I was going ballistic- another young recent college graduate still ruminating on years of academic immersion, while drinking hard liquor from the only clean glassware in the whole apartment, bending to the common American disease- self-diagnosed ADD. Also, I couldn't help anticipating about the likelihood of a liaison with either the attractive male friend, or the campus drunk that manages to catch you at your weakest moment by proximity.
This state of mind was the consequence of the liberal college substance abuser, fully aware this rebellion was an expected passage of degradation for any rookie 20 plus student in the American university system. Never admitted, but apparently visible, it was a right of passage for the inevitable metamorphasis into Spartan loving employers of corporate society- for clean lines breed success and prestige. We needed to resort to the most base aspects of rebellious and indulgent human behaviors before age dictated civil propriety.
Some nights were the Dr. Jekle to our Mr. Hide personas in classes. Who wouldn’t be distracted by the adventure of the occasional psychedelic revelry and pretentious philosophical banter? A enthusiastic YES, was the general consensus made by the open minded Philosophy student. It was our way of penetrating one another minus the walk of shame and the herpes scare (the one that Valtrex couldn’t treat). Consequently, all bad things must come to an end...
Regardless of its intriguing nature the revival of a lost time, this sentimentality seemed to be the most irrelevant when you are trying to plan for the foreboding adult 'FUTURE'. Society, most specifically college counselors and those figures seem to base their happiness on the most burdensome feeling of all- pride, most often lovingly advised you to look at your forecast in your neck of the woods- then here comes the directive: plan accordingly to the 10 year outlook.
This is where I stand on my linear progression, as well as my tremendous indignance to the passage to of time to when the only thing that is celebratory about occasions is that rheumatoid arthritis has not set in. Let me provide you a dramatic scenario, equal to the tensions seen in popular television show E.R. (pardon me NBC).
I was a surgeon finished prepping for a risky procedure, staff following my lead and ready to head at the slightest nudge of my sea foam colored masked chin. I was to emulate god himself, giving life to those who’s corporal being was wasting away from nature’s cruel OFF button- disease. This would be a neurological procedure, and all in seriousness this was not something that should ever be taken lightly. However, analogous to my surprising self-inflicted stagnancy as an emerging adult, I was an individual standing by the operating table with his sterilized gloves in the air in some kind of dogmatic homage to the ascension gesture, fantasizing about the sheer pleasure of consuming sweet potato fries with a cold pint of Newcastle at a nearby pub.
Here goes the digression “man why did we never get enough ketchup…I think our waitress was operating on unjust terms of service that may be rendered as sexual discrimination (she always seemed to pay more attention to the groups of the male persuasion.” Focus.
Sadly, the options were very much alluring and the brain took great delight in flipping through my diverse selection of thoughts, anything but my imminent task. It takes great discipline to look at the matter at hand and tackle it from start to finish. I believe procrastinators suffer from the lack of this productive virtue. However, cognitive distractions should not be a new concept for the seasoned former student. I am at the most vagrant point of my life- old enough to manipulate, yet young enough to be forgiven as reckless.
There are two concluding options to this matter of Peter Pan Performance Theory: (one) carry on with the duty that is asked of you, or (the last) perpetuate your stalemate- confuse them, create the "elder adolescent development conundrum", thus ending with a termination from the gossip radar of The Other. As a consequence, they pompously declare you as "one of those kids that lack ambition" by the mere fact that you are moving at a slower pace to the wished senescence of those that artificially pump serotonin with the aid of synthetics and material therapy, coupled with ephemeral prestigious badges of honor and titles. I am simply bothered by their attention to my PACE, not the other obvious societal problems that last statement.
We see that this argument is pointless, yet the vague satirical tone is very purposeful. All I ask is welcome the ambiguity of this new stage. Choose not to choose…(this is not an absolute statement). I have only oh so many years to behave as a “stranger in the night”. However, many may not take well to this personal mantra, knowing that past sentiments for the joviality of youth are in vain and irresponsible for the modern adult.
All the sudden and much to my dismay, I am transported back to situation at the operating table. “These people” would shout with extreme urgency “Fix that man on the operating table! You are a doctor, Jesus! Quick! Hurry!"
I would humbly reply -“First of all, I am hesistating because I am not ready to begin. I need to be prepared before I start and that includes background music. Nurse? Play Beethoven's 9th! Also, make sure you get some beer and sweet potato fries from for me after the procedure. Make sure I get enough ketchup... It is imperative I receive a generous amount of ketchup. Imperative."
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