August 31st, 2005

(no subject)

Apparently it is the fear of 90% of first-semester college students that they'll fail out and end up realizing that they aren't meant for higher education. The thought's a scary one, and I won't deny that it's been on my mind lately. I switched my major from fashion design to graphic design, and it was a comforting transition knowing that I was finally where I was supposed to be. But all the time that I should spend doing homework, I spend drinking 40s and dancing my ass off and riding the bus all the way around its route just to see who gets on and who gets off. I fear that the reason I am so afraid of college is because, like 90% of everyone else out there, I'm a college student. I think like a college student, I act like a college student, I rationalize like a college student.

Last week I designed a wicked 3-D model of an outfit I'd created. I made it out of sculpee and put it in the oven to harden. It wasn't until I finished my 40 that I remembered the sculpture I'd spent all day perfecting, and as I ran to the oven and swung the door open, I saw that hot bitch from a post-apocalypse era in her decked out doom suit, only now she was black, bubbly, rubbery, and every part of her body had foamed to three times the normal size. Her black gloves were now oozing and puffing like marshmallows do when you put them in the microwave, all the color in her outfit and her hair had turned black and tasteless, and her massive platform boots that stretched halfway up her legs had gained such a mass that her legs had started to curl in ways regular legs should never curl. That moment, and the moment I decided I'd skip class the next day instead of fixing the project, was when the realization came to me: I was in college, and a college student I was indeed.