of us need the diversions?

I wanted to touch you more than ever while we were studying in the library tonight, maybe just to keep sane. I know it’s wrong but I totally convinced you into coming over tonight: “You don’t have to write that do you? You can come over…” make the coffee runs together and such and wake each other up when it’s necessary during the inevitable cram,

Of information.

Perhaps, thanks for saying yes anyway. I guess we’ll see each other later tonight, and I’ll keep you calm.

But look how full of it I am, trying to tell you not to freak out while I procrastinate and write this, wait for you to finish the paper, so I can lie about not getting sick earlier.

Hmph.

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