everything is fine

A doctor came to speak at our lecture series the other day. Honestly, I don't even remember what kind of doctor he was. I don't remember any of the questions he answered. I don't remember any of the anecdotes he related. I don't remember any of the insight he imparted on us or any of the wisdom he shared. Except for one thing, which really resonated with me at the time. "The biggest challenge facing you as pre-health profession students," he said before the lecture ended. "Is the overwhelming cynicism of our society." He's right. He's right, and it's awful. I'm a pretty cynical guy, but at least I know it's a joke. That everything is a huge joke. But everybody is so jaded these days. We just can't stand to entertain the thought that maybe--just maybe--things aren't as bad as we think they are. As we want them to be. That maybe--just maybe--people aren't always selfish pieces of shit. There have been a lot

I was watching some people parallel park the other day. It blows my mind--really--how bad people are at driving. One guy tried to park his little compact in a huge space. He put his nose straight in and then tried to back up and straighten himself out. He went back and forth a few times, angling his car this way and that until he ended up in the middle of the street. Then he pulled forward and tried to back into it. He angled too sharply and ended up running right into the curb. He pulled forward and backed into it again and again with no progress. Finally, flustered, he gave up and sped away from the spot. Another girl tried to park her car in the first spot on the row. She pulled up along the length of curb in front of the spot and her friend jumped out to spot her. The girl tried to back up slowly into the spot--a technique that required driving straight for about 10 feet--but ended up rubbing and scraping her car against the curb before she made it the entire distance. S

Where do my days go? I seem to have a real hard time keeping track of my time these days. Like, tests and deadlines and such suddenly seem to go by. Suddenly there is only a week left in school. When did that happen? Feels sort of like a rug was pulled out from under me but I'm only just now realizing it. I think I'm ready for everything scholastic to be over. Which will never happen. But, one can hope, I suppose.

People say the dumbest shit sometimes. We were walking down the street earlier today and overheard a conversation between a boy and a girl. She was clearly very worked up about something. Or at least acting like whatever she was talking about was something she felt strongly about. You can always tell because someone like that will walk sideways alongside you as they'll try to face you directly when they talk at you. It's a tactic to convince you that they believe what they are saying. He didn't look particularly interested. "One American baby," she said. "Is, like, forty African babies." That was the entire snippet of conversation we overheard. What the hell does that even mean ?

I really like movie soundtracks. I was thinking about it the other day. I feel like I've missed out on a lot of really good cinematic experiences because I didn't sit in a theater and hear which ever iconic theme play. Like Star Wars. I saw Star Wars when they re-released the original trilogy, but the significance of the experience didn't hit me until later. It's like hearing the Superman theme play before Superman Returns. I never got the opportunity to hear that anthem blasting in a theater until then. Or Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, which sucked. But at least I got to hear the theme--for myself--in the theater. Or Casino Royale. Waiting an entire James Bond movie--which was totally worth it--to hear the theme I already knew so well. I'm really sure what it is I'm getting at, but in an incoherent way movie soundtracks have a significant emotional impact on me. Also, I just really fucking like listening to them. I feel like my brain is meltin

Not that I am--or ever was--a particularly unshapely guy, I'm starting to feel pretty out of shape. Not grossly so, mind you, but just maybe a little mushy on the edges. And I'll be honest: I do not like it. The other day I ate an obscene amount of food and was still feeling overly full well into the next day. Then, when I didn't feel so full, I felt sore. Sore. I ate so much food that my body was sore . That, I think, is pretty terrible. I mean, damn . Who the hell gets sore from eating food? I do, apparently, and I am ashamed. I'm going to start exercising some more, though. And by exercising some more , I of course mean I'll start exercising period. Because I actually don't make it out to the gym anymore. I got some pretty radical swimsuits though, so I hope that's enough of a kick in the dick in the balls to start swimming. Swimming regularly. And running. And I need to go mountain biking. And rock climbing. All I'm saying is that

It feels a lot like I'm losing my struggle against every day. All my time just sort of disappears and I never really feel like doing anything. Like drawing or writing. And those are things I need to do. Also, studying. The year is just catching up to me, I guess. I can feel it in my increasingly slouchier posture. I thought I already fixed that, too. Just a few more weeks. I tried to pee the other day, but I had a problem. I couldn't find the fly to my boxers. So I searched, frantically, to find it. It's certainly normal for it to shift one way or the other during the day, but I couldn't find it. Oh no , I panicked. My boxers don't have a fly anymore. In the end I had to pull everything down to go about my urgent business. I later found out that I had been wearing them backwards the whole day. And I realized something. If you take something for granted long enough, you are bound for disappointment. Clothing yourself is a lot like maintaining a relat

I have no idea what constitutes good writing. Is it proper grammar and spelling? A strong sense of eloquence and erudition? It's honesty, I guess. You have to write honestly. About honest things. Man, who even knows. I don't. I haphazardly string incoherent thoughts together before I fall asleep and somehow that qualifies as good writing. So if I tried , I could be a great writer?

This medication was prescribed because it will help me. It'll help improve the quality of my sleep so that I don't feel awful during the day. It'll help me start feeling pretty good again. It'll help me feel better, not that I feel particularly terrible. I've had it for, oh, a couple of weeks at this point yet I haven't taken any of it. Why haven't I taken it? Because I am a self-saboteur. Because I don't take care of myself. Because I'm afraid it makes me weak. Because I'm afraid it'll become a crutch. Because I'm afraid of medication in general. No, because one of the side effects is possibly wetting the bed. I don't want to piss all over my bed during the night. I feel like that won't really improve the quality of my sleep. It's just apprehension, really. And I've already been set straight on this whole business, which is why I now find myself staring down two doses of this stuff and setting an alarm. It&#

I saw The Hurt Locker the other day. I actually quite enjoyed it. I was worried that the whole we don't film movies with tripods anymore and we like fast zooms would ruin it for me, but it wasn't to the point where I had to close my eyes or leave for a few minutes to steady myself. Like District 9 did. But either way, the last bit really stuck with me. He tells his son that you start life loving everything around you, completely fascinated by everything. And then, he continues, when you grow up you find out you love fewer things until you realize maybe you only love one or two things. Or maybe just one thing. I'm finally starting to figure things out. I, near the end of my junior year in college, have finally declared a major. No longer am I an undeclared third-year geoscience student. No, I am officially a general geology student going for a Bachelor's of Science. I even know how long it'll take me to graduate from college. I'm actually going to

I don't know about all of this religious stuff but according to this guy, I have the Spirit inside of me now. I opened myself to the Lord and now I'm on my way to knowing the Word. I don't feel anything though. He said as long as I said the prayer it would be sincere, but I don't know if it was sincere or not. I guess I just need to do more thinking about it. I don't really want to think about difficult things like that right now. Difficult things like faith and the future and things like that. Because who even knows what to do with that. I kind of just want to hang out and watch Batman. And I really just have no drive to write about anything. I just need to think about stuff.

So I may or may not be freaking out about college at this point, and by may or may not I of course mean absolutely am . I mean, I'm just totally fucked. I have so many requirements as yet unfulfilled. It's awful. I just feel so lost and unprepared--and all of a sudden, too. I'm so behind on my geology plan--my fucking major --that it's pathetic. In fact, I haven't even declared a major yet, apparently. I'm wrapping up my third year as an undeclared geosciences student. There's just something wrong with that. And I've barely even considered pre-medical requirements. Recommendation letters? Three of them? From who? I don't know any of my professors well enough to ask them for anything. I don't have any hospital volunteering stuff. I'm not, like, the president of some organization. I don't even think I'm in any organizations. I don't go to UT Grotto meetings anymore. I don't even know when they are. For fuck&

It's bizarre, I think, to realize something like that. To sit there eating my blueberry pancakes and suddenly come to that realization. I just watched a family fall apart. I saw a family completely disintegrate over the course of a week. My dad told me my mom and her sister are like gasoline and fire. "They're just waiting." And now, with no parental ties to keep them together, all of the siblings split. A weekend was all it took for that part. My mom and my aunt won't ever speak again. And my uncle? My uncle spent most of his best years taking care of his parents--my grandparents. My mom moved out of state, my aunt moved to a different city, but he stayed and lived with both of them. He took care of his mom when she got sick with her cancers and degenerative addictions and whatnot. His hair, what's left of it, is completely gray. He married and divorced once, before he dropped everything to take care of his parents. He's still single. When

This is something I feel very strongly about. So strong are my emotions about it, in fact, that I have haphazardly drafted this singular post about it on the fly. I hope, for your sake, that you are seated as I deal with this incredibly important social issue and say controversial things--the likes of which give women the vapors. Shorts. I fucking hate shorts. I hate them because you can't look cool in them. Think about it. Have you ever seen an action hero save the world wearing shorts? No. Action heroes wear pants. Men wear pants. People who save the world wear pants. Pants, pants, pants. Nobody wears shorts excepts, like, stoners, lazy guys, and dudes. And bros. Those archetypes do not do adventurous things. Indiana Jones? Pants. Robocop? Pants. Flapjack? Pants. Bear Grylls? Pants. Australian stereotypes? Shorts. Australia really likes to try to censor their internet content. That doesn't sound so awesome and/or manly to me. To prove my conclusion that shorts a