I am so sick of being told it’ll all work out for the best. As I mentioned in my previous post, I’m getting kicked out of my apartment for doing literally nothing. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this hated. There is a lot more to being a nice person than just smiling and making small talk, you know. One of my roommates (not the one who wants me gone, just one who’s going along with the one who wants me gone) has even said that it’s probably better if I talk to him and not to her. Is the one who wants me gone purposely avoiding me? I think she might be.
I’m very proud to be a part of the grad program I’m in. The average age of someone in this program is 25 (at least). I’m 23 and have virtually no background experience in the field I’m studying. As an undergraduate, I majored in English. Now, I’m studying environmentalism. I’m probably not the first person ever to have made such a transition, but I don’t think there are too many who could convince one of the best universities in the world to accept them into such an exclusive program with those credentials. I mention this because on the flip side, not too many people could piss off a prospective roommate so much that they don’t want them around after only a five-minute meeting and a pleasant conversation. I guess I’m just that special. I’m also left-handed.
There seems to be significant evidence for this claim that left-handed people are somehow “different”. I’m not a scientist, but according to what I can pick up, left-handed people die sooner, are more prone to mental illness, and are more likely to be President (relative to their numbers in the general population, anyway.) I don’t think I’m going to be President. At the same time, I don’t think I’m going to die young. I strike myself as the type who leads a long-but-not-too-happy life. I hope I’m wrong about that.
I don’t see myself as smarter, more creative, or more talented than anybody else in my program. I am, however, more left-handed. I guess that’s something. I also don’t normally claim to be better than another person, but in this case, I’m making the call: I’m better than my roommates. Yeah, I said it.
(On another note, I’d like to add I’ve heard, but have been too lazy to check the claim that left-handedness and homosexuality have been linked in lab tests. True or not, I’m not going near that one. And while I’m in parentheses, I’ll say that I have a slightly more concrete idea of how I’m going to pay for my education. For the time being, I’ll just take out another loan. I didn’t want to do that, but with any luck, I’ll accrue enough money through scholarships and grants over the next year that I won’t need all of the loan money that I’ve already been promised. This, like much of what I do, is a short-term solution.)
It would be really nice to make long-term plans for a change, but I don’t even know where I’ll be tomorrow, let alone six months from now. I dare it to suck worse than this. I said it: I’m tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. The morning I moved in to my new place, I woke up knowing something was wrong. After a while, I realized that everything felt too easy, that moving into this new place and commencing study at my dream program just seemed too simple. There had to be another wrinkle, another way that God or the cold, indifferent universe would find to drop the floor out from under me. So I’m going to make a challenge: universe, bring it on. I’m dead serious. What are you going to do, give my family cancer? Paralyze me? I dare you to do it. I’m dead fucking serious. I am so fucking fed up with people coming into my life and ruining it for me. From here on out, I will devote all of my energies to giving my troubles as much trouble as is humanly possible. There really isn’t much left of me to take away.
I’ll never forget the feeling I got when one of my current roommates told me to be out of here by Thursday. I was minding my own business, eating dinner while watching The X-Files, when he tapped me and told me that I should really be going soon. How can these people even look themselves in the mirror and pretend to be decent human beings? I’m surprised even one of them can look me in the eye. The two who threw me out (well, it was actually one, but the other accompanied her—I’m sorry if all this is getting confusing) told me this was nothing personal. I think telling someone you don’t want to live with them because you just don’t like the way they hold themselves is the definition of “personal”, and I told her so. It was the least I could do. And I’m not going to beg my next roommate to accept me. From here on out, I think it’s time people started working for my approval. As of right now, there are only a few dozen in the world whom I have the energy to care about. You don’t have to do that much if you want to be on that list. All you have to do is give a shit about me.