Ah, uni

Jeezus, where's the time gone?

Seems like not that long ago that I was chilling in Lacombe, going to high school and thinking about what the hell would happen after grad. And before I turn my reader away through random lamentation, I should note that this isn't about regret; rather, it's about the difference between daydreams and how things actually work out.

I seem to remember that soon after I went to Ottawa, I got to thinking about what university would be like. Late nights in the capital, stumbling through a series of misadventures that made me grow as a person, that typical bad university sitcom bullshit. And to a degree, that stuff has happened. They always say that stereotypes are based on fact, but these ones are skewed. I rarely if ever hear early 90's post-punk after one of those misadventures, nor does it start raining every time I end up wandering alone through the city at night. I have a series of characters in my life, but there are very few occasions where there are complex love octagons or whatever the hell happens in said sitcoms. No one lives in rez for four years, and profs usually aren't cool, inspiring, hip recent grads who are just trying to show you why Voltaire was a fucking rock star.

These are the things that have been occurring to me lately as I get closer and closer to what people keep calling "the real world". Shit, if this isn't the real world, I dunno what is. Having gainful employment is a part of the real world, but then so is stumbling uselessly from one big event to another. I have a theory about this: no one ever feels stable in what they do, and everyone feels like their lurching from one crisis to another. Adults look like they have everything together, hell, university students looked like they had it together when I was in high school. But weeks wander by, and I sometimes feel like I'm just waiting for the next crisis, the next implosion.

I mean, I still just spend my time in my beat up apartment, with my friends who don't have any better idea about things than I do. But I feel like the romance of how university is portrayed in pop-culture is kinda lost in translation. Same sets, different soundtrack. Fuck.

Subconscious? That guy's a dick.

Jesus H. Raptor Christ, I love those nights where sleep won't come.
You subconscious starts to kick into overdrive right when you just really want a little bit of respite, as if spiting you for all the abuse you toss at it. You see, I have a theory; the subconscious is actually a spiteful persona of it's own, just mulling over all of your stupid actions FROM YOUR ENTIRE LIFE AND JUST WAITING UNTIL YOU WANT TO SHUT DOWN FOR A NIGHT SO IT CAN RUN A SLIDESHOW, AKIN TO A GREATEST HITS ALBUM.

You know it. You know exactly what I'm talking about. That moment in grade two when you got in a fight on the playground over some indeterminable and arbitrary kickball rule? You remember it right? About what does and doesn't constitute a foul ball? Something about the way it curves when you don't quite hit the ball square? WELL HERE IT IS, SUCKER! WATCH IT OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN, AND JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU GET HIT IN THE NOSE BY A MUCH BIGGER KID. See that spurt of blood coming out of your nose, because you lost your temper and tried to fight Derek, the biggest guy in the grade? LET'S WATCH IT AGAIN, BUT IN SLOW MOTION. SUCK IT.

It's all about those moments. My subconscious is evidently an excellent video editor. I'm always amazed at how well it runs through literally millions of hours of footage, and somehow comes up with crystal clear depictions of all your worst moments. THAT ASSHOLE MUST BE USING PHOTOSHOP FOR SOME OF THESE. THERE'S NO WAY THE ORIGINAL FOOTAGE WAS THAT GOOD. What a dick. He evidently has no journalistic morals. You're not allowed to touch things up like that! But it's all for maximum effect.

Now, what makes me curious is whether or not everyone has this beautifully painful montage going on. More importantly, what about famous historical figures? Did Eisenhower go to bed, only to wake up in a cold sweat remembering that time he freaked out a little bit when talking to a cute girl that he liked, only to drop his pencil out of pure fright and stand up again, trying to look all cool, ONLY TO BANG HIS HEAD ON THE UNDERSIDE OF HIS LOCKER? DID HE?! I WANT TO KNOW, GODDAMMIT.

Did Asimov always remember falling out of that tree that everyone said he couldn't climb, but he did anyways because he wanted to show that he actually could? I firmly believe that these are the things that should be appearing in unauthorized biographies. I don't want to hear about Gagarin being the first dude in space, I want to hear about him walking into a door while ogling some cute little Bolshevik. THESE ARE THE THINGS I ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT.

Fuck you, subconscious. I will now retire to thoughts that will eventually cause me to stab myself in the skull with a barbecue fork. I hope you are happy.