At the summit of my education I return to kindergarten, wistfully recounting suspensions past, and grabbing the simplest of lessons: It's good to share.
Over the course of young Hindenburg's run this blog has undergone many facelifts. Starting under the thesis of examining the amazing it has slowly turned into my personal journal for psychoanalysis. This isn't a bad thing. However, times change and ol' Hindy's got to get with them. The sharing has begun with Jeff (who's putting me to shame) and hopefully continue. Who knows? We might even find Archibald! Last I heard, he's been weaseling Isla Fisher away from Sascha Baron-Cohen. You minx you! No offense Minx.
Let's Evolve.
*****
If I get manage my shit together, but two finals remain in my illustrious University Career. As I look back, there are no regrets, all in all I think I've achieved the entire gamut of collegiate life. Henry Ford Community College helped me in this a great deal. Driving into an overpacked parking lot, running to class as slush filled my sockless shoes to attend lecture taught by a bald transsexual man does great things to a boy.
My first class was an an Intro to Sociology taught by a man with the email "socioking@_____.com". He stammered through lecture, struggling to keep his bi-focals fixed on his face, while ignoring the dwindling numbers in his class. We started as a group of 26 and ended as 6, me and 5 Islamic Women. They were always the best students. My first assignment was a project on how changing times were reflecting in logos. I toiled for days to perfect my perfect analysis of the NBC Peacock. Armed with a 20 page Kinko's fresh document, I proudly flipped through my efforts. Then a classmate nudged me. "Hey man, I gotta go. Will you turn in my assignment for me?"
"Sure."
He handed me his assignment--a half page of loose leaf paper describing the Detroit Pistons 2004 championship victory that spelled "Chauncey Billups" as "Billips". It's shameful to think of me on a high horse at such a pitiful juncture, but I was. I vowed never to be the sort of student he was.
Four years later, I routinely skip class to nap in the park or lay eggs for Nick's movies. I think of this boy often, wondering where he is, pouring out sips of 40 in tribute to his lackadaisical nature. Doing a poor job is fine if the job warrants it. How foolish was I to toil on nothingness. Take care of yourself, give in to the world, but be careful where you plant those seeds. Tempted by other gardens and their seemingly fruitful soils, unfitting actions boast a great temptation.
"Ooooh being a biologist would be fun! There are ANIMALS INVOLVED"
If anything, I've managed not to be an idiot about where I laid my loyalties like so many of Fenkel's eggs. A few months ago, living with Matt & Ross under newly wed bliss, I sat on Nico's roof for hours wondering a life dedicated to love would be?
I don't know what that is but I know it's possible. Working on a singular task for an extended period of time, certain patterns become palpable. What makes you happy? What hours and habits are most conducive to success? What allows the freedom of mind and flitty fervor of spirit enabling long smiling walks in the California sun? I DON'T KNOW THESE ANSWERS, but realizing that such questions exist is a very important step.
Aside from girls, life is too serious to fret over. Life is its own babysitter.
These are the thoughts of a man who rarely leaves the house except to eat Mexican food.
Recently, I rattled myself in an imbroglio over some holes in some walls. I use the plurals because this was the night I pretended to be Troy Polamalu, the tasmanian devil and father of Paisos himself. All was my tackling dummy, all was joyful.
This mindset wasn't shared by others. Realizing I was wrong in the aloof approach to fixing my problem, I begged forgiveness, promising to fix the holes in the walls. This was a high priority for me, even garnering a number 1 spot on my "to-do" list from November 15th. Everyday it weighed on me. I'd walk to the hardware store, pick up the dry wall, and hear a quiet voice whispering "Not yet. The world likes you. It could help you."
The world, again, came through. George, a handyman I fostered a great relationship with in previous rentals, saw the holes on a routine inspection and offered to fix them. He did. On the way home from my beloved's home, toting a mattress on my back like some deranged production of the stations of the cross, I crossed George.
Though my neck stiffened I couldn't put down the mattress because I promised myself I wouldn't.
I said hello to George and thanked him for fixing the holes. He smiled and said "Makes sense it was you. Made me laugh."
I don't know where I'm going with this. I'm procrastinating as I write this and I'm sure Brock will scoff. Offering my irresponsibility as a life lesson is faulty logic, especially from a grad.
Life's always looming, towering above, making us feel like scared scattered mice. Alone and cheese chasing. I guess I'm at the ultimate juncture for that. The world beckons, I'm conditioned to answer the question of "What's Next?", but more than anything it's important not to worry. To let go and let the world take care of me.
Smile. Chase your dreams. Do your best to love. Try your damnedest to understand.
If I do these I'll be just fine. Homeless, but dandy underneath it all.
****
Finishing up early Wednesday morning, I expected a cathartic explosion and champagne baths to follow. This didn't happen. In the wake of something I'd always thought impossible, I didn't feel like an achiever, I felt like a human. I did what I felt like and nothing more. Feeling quiet and quite calm, I laid my eyes to the ceiling and explored the feeling of complete understanding.
****
No more jock jams!
1 comment:
You're doing just fine. Better than fine.
And it's not done yet. Champagne will come soon enough.
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