Abandoning the past

Martin, I agree wholeheartedly with you. I am thankful that my readings of history and literature are not subject to the whims of a professor who may not have a more valid grasp of the topic that I, and that I am not subject to his critical eye for the sake of a favorable grade in order to graduate magna cum laude.

I looked at photos from a dear friend's Facebook album chronicling the beginning of her senior year and I felt a twinge of pain. But I forced myself to look at those emotions that triggered that response, and realized the complexity of those feelings. I wished I was with those people, enjoying good, unique times. Yet the physical places that they were I wished to have no part of. I wanted to be doing crazy, out of control things with them, but miles away from my old college, where they were. That exemplifies the complexity of post-grad feeling: one wishes to continue the relationships of the past, yet one realizes that such relationships must transcend a given place and time. But which friendships are built on context and which extend beyond it? That is the challenge that we face, and not all survive that test.

I try to connect with people I was so very close with three months ago, Martin. Some of them I do make a genuine connection with, and the others seem fake, a continuation of conditions long expired. I hope and pray that I will be able to break free of that tyrannical grip that context holds over us and reconnect with those I have neglected over the past few months.

A Productive Day

A Productive Day:

1. Moe's Southwestern Grill was disappointed that I didn't have any "restaurant experience" listed on my application. Where do I start if not at the bottom?

2. I found a bottle of flat Sundrop in the pantry.

3. I found Diary of a Mad Black Woman in the $2 bargain bin.

4. My dog bit a yellowjacket.

5. I had a good bowel movement right after I woke up.

6. Listened to Isaac Hayes' Greatest Hits and read World War One poems until 1 AM.

I never knew you can find parallels between trench warfare and unemployment.

Home Sweet Home

I once saw on a wall the following quote: "Home is not a place but where they understand you." Well, if that's the case, then I should be spending my nights sleeping at the liquor store, because only those guys know what I really, really need in life.

I thought time travel was impossible but moving back home has proved that to be a false impression. But I didn't get to go back to see Led Zeppelin in concert or to Washington crossing the Delaware. No, I got sent back to 9th grade: "Who are you talking to on the phone? Where are you going? You need to do this, this, and this."

I am eternally grateful to my parents for allowing me to live under their roof, for otherwise I would have no where else to go while down on my luck. But sometimes there's a lot of tension, and whose fault it is isn't always clear. In one of our arguments last night, I was told that I need to stop acting like a child and learn to be the adult that I claim I want to be treated as.

Now this is extremely confusing, because I think I might have acted childish in this one instance. But was that all my fault or was it at least half my parent's fault for treating me like a child in the first place? Nature or nurture, Mom and Dad? It's quite a Catch-22, because I can't act like an adult and do whatever I want without raising their ire ("There are rules you have to follow while living under my roof."). But if I do what they want, then I fundamentally regress into being what they claim they don't want me to be.

Some days, you just wake up and wish that your woman was curled up by your side, her soft head gently resting on your shoulder. And then you realize that, no, that would be embarassing, because then she'd have to see all your old high school paraphanelia every morning. But at least I don't live in the basement, Martin. That's just plain stereotype. I've graduated to the attic. Hah.

Despair Sets In

Welcome all, to the terrible wasteland that is the post-graduate life. Maybe you had some hopes and dreams about what you were going to do right after college. Hey, I've got a bachelor's degree, I can do plenty of stuff, I can succeed.

But, no, you soon find that the world has no space for intelligent, capable people who have no qualifications to do anything. Internships? Nope. Work-study? Nope. Have you ever rolled burritos for pay? Nope. Well, you're just not what we're looking for at the moment.

If you are or have been in the same situation, having followed your passions, worked hard, and still got sharted on by Life, I welcome you to read this blog. For laughter is the best medicine and we will attempt to soften the despair of failure with some good-natured humor.

Why the picture at the top? Because for us, the post-grad world is like Vietnam. You're like a Green Beret stuck in a backwater camp, hoping that you can keep the indigs (i.e. your sanity) together while the Vietcong attack the wire every night. You hope and pray that the VC (i.e. the economy) will hold off long enough for the 5th Air Cav (i.e. some employer) to break through the bad weather (i.e. all the other peons applying for jobs) and bail your ass out. Otherwise, Charlie is going to break through the southern redoubt and barbeque the hootches with napalm. But things don't look good, so you never rule out the possibility of calling in "Broken Arrow" over the radio. Yes, that it might be: your hope of a career can end just like an A-4 Skyraider dumping high explosive on top of your overrun position, taking you along with the enemy.

So here we go, boldly venturing into the dark humor which sustains us in this time of trial. Let's just hope Dr. Pangloss wasn't right.