That's Whack!

Gaming Reverie questioned the impossibility of blogging about the minutae of one's existence and have it be anything grand. My first reaction was more or less isn't that what blogging is? I mean, if we thought we really had anything interesting to say, wouldn't we write a book? But that was too simple, so I thought about it and decided I'd see if I could get to the really nitty-gritty of my daily life and see if I could pull it off.

Prepare yourself. Boredom is imminent.

So I wake up. Damn, it's bright. I left the curtains open. What time is it? Crap. Eight-fifteen. I should have taken the bus ten minutes ago. The only philosophy major in a philosophy class and I've been late 50% of the time so far. Poor professor; can't even get the philosophy major to show up. But I'm out of bed. I'm going.

This is where it gets rough. Every day I stumble out of bed, brush my teeth, suffer paralysis. WHERE ARE MY JEANS? WHERE ARE THEY? Why do clothes go missing? I wonder. It's not like I just get naked in random locations. I wonder if I own enough pairs of jeans to qualify as a girl. Probably not. But still, they should be right here. RIGHT HERE.

I go with the plaid pants. When in doubt, wear plaid, that's my motto. (And a good motto it is, too.) Ok, I'm dressed enough to go outside. Still freaking cold, I remember. What month is it? July? Right: birthday month. It's July, but it's cold. I remember the guy on the bus, the one that stared at me with something too much akin to anger for my own comfort before asking, "Why are you wearing a sweater? It's fucking July." To which I replied... actually, I didn't reply. I pretended I didn't realize he was talking to me. Better that way. Didn't matter, within five seconds he was making out with his girlfriend.

Back to today. I hate having standards, I'm thinking. I'm waiting for a bus and thinking about how I hate having standards, how it does little for my quality of life. Stupid standards. I can't even remember the last time I had sex. It feels like a million years ago, and you never think when you're having sex that it's going to be the last time for a long time; maybe you should make it memorable. Stupid sex. Stupid people talking about all of their stupid sex.

These are the wondrous thoughts coursing through my mind.

I make it to school, a minor miracle. Professor is nice, too nice to teach philosophy, but then everyone in the class is a business major. Ethics is required for business majors. He wants to know what we think about Plato's segregated society: would we consider this ethical today? What are the myths that we adhere to as Americans? Kid next to me thinks the whole thing's whack.

That's what he says. "Whack."

"Hmm," says Professor. "That's good. But that's not really an argument." And I'm stunned; I've never heard a teacher say such a thing. Maybe right now it's the only thing TO say.

Poor Professor. He's so gentle, so kind. I don't know how he ever made it this far. Like a teddy bear of a philosopher, teaching the masses in his teddy-bear ways. I like him. He doesn't seem to mind, doesn't seem to need to require more from his students except to gently prod them towards speaking. And then I realize that his students DO speak; they're not afraid of what's going to come out of their mouths or how it'll be received. Maybe he's onto something.

He gets tired of talking about Plato, lets us out of class early. I'm eating breakfast in the sports bar nearby because I gave up Market Street. They're playing "Love Train" on the radio. The service isn't as good here, merely perfunctory but fine enough in it's way; I don't get free beer or free conversation or anything else but I can hang out and write my blog and for now that's all I want to do. Maybe I should sort through some clams later and listen to "Atlas Shrugged" on tape. What I really want to do is go home and take a shower, the one I missed this morning. I wonder when I'll finally get to move. Never, it feels like.

The last few days I've been thinking about how I'm not really an adult in many respects, how I'm still a student and live off a student's income, how I don't really make money in any traditional respect. This is ok, this is fine - this is necessary - but at the end of the day I still feel like a child. And I do for other reasons, too: my propensity to waver, my tendency to see things in black-and-white, my still-selfish nature. I wonder when I'll finally grow up, and whether I'll ever really see myself as an adult.

Then I remember that all of these thoughts - the good, the bad, the mundane - are all to keep me from thinking about something else, something I can't get off my mind.