Jesus - two days in and i’m already behind. Any lame Shaman could predict the future for me now. Bypassing the obvious environmental issues (such as premature, stress induced baldness, lung cancer and an overactive adrenalin gland causing me to shake like Mohammed Ali) my future now is bound by many late nights and countless wired mornings.
On average I should be producing about 1000 solid words and refinement of my scribbled gibberish on the hour, every hour in order to reach completion. But a stake of horrible accidents and an addiction to Social Politics has left me sidetracked and wordless for the last 48 hours.
The university, today, is unduly crowded with cars. Sweat, stress and cigarette smoke fill the air on this steamy summer Thursday. Its exam time baby and you better be ready.
For the next two weeks every park bench, public space and private sanctuary will be covered with cringers, cronies and crammers - desperately humping every last element of education in an attempt to prepare for the last play of the game.
Nervous conversation fills the air with minds preoccupied by the stress of success. Friendships are broken as people strive, conceal and cheat themselves into position to stay ahead of the bell curve. This is win at all costs academia - Lone Wolf sorta stuff. For the next two weeks the entire university caucus will be gripped by the upheaval of social terror. It’s time to prove to your friends, family and even yourself that after a semester of hard drinking, drugging and unprotected sex you are still able to scale the mountain of academic achievement as you push memories of Sisyphus far back into the depths of your mind.
Indeed, Sisyphus is good example of how there’s no room for wreckage in the fast lane. That poor bugger learned the hard way that some boulders are just too heavy to move. But while the rest of the student body is sweating it out in the sunshine, I find myself relegated to the gloom of some backwater computer lab like a rabid Mole, hidden from the daylight.
I can type and type until my hands turn into gnarled claws but it’s fast dawning on me that I need a Plan B. Like a Quarterback sacked by an aggressive Pass Rush defence, as we enter the 3rd quarter it’s time to hedge all bets and rely on the Running Game.
I’ve been ready to write this piece since I was fourteen years old. So let’s put the foot into the fire and get this mother rollin’. By the end of today i’ll post my progress so far - so if you see a blank document with the title “Footbal Season is Over” you know its going well.
-H-
