The Nihilist

She wore black all her life
Mourning the death of the sun
And when it rose each morning
She rejoiced the chance to mourn a new one

Pass the sippy cup.

Sometimes it seems like college is the magical land where everyone is given one last chance at a childhood before they must drift off into the land of the adult. This can manifest it's self in many ways. For example, in early October my roommate and I built a blanket fort connecting our two beds and a door that blocked the inside of the room from the hall. We do random wizard duels on our way to class. We eat animal crackers. And it seems we are not alone in our pursuit of youth.

Some seem to want to travel back all the way to infancy, while my room mate and I are content in the 8-12 range of maturity. They stumble around like they've forgotten how to walk and even burp up on themselves. Each to their own I suppose.

At the moment though, I am convinced a pair of feety pjs would simply add to the overall joy of my life, although locating a pair of this sacred clothing in my size is beyond difficult. It's not that I'm very tall, actually I'm the shortest of my friends (a fact they never let me forget) and am of average weight so I'm not sure why my quest is so difficult.

There is something pure in the concept of the feety PJ's, something safe, something fulfilling on a level that it is difficult to place. It would be the holy grail of sleep ware. I have a hunch that wearing these would give a feeling of safety similar to that of running across a dark room, jumping into the bed, and promptly pulling the sheet over my head. My heart rate would slow, my breathing would soften, planets would align, and there would be peace on earth.

A zipper in the front is required so I could get in and out of them by myself. Also, slip resistant pads on the feet would be a must. The outside should consist of some form of flame retardant felt. To zip into this should be like zipping into heaven.

I'm not sure I would be able to wear them out on the hall or to the bathroom for fear of someone seeing me. I know that I shouldn't care what people think but to be honest I'm not sure they would continue to let me live here if they caught me in them.

So until I get a place of my own, locate the perfect pair of PJ's, and build up a certain degree of disregard for pride there is one part of my childhood I'm not sure I can indulge in just yet.

Platitudes

If You Just Act Like Your Self Every One Will Like You. Everyone Is Different. We Should All Be Friends.

Have you ever heard such BS? I mean we spout these things over and over again to our youth even though we all know it's just platitudes which amount to nothing. What if I'm an unapologetic communist vegetarian liberal? I doubt that Rush Limbaugh would want to be my life long bud.

I bet you told your parents that they just "Have to let you be your own person" you felt like you were unique, your poetry was a revelation. We are not unique, and there is nothing wrong with that. Once we realize this we can start realizing that your neighbors problems are most likely similar to your own. We are not alone in the world.

Now of course everyone does have differences but we have far more similarities with each other than we are differences. There is a reason why we have the word average-because most people are.

And no, we should not all be friends. Simply because we should not feel compelled to be around people we do not like. I do not like a lot of people, yes, I'm cofterable with that.



Yesterday I was sitting on the second floor of a Barnes and Nobles. Sitting alone at one of the tables was a guy in gangsta clothing totally engrossed in this rather large book.

I went back there because I didn't want people to walk in on me doing tarot card readings for my two Friends. I was afraid they would judge me, tell my mother, or any number of things. I simply didn't want anyone to see what I was doing. I chose the seat in the back next to this kid because I was fairly sure he wouldn't be disturbed by quiet conversation.

We sat down and I laid down the cloth and started shuffling the cards. Next thing I knew I heard the scraping of metal against the floor. The kid had quickly gotten up and left in a nervous huff.

"Hey" Said Caleb, "I just though you'd be interested in knowing that kid was very engrossed in that Calvin and Hobbs book."

"What?!" Rachel and I said in unison.

"Yeah, Calvin and Hobbs."

I think that the better things to teach our young is Act Like Yourself And If They Don't Like You They Don't Matter, Embrace Our Differences And More So Our Similarities, We Should All Treat People and Their Ideas With Respect No Matter Who They Are.

A Response I gave in class that I am perticularly fond of

On the other end of things. I am from the North. The land of carpet baggers and loud mouthed Phillies fans (Santa totally deserved what he got. If you don't know the reference i would Google it, its amusing and disturbing at once.). We have a reputation for being brusk, rude and mean. But I have to be honest, we do have manners. We pass our bowls at dinner in the correct direction. We know what fork to use first. No, we usually don't purposefully let doors slam in the faces of elderly women. I honestly don't know where it comes from that manners are soul property of the South.

What is different in the North is the treatment of women. My father threatened me with sending me to Cotillion as punishment if I did something bad. I was terrified of learning the complex social norms of the new land we had moved to. I was brought up to expect to be treated just like everyone else, and if I wasn't to do something. If anyone ordered a meal for me stab him in the hand with the dessert fork.

I can remember getting flicked on the ear for not holding doors open for men, for not giving up my seat to my elders, for chewing with my mouth open. But what I was also taught is a strong appreciation and pride for things I do myself. It might have been a safety measure from my father or a sense of pride from my mother who escaped poverty- pay your own way, there is no such thing as a free lunch. (yes my father taught me basic economics at the age of 8, I was raised to be a nerd)

I'm in control of me. I am independent of my parents once I become financially independent. Will I always love them? Yes. Will I always learn from them? Yes. But will I let them grant me permission to marry the one I love? No. It would make me feel like an object. I would feel de-valued. And i'm not saying everyone feels this way, or that they're wrong but this is just how I feel. I would want my parents blessing after the decision has been made but their blessing would have no baring on choice to get married.

If I can do it myself, I will. And I will take pride in it. But maybe that’s just the Northerner coming out again.

A ride

It doesn't take much to mess with the human mind. A whisper of a rumour becomes a devastating event. A whisper of air becomes a ghost. A whisper in the ear becomes a creeper. Anyways you get my point. Sometimes there doesn't have to be even a whisper of something before it becomes a real fear. Just potential can wreak havoc on my mind.

For example. Sunday night I was driving home from my boyfriends house, because we're having a long distance relationship it takes about an hour and a half to an hour and forty-five minutes to get from where I live to his house and back. 70% of the trip is through beautiful rural areas of Georgia. It's fall and the leaves are spattered yellow and red along the hills that follow the road. Signs advertise jams and fresh harvest vegetables in little shacks. I always enjoy the ride down.

At night though the trip turn into something of an entirely different nature. During fall and winter the homeward bound trip is taken after the sun has set so the bounds of my vision are confined to my headlights, the moon, and the light provided by other cars. The peaceful landscape is transformed into a Tim Burton set compete with arching reaching trees, bent scarecrows, and fog that laps in waves against the side of the car.

While the logical fear in these surroundings include deer and other wandering animals, other drivers, and car problems, my fears are confined to one thing- Skunk Ape.

Laugh if you like at my ignorance but in surroundings like those it seems completely plausible for a huge country-fried Sasquatch wander around the woods, walking out in front of unsuspecting cars.

Around every corner I expected to see one of these creatures. Yes, I realize most sightings were near the southern swamps but I don't like being unprepared.

My mind drifted to what was I to do if I accidentally hit a Skunk Ape? Does my insurance cover cryptozooalogical critters? Would I report it at all and just try and blame it on a bear in order to protect the species? Or would I report it and help create a grassroots protection movement for it? The possibilities really were endless.

I have yet to see a Skunk Ape. I do not even know if they really exist. What I do know is that next time I'm driving home alone on a moonless November night I'll make a playlist to keep my mind off all those possibilities.