(no subject)
My desire to go to college is virtually nonexistent. And not simply because it means seperation from people and places and feelings I am comfortable with. Life is fucked up. Maybe it would be different if college didn't have so much weight to it, because I have to pay for the vast majority of it. Because as soon as I get there ... bam. Debt. And a lot of it. I'm never going to be able to experience life. I can't go and decide to stop once I figure out how much I hate it. I don't have mom and dad to support me for a while. I can't take a year off. I can't put college off. I can't stop in the middle, move to New York or Nebraska or wherever the fuck I want to. Once I get there my life if over. I need to graduate and start earning cash to pay back for my six digit mountain of debt. Plus fucking interest. Oh well.
Money aside, I don't want to go. If I wanted to go write papers and spend four years with pretentious kids I don't give a fuck about (with exceptions of course, I have some friends), I'd start back in ninth grade all over again. College has become a created necessity by our society and it isn't. I'm just burnt out with the whole idea of it. Plus, on top of all the other shit, it's the last thing I want to deal with. I don't care. It's not what I want to do. I've always had the urge to run out on everything. Get a ten-dollar-an-hour job somewhere west of here and have a simple life and not be tied down by people or debt or other things. But it's not going to happen now.
And I couldn't even begin to explain it to you, but you couldn't even begin to get it.
I just need to be free. Andrew and I, while seemingly at odds on other things, are in nearly the same exact position here. It's frustrating like hell. I don't want to lead the life I'm leading. Choice is such an illusion. Different colored bricks, same fucking cell. Psychology. Philosophy. Office. Cubicle. It doesn't fucking matter. It's all the same. And Andrew is right. Soon (ten, twenty, thirty, fifty, sixty years from now or tomorrow) we're all going to be fucking dead. The End. Fin. Dead. And who knows? Maybe this is it. I don't want to be a slave. I forfeit. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I may not be around come fall. Or summer. I don't fucking know.
Don't write this off. There's more to it than I could ever explain, but, unfortunately, I don't think anyone will ever understand it. But it's okay. I wouldn't expect anyone too. It's crazy. Andrew understands it. It is odd and ironic we are in the same boat. But we always kind of got it the same way. He said something last night about we interpret situations and happenings the same way. And he's right. To quote him: "Exit stage left." To quote me, someday there might be a note and not a body. Now, don't get upset. I don't mean suicide. I'm just saying I may not be able to be around. Whatever that may mean. And I don't want to but I do. And I am truly sorry for that.
There is no solution. The limit does not exist. But it does. In fact, multiple limits do. Innumerable limits do. But some are immune to them and some don't see them and some don't want to and some don't have to. But. I feel them. Sorry.
