Come On Man

Yesterday afternoon after classes had ended, for some reason or another, I wound up sitting around one of the round metal tables outside the library with Maura, Rachel, and Vijay. It was just the four of us at first, but one after another Anthony B., Jessica R., and finally Patrice rotated through that space. We talked about the weather and '90s alternative rock (I remember when I liked that kind of thing. Sort of). Anthony argued valiantly for the virtues of Korn. I respectfully kept my mouth shut throughout most of this conversation; not because I wanted to talk shit, but because I'm simply not very informed on that kind of thing. Instead I leaned back, to the best of my ability (those chairs are bolted down to the ground), crossed my arms, and stared at the sky; it was warm, sunny, and, miraculously, I wasn't the least bit tired.

Eventually it was just Maura, Patrice, and I sitting around the table, watching the sun go down, me wondering what the time was. We talked about what became of 310--apparently two of its members have left the school semi-permanently after some sort of emotional breakdown involving a girl, and two more have taken time away from classes for the semester--and Maura started talking again about how April and May of last year were the best few weeks of her life. Never could understand that: I mean, I had some great times at that place as well, hanging at the bar downstairs, knocking over shelves, trying to play Jake's fretless bass and whatnot, but the idea that one's life could've peaked in such a fashion is simply unthinkable. When I'm old and senile, I sure hope memories of being drunk, silly, and still trying to grasp the concept of college won't be the last things I remember (gratuitous Paper Jet Fighter reference, whoa oh). So many things have happened since then, and so many things still have yet to happen; to be honest, I wonder if even the brief stint with the Woodcliffe group over the past summer didn't already trump the Symposium House experience. Sure, there was less intoxication involved, but for at least a couple of months it felt like I wasn't struggling to carve a niche in a place where I didn't really belong.

Patrice started talking about how she thought her life was going to effectively end after college because the scope of things one could do inevitably narrowed (obligatory Max Weber reference from me at this point, of course), and that nothing that came afterwards would be as happy as the time we were having now; at this, I couldn't take it anymore, and jumped up (or maybe I was standing already, I don't remember), shouting, "Jesus Christ, and I thought I was depressed!" Which wasn't really what I meant; I didn't mean to say I was depressed (though I might've been at some earlier point in time), but that, despite all the apocalyptic bleakness I indulge in, I've yet to come up with anything as hopeless-sounding and blatantly untrue as, "college is the best life will ever get."

1. What do we really know of life and the world at large, at this point, to be able to confidently say anything about what it will look like between now and the moment we die?
2. What do we really know of ourselves at this point, to be able to confidently say that we won't change and turn against the perspectives we once held?
3. The notion that things will never be better than they are now, even in its most abstracted form, is something I could never, ever accept.

4. Even if someone could accept the idea of a moment surpassing all moments succeeding it, I don't understand how college could be that moment. Maybe I'm the only one who holds this opinion, but this existence we have right now is terribly flawed. Not knowing our place in this world. Not knowing where to call home. Devouring all the possibility and opportunity around us, yet having minimal influence upon the world at best. Always passing through the world in the name of learning, but never stopping to become part of it, only indulging in what we know very well can't last.

Maybe it's just me, but I've had enough of this having to move on an annual basis, not having a steady income, not feeling like I'm participating in anything outside of the school, not feeling like I'm having any influence on how the world works, relying on repetitive parties to get our kicks (though I've been trying to fix that one lately).

I'm ready to say I belong somewhere. I'm ready to find something and call it that one thing that I do. I'm ready to be tied down. I'm ready to have someone to come home to everyday. I'm ready for the comfort of knowing all these things with a measure of certainty. I don't know which one is better: delving deep into the present to shrink from the future, or pushing at the boundaries of the present, trying to escape it.

Everything they fear is what I want. What's the meaning of the apocalypse?

Come on, man, I'm almost ready.