Wouldn't know what to do with you.

The other day I found myself walking by the Harry Ransom Center through the courtyard. As I walked through, I came across a couple sitting together on a bench. They were making out. But they weren't just making out, they were making out with perfect form. Their backs were perfectly straight, their feet firmly planted on the ground, their arms wrapped around each other forming solid frames. They were bent over each other at angles that I've never seen a couple form before.

It was uncomfortable to see.

I won't pretend to know why, but last night I had a strange dream. I had a dream that I was a father. It was one of those idyllic scenes. You come home from work and there are, like, kids all excited to see you and stuff and there's, like, a lady in your nice house who you're married to. It was surprisingly not stressful. It was peaceful. It's something to look forward to, I'm told.

And now I'm watching the ending of Knocked Up.

It makes me wonder. There are so many people that seem to be so sure of themselves when it comes to their ideas of their futures. Constantly reworking their plans to accommodate their ultimate goal. Everybody wants a family. I've never seen myself in a situation like that, but I guess maybe I ought to start.

How does it work; do you just accept it?

Comments

Spen said…

Quite a thought. What if there could be more adventure involved than just the picket-fence ideal?

October 17, 2009 at 9:39 PM

No, Holmes, no!

All I ever think about these days is how much I have to/want to study. I hope that's not how I have a good time, now. Would I rather go hang out with peeps or would I rather sit in and study? It is a difficult question to answer. Just a couple more days and then I can focus all my energy on the next greatest idea I've ever had: iconic detectives and sharks.

I wonder, sometimes.

I am standing on the edge of a cliff face. A breeze whips past me as I stare out into the darkness. It's a familiar sight, comforting. The river bends below me. It stretches out, away from me at both ends. The arch of the bridge traverses the river, silhouetted by the house lights and golf course below us. So far away from us. The highway reaches out before us, straight into the hills and disappears on the horizon. It is silent. There are no cars. No planes. No animals. It is just us standing on top of the cliff. As it should be. It's late. A late weeknight. Just a normal Tuesday night to the world. I step away from the edge. In 5 minutes, I will be 22 years old. It's a turning point in my life. A fixed checkpoint. I'm only 21 years old, I'm not an actual adult yet. Maybe legally. But I'm still a child. I'm immature, I laugh at fart jokes. I laugh at everything. Why would I take anything seriously? 21 years old and we still have no responsibilities. We c...

Side effects include constant irritability, being an ass.

It was a typical day in MUS 307 . A typical day where nobody pays attention to anything the professor talks about. A day where people play shitty flash games instead of take notes. A day where people sit and refresh their Facebook newsfeed instead of follow the slides. A day where people roll their eyes and go to sleep instead of listen to the music examples. A day where people get up and leave ten minutes before lecture ends instead of having the God damn decency to stay the whole time and pretend to be interested. I mean, if you're going to be so unaffected by the music we're studying in class then why the fuck did you take the class in the first place? Fuck it makes me mad. And I haven't even started talking about that fucker who sits in the back and tries to whistle along with every song that gets played in class. Alright, dude, we get it: you are just too cool and you know everything about jazz, ever. You know every standard ever written and everybody's so...

everything is fine

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