Whoever is reading this: you are a monster. Sorry to say it, but you actually truly have fallen victim to one of the classic blunders which is a nice way of saying you made the most dumbass move of all the dumbass moves in history by becoming a student of higher education which makes you, you guessed it, a monster.
I know you, okay!!! You’re all the same, you universitatis punks. You’re like Henry David Thoreau at Walden Pond, but worse somehow. You keep mad scary hours- like either you go to sleep at 4 AM, or right after your dinner of garlic bread and The Communist Manifesto. I know that one time you fell asleep deadass in the middle of the Waterman green while a bunch of environmental students stepped around your unmoving body in order to identify some tree. I know that the crazed machine of your undergrad body functions purely on iced coffee and illegal substances. I’ve seen you trolling around late at night in the bushes in the Redstone woods! We all have!
And look, whatever, that’s fine. I know your life but that don’t mean I care about it. Ultimately, you do you. But homie. You’ve got a big storm coming and you know it. Winter break is around the corner. How are you planning on returning to that quiet conservative midwestern town that I’m blindly assuming you must have come from?? You carry with you so much sacrilege that if you even tried to go back to Blessed Baby Jesus Methodist Church with your well-meaning, Volvo-driving parents you would probably burst directly into flames after crossing the threshold into the pulpit.
Life has consequences outside of this pedantic bubble of pseudo-academia, you socialistic trash bag! I know none of us really want to admit that given that we are all hopelessly terrified by the thought of the Real World, but come on!! What are you gonna do about your single dangly earring and your chipped black nail polish when you go to visit your grandma in East Armpit, Nebraska, as I am fully assuming you do every Thanksgiving of your life? What will Dave and Deborah (your parents) say when you recount your top 10 stories of the semester, which include creating a secret guerrilla group to destroy capitalism, verbally harassing local cops, and holding a seance in your common room? Don’t tell them about the pagan ritual you witnessed in the forest! It’s too much for good old Deborah!
We all gotta go back home at some point and reckon with the people we have or haven’t become. And that’s gonna feel wack. Try and maintain your feral college hippie persona around Shithouse, Indiana (where I assume you are from). Hide in bushes from the nonexistent campus police, debate the concept of free will, make microwave noodles just like you did at school. It won’t be the same. Cause you’re at home now, back where you belong, back where you came from, where you became a person. And doesn’t that feel so goddamn strange.