Apparently I graduated from college the
other day. After wiping away the last few scribbles from the
whiteboard that was filled with every homework assignment I had to do
over the last month, I can't help but think “oh, so that's it?” I
know I'm not the only one with that feeling, so I'm sorry if I bore
you with the thought pattern of a 23-year-old asshole with an
overpriced degree and an empty jar labeled “excuses for being
unemployed.” It's the only perspective I have. Sue me.
I certainly thought it would be a
little longer before I was staring at a word document again, but the
underachieving public college I barely got into tells me that it's
what I'll be doing the rest of my life, so I may as well start now.
It's odd to think about, my life is supposed to start right about
now, I'm no longer in the “training” phase.
I can start using the phrase “back in
my college days” and follow it with a half baked story about how I
only ate pickles and animal crackers for a week so I could afford
beer. I didn't do that, but I'm sure someone out there did, and
they'll sound like a real douche when they talk about it.
So, what did I get out of this? This
$60,000, 5-year-long, slow motion train wreck that I am now supposed
to call an education. I know I'm supposed to be excited, I've
gathered that from my classmate's Facebook updates. Which isn't to
say that I'm not tickled by the idea of never doing homework again,
because I am. It's venturing out into the great nothing we refer to
as the “economy” that scares me. Let's be honest with each other,
I'm a creative brain in a frat boy's body in a toddler's clothes with
a Writing Studies degree. Rough financial waters lay ahead.
I wish I could sit here and honestly
believe Johnny Depp in Blow
when he says “money isn't real,” but I can't. Money is real. When
the government comes calling for their financial aid money back, I
won't be able to tell them that I thought all those loans were
imaginary. I'm going to have to tell them that the check's in the
mail. But the check isn't in the mail, because there is no check,
because there is no job for someone that has an “Idea Board” that
only contains the phrase “funeral home employees working on
commission.”
Perhaps
I'm being a bit glum, that usually happens on days spent entirely in
a basement bedroom trying to write a blog post that will be read by
seven people. I'm sure there's some idiot, or some group of idiots
out there that will want to hire me to write things for them. And if
they're reading this, disregard everything you've read so far, except
for the bit in the beginning with the jar. I thought that was cute.
I'll
be honest, in most
classes I learned nothing. In some
classes I learned something and then forgot it by the time I walked
out of the classroom. And in a few
classes, my tuition money contributed to me becoming a better writer,
and more well-rounded individual. Taking this angle on my college
career, and you'd think I'd be asking for a refund. But the path one
takes to self discovery will always have it's tolls, mine just
happens to have a dollar sign in front of it.
Life
has a way of trying to make you hate the things that you love. Well,
I love words. And if taking back-to-back linguistics classes wasn't
enough to squash my passion for language, I'm not sure what could.
Take a close look, folks. This is written documentation that I am
experiencing youthful enthusiasm for life. I'll have to remind myself
of this in a decade or two when I've become that jaded, bummer of a
veteran comedian that I'll inevitably turn into. There is always
value in learning about yourself on level that's deeper than what you
have to look at in the mirror.
$60,000
of value? We'll see.
