I applied to graduate this week. Subsequently, the pooch needed to ice for a solid 20 minutes.
Actually, it didn’t quite happen in that order. It was more like…
1. I applied to graduate.
2. A fit of optimism (or at least hopeful pessimism) struck me and I worked on my thesis even after a long day of serving justice and whatnot.
THEN,
3. The unfortunate pooch had some business to attend to. (In the vein of over-sleeping – no exciting laundry tails* to tell this time.)
<If I didn’t probably have ADD, transition would likely have appeared around here>
Do you know what’s fucked?
That old people, and by that I mean middle-aged people, get their own special term for their all-important existential angst:
The Middle-Age Crisis.
We’ve all heard about it, seen sitcoms relevant to this theme, or entire movies devoted to addressing this profound moment in life (some good ones too, American Beauty comes to mind).
And what term do we 20-somethings have to commemorate our plight to figure out who we are what we are going to do with our lives?
Sidebar:
Whenever I went home during my undergrad and faced old friends and foes from high school and hometown I would get asked the same three questions:
1. Where did you end up at school?
2. What are you taking? (To which EVERYBODY WHO EVER FUCKING ASKED ME THIS REPLIED: “Oh, that’s interesting.” IS it? Is it interesting? What do you find interesting about it, exactly? And why, why, why, does everyone who inevitably asks me this question reply with the same fucking answer? JUST HOW INTERESTING IS IT, SALLY?)
THEN,
3. “So, <the following bolded bit should be read in a sinister tone> what are you going to do with the rest of your life?” (Or alternatively, “And, what can you do with that degree?“. “That” was always said in a really condescending fashion. I don’t know way.
Who the fuck asks that?
I mean, we’re supposed to be having small-talk and you whip out THAT?!
Really?
Fuck.
Exeunt Sidebar.
Nothing. We have no word or phrase or even a cliché that encapsulates 20-something existential angst. (20-something existential angst is clearly too long and pretentious.)
Nothing that speaks to the brutal shit that everyone goes through.
Apparently, for us, it’s not a crisis – it’s “just part of growing up”.
You know what, middle-aged people? Your little “crisis” isn’t so bad. Oooooooooh what? Are you too comfortable with all of your money, job security, your family, your house, your car? Are you SO comfortable that you’re like…feeling way, way too comfortable? So comfortable that you need to like…spend all your money on a convertible, or like hook up with someone way, way younger and more attractive than you?
Man. I hate when my diamond shoes are on too tight, too.
See that? That was sarcasm. At least during your “crises” you can choose to eat something other than Mr. Noodles.
You bastards.
I advocate that we create some sort of word or phrase or cliché of our own – something that speaks to the general shittiness of being poor, having to work 2-3 jobs without benefit, not knowing what you’re going to do with your life, living with douchey roommates, and only having 10-20 bucks for groceries. Something that gives credit to the good dates and bad, to the loss of your old friends and discovery of new ones, and just how terrifying things that are “just part of growing up” can be.
Suggestions?
*The use of this “tail” was purposeful. It was a tip of the hat to the screwing the pooch theme of late.
**This has been entry 5 of the Fucking the Dog series, and was written, for the most part, when I should have been working.