Everything is wrong with me
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
academic confusion and the search for a hobby
Registration for spring semester classes at Hunter is quickly approaching (for background info, see 10/22 and 9/10). I don't know this because I looked it up, but rather because a classmate said, "So, which courses are you taking next semester? And can you please stop rubbing yourself under the table? It grosses out everyone in class, and no matter what you say, no, it is not sexy."

So far, grad school has been ok. Yes, just ok. I thought that by taking classes for my master's in History, I would be reinvigorated - I would attack the subject matter with a fervor I reserve only for high school girls and deli meats, impress my professors with my breadth of knowledge on the subjects and my ability to arouse myself under even the harshest conditions, and ace the whole damn thing. Also, I'd bang some chick from class, or at least a very feminine guy.

But alas, 'tis not to be. Instead of rising to the challenges of academia (which, I might add, have yet to be very daunting), I have retreated into a shell of self-loathing and self-love, ensconced in laziness and apathy, and so far have done basically nothing for the class, aside from some cramming around the mid-term. Nor have I become part of the campus community at all (meaning I haven't banged any chicks from class yet, but I did have an intense mutual masturbation session with some not-so-feminine looking male student, and by "male student" I mean "security guard at the White Castle in Spanish Harlem").

But as registration for spring approaches, I feel emboldened with a new vigor. I'm having "those thoughts" in my head. I don't mean thoughts say, "Hey, why don't we take a bunch of codeine and kill a prostitute?", but thoughts like, "Why don't you get your shit together and become serious about academics? Look at you - you're 25, you spend all your time working, getting fucked up, and making racist jokes with your friends. What the hell kind of life is that?"

Heretofore, I thought that this kind of life was pretty fucking awesome, but since I took a couple of weird pills this morning that I bought on the subway, I feel like yes, I should get my shit together, and become serious about academics.

To this end, I plan on taking nine credits next semester. Right now, I have one three-credit course in Russian history that I do nothing for. Next semester, I plan on taking the second half of this course for three credits. And I'm also planning on taking a six-credit intensive introduction to the Russian language (I took one semester of Russian at NYU before, but this is Russian I & II crammed into one semester).

Why am I telling you this? So that I can go on record as saying that this will be one of the worst decision I've ever made. I have no idea what I hope to accomplish with this, besides making myself even more miserable. That and, oh yeah, it'll cost about $2000 (at least), which will go on my high-interest credit card (you didn't think I was actually going to pay for it now, did you?).

As of now, I have one class that requires me to leave work early on Monday. This bothers me, because I have to get into work early, and by the time class is over, I'm falling asleep and miserable. Next semester, I'm going to have to come into/leave early work on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, and I'll be spending those Tuesday and Thursday evenings from 5:30 until 8:30 with some intensive Russian. I don't know what could possibly be worse than this, other than leaving work early to go sit through nine hours of footage per week of my brother masturbating (oh my god - I just threw up everywhere).

So, really, why I am telling you all this? What's the point? I need something to keep me from doing this. Maybe a hobby perhaps? Help me find a hobby. Perhaps I could start hunting. Hunting always seemed kind of cool, what with all the guns and killing and such, but it seems messy with all the blood and I was never a big fan of the whole being outdoors thing. I mean, can I just drive to the woods, get out of my car, shoot something to death, and leave? Can someone look into this for me?

In the same vein, fishing might be cool, but it seems kind of boring. Sure, you can get drunk on a boat while waiting for the fish to bite, but I can also get drunk in the comfort on my home without worrying about sunburn or the boat capsizing and getting eating by fucking sharks and shit.

Joining a sports league is out of the question. It's not just that I'm a terrible athlete (which I'm really not), but I can just imagine the type of guys who do that kind of stuff as being ultra-competitive and yelling at me when I run out at halftime to grab a milkshake.

Volunteering? You're telling me that I can "help out" in some menial capacity and the only thing I get in return is feeling good? You know what else feels good? Getting high and eating a big-ass pastrami sandwich with your shirt off while drinking a half gallon of chocolate milk. So forget it.

I need something and something fast. Otherwise, I'm going to drop myself further into debt and make sure my January through April is as bad as it could possibly be (without losing my genitals - if I lost my genitals, things would be much worse).

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