Martin Luther King Had a Dream. I Would Like One.

Well, friends. I'm home.

I've been thinking, in the midst of my sickness and general post-finals exhaustion, and I haven't got a clue what I want to do with my life. I met people at college who knew what they wanted.

Thayne is going to study stars--the details of this may not yet be ironed out, but there are definitely stars on his horizon (that pun was just for you, mom. because i love you).

Lexi is doing animation, and pretty much has a job with Disney and Pixar already. (on an absolutely random aside, have you seen the trailer for the new pixar movie brave?

a movie about a fiery, curly-headed, arrow-shooting heroine? so there. i love pixar. also, i decided about four months ago that i'm scottish.)

Holly is going to be a fabulous English teacher, Kelsey will illustrate, Darian and Jacob are doing something with electrical engineering.

They all know what they want. They have visions of their future lives in their heads. If they're anything like me they can already see it and carry on imagined conversations with future colleagues who are, no doubt, awed by their work and intelligence.

I, on the other hand, am just beginning to realize that the future--that is, post-college life, is actually a reality. At all. There will be a point at which I am no longer in school, and I will have to find something to do with my time. And, in all likelihood, my life will not even remotely resemble the various imaginings I have set forth for myself--all of which include me doing something fantastic and amazing, like curing cancer. Except that I have no pretensions to any skills even remotely related to science, so more of the humanities equivalent of curing cancer.

I have never thought realistically about my future and so, when realism imposes itself over the frame, the canvas inside is absolutely empty. I've got nothing. And suddenly the idea of life after education becomes mildly petrifying.

It isn't that I thought I would die after college. It's just I didn't really realize that I would keep living.

I need a dream. A point. A striven-for place, thought, job, goal, way of being (enlightenment is too vague to be life's ambition). I need something to yearn and work for. If only for lending a sense of purpose.

I need a dream, guys. Anyone have one they want to lend me?

You're Just Jealous You're Not Johnny Depp

IN CELEBRATION OF THE DAY AFTER THE LAST DAY OF CLASS:

“At least he’s not trying to kill Napoleon.”

“Despite your class’s initial success, it fails for the following reasons. I will explore these reasons by focusing on your ultimate failure as a human being.”

“Basketball’s fun. Especially when you’re destroying children.”

“Darn it, she’s talking about mushrooms—now I have to talk about mushrooms—and we can never get married.”

“Talking is what you do when you have nothing to say.”

“We do dig up graveyards. Some people really don’t like us for it. We do it nicely! We put them back! Sometimes…”

“That’s not to say pregnant women are incapable of… deep passion. That is… I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Seriously? You have the gall to say hi to me after putting me through heck? I will punch you. I will throw a baby at you.”

“You’re just jealous you’re not Johnny Depp.”

“I am vertically challenged.”

“The phoenix: a symbol which has recently been made famous by Harry Potter. To which all roads lead. What is Tolstoy but a forerunner, a precursor, to Harry Potter?”

“He’s a business major, but I like him anyway.”

“She burned her toads.”

“Have you had diet gingerelle? It’s an abomination.”

“Saying you don’t like Orwell is like saying you don’t like oxygen. It’s irrelevant.” 

“I went to buy Nutella and tampons. If that doesn’t spell bad weekend I don’t know what does.”

Appreciation

I have things to say....

     I'm almost entirely positive.

But.

My brain quit on me about a week ago. After three essays. Before the next four.

            A profound and preparatory apology to my professors.

My teeth no longer hurt. Thank you for those of you who proffered sympathy. It was appreciated.

                  Those of you who were skeptical of this ailment (dad) need to expand your imagination. My  
                  strangeness knows no bounds.

It is spring here. There are blossoming trees. They're pretty.

And they smell like fried fish. With undertones of hot dog.

     I do not appreciate this.

I got a book yesterday. And spent this morning in conversation with it.

             I stood up four essays for my date with the
         book. They're probably still puttering around  feeling sorry for themselves.

The book was Chocolat. It was worth alienating the essays. It will probably not be worth failing my classes for.

But since when was prudence a virtue?

I ran for the bus today. And caught it.
   I consider this to be a mini miracle.

        I like mini miracles. I appreciate them.

I was wrong.

       I didn't really have things to say.