You want to know what really sucks?The moment in your life when you realize that no one can make decisions for you. The point in your life when you realize that your life is no longer in the hands of the others. The point in your life when you realize that you can no longer do your "cruisey thaaang" without suffering the consequences. The point in your life when you realize that, despite what others say, they're not going to take the responsibility for what will eventually be your decision...and you shouldn't expect them to. I feel like this is unfair. I feel like this all happened all of a sudden. I'm finding myself asking when all this started, it's as if everyone I knew got together and said decided it was time that Jayo learned to deal. And I guess I will. But the next time you all have a meeting, I'm definitely going to crash that party.
So dear God of often questionable existence, dear subject of perpetual moral debate, give me the courage to make decisions and for the love of..you...give me the courage to live with them.
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You know what else really sucks?
Procrastination. (You totally did not even see that coming).
How is it that one can spend a whole day being productive, be minimally time-wasting but still equally as behind as one was the previous day(s)? How is it that I still have a shitload to do and ZERO time to do it. How is it that I don't know how to prioritize? How is it that I can gladly spend a whole day cleaning the house but not half an hour writing an essay? How is it that I can write so many questions, all with many possible correct answers, and not have the correct answer to one?
It doesn't help that I'm convinced that I work well under pressure. It's that I just don't have a choice. I'm SO fucking mad at myself, it's not even funny.
So dear God of infinite capability, dear subject of many Switchfoot songs, give me the will to say "no" and the foresight to keep a planner.
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Whadayaknow?! Something else sucks also!
Realizing that you're not where you need to be in relation to what your passion is supposed to be. If there's anything the PC Idol experience taught me, it's that I'm not ready. I'm clearly not ready. Words cannot express my unreadiness. It's like I'm being tied a hood of a yellow rental truck, being packed in with fertilizer and fuel oil, pushed over a cliff by a suicidal Mickey mouse. No it's nothing like that. I guess I was set, beforehand, on not making it to the top 10. The very reason why I picked "I kissed a girl" was so I can go ahead and break my molds...their molds. I guarantee no one was expecting an awkward Asian kid clicking his fingers and singing I kissed a girl. Despite the intensity of the situation, I'd have to say that it was one of the best moments I've had at PC. I guess my only fault would be that I confused the joy of having an entertained an audience with actual skill. So maybe I was a little more expectant, as the night moved on, that I would get through. I lay on the floor of a piano room in Smith for about an hour immediately after that elimination round. I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever really been rejected. I should have cried, but I didn't. I should have quit but I clearly didn't
I don't know, am I just being stubborn or determined?
Ahhh God of apparent loftiness, dear subject of many forwarded e-mails, give me the patience to deal with rejection, the power to remain determined and the wisdom to know when to give up.
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So I was sitting in a toilet cubicle in Moore Hall after Development of Western Civilization and I think that's when everything just started pouring in. How much I had to do in terms of school work, how unprepared I am to audition for the musical, Urinetown, how different my life would be if I had been chosen for the top 10 of idol, how shitty I would feel if I wasn't chosen for RA how shitty I would feel if all these opportunities I'm jumping at all fail, how behind I am in my readings for classes, how lonely I'll be without the seniors next year, how weird it is that I'm alone in Moore Hall pondering existence...
Let me just say that before this pondering, I finished a week long segment of Nietzsche so these thoughts are fair in comparison.
So what happened next is really corny, but I don't even care because my life is just a ball of corniness rolled in corn syrup.
I stood up eventually and took the longest breath I'm sure I had ever taken. My bag was in the corner of the cubicle because the hook thing had snapped off. As I was reaching for my bag, I noticed a barely legible inscription almost right above the bag written in red ink.
"Find Meaning in the Struggle".
I just sat there crouched down staring at it for what was apparently ten minutes, and I was smiling the whole time. I skipped away into the sunset and applied for Resident Assistant after that, with dear Elizabeth as my trusty sidekick...in crime. :)
God. God god god. God of everything I've ever known, subject of many Sundays and midweeks, subject of the world, it seems, God of knowing who I am, and where I am at any given minute...just let me know okay?
I'm not denying you exist, I'm not in the position to do that. I'm not denying you one bit. Just let me know where the fuck I'm going and I'll go straight there at a motherfucking sprint, no doubt.
Thanks.
