I got back from spring break at around 3:30 a.m. Sunday, and I’m still reeling. Going to Georgia turned out to be neither a huge mistake nor a great relief, but I don’t have any idea what would have happened if I’d stayed at HFC or went home or whatever, so I guess the fact that I had a few laughs and got some reading done colors the week somewhat nicely. Still, I’m glad to be back; a week of pure aimless revelry is really tiring in a way.
The trip down was pretty painless, save for the three hours where we had to wait around in the middle of the night due to this weird new rule of the college board that says, I guess, their insurance doesn’t cover driving between the hours of 2 and 5 a.m. We timed it so we pulled into D.C. around 2, and we managed to kill a couple of hours wandering around the monuments. It might have been fun except I thought it would be great to get high beforehand, and my initial mood of casual silliness quickly devolved into a deep and draining paranoia. We spent the final hour just sitting in silence in the dark, in the van, and—when I wasn’t completely mesmerized by my friend’s screensaver—I literally thought my life was coming to an end. Don’t do drugs (in the dark, early morning in a strange and dangerous city), kids.
I spent most of the week tired and drunk, played some Frisbee pretty poorly, played a fuck-ton of videogames and went into the ocean naked once. Maybe I’m getting old and boring, but it all just felt kind of routine, enjoyable enough but predictable in its various developments. It’s like the way I once read Roger Ebert describe the plot in some movie, maybe A Few Good Men or something—they tell you what they’re going to do, and then they go do it. Sure, it’s satisfying on some level, but where’s the twist, where’s the spark of interest? I thought I would go drink and run around for a bit, and I did.
And now I’m back, and I’m already tired of doing work (or, I’ll be honest, considering doing work, which is really what it is most of the time). I feel like a Hollywood producer; I need that goddamn twist, baby. Preferably not like a trauma or anything tragic, but something cool, like I win some sweet internship or I get invited to join a sex cult. Hit me.
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Pot is literally the worst thing in the world. In theory, it should be legal, because of all the money we waste/opportunity cost of not taxing the stuff... but I really like the idea of making it harder/more expensive for people to smoke pot, because it's the worst thing in the world and it breeds retardation.
ReplyDeleteAlso, did you add a jump to your blog? There was a little link that said 'Read More.' How do you add a jump?
Dr. Ez, I love your blog. You are the voice of this generation, of this decade. You are to blogs what Michael Jordan is to basketball. But actually, I really like your posts, you manage to tell stories about being drunk and still being saying something and not just bragging. Oh, and you can join my sex cult.
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