This is absolutely sick. I would love to be back in college right now, but not to party.
I would kill to write a paper on Camus, or to bury myself in 17th century poetry trying to figure out what the EFF those crazy people are saying.
“The Mller was a stout carl fur the nones. Full big he was of brawn and eek of bones.” – The Miller’s Tale, Canterbury Tales (yes, that is from memory)
I would even do Algebra. For some reason I always really liked Algebra. Those nice neat lines you make going down the page. I really liked Algebra. And logic problems. God I loved logic problems.
Right now I’m in the CU (Colorado) library, staring at all the crazy college kids. I’m 26, but I could probably pass for one of them. I want to tell them they don’t know how easy they have it, I mean I just got done with an internship where they rolled in kegs at noon, fed us cereal and easy mac, and we spent a good portion of work time chatting.
By all rights I could very well have BEEN in college. Except I wasn’t. Except as fun as advertising is it is a hell of a lot harder than anything I did in college. I got by with great grades bullshitting my way through Shakespeare papers 3 hours before they were due.
I dove deep in philosophy, beating myself over the head with questions like “what does it mean to live a good life?” (A harder question to answer than you think given the christian roots).
And damn, what I wouldn’t give to go back and spend 6 months just trying to answer that question, or comparing Nietzsche's take on atheism to the Buddhist’s ten fold path.
I remember how I used to get myself worked up over trying to figure out what the hell John Donne was saying in his famous poem “The Fly” (seducing a woman to have sex with him was the answer) but that seems like easy peasy mac and cheesy compared to trying to figure out how to sell Downy Wrinkle Release Spray to business women. THAT makes me want to beat myself over the head.
I must be a masochist. I love being beaten.
At least when I know I can win in the end.