An exercise in Theology

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.

JazzMuffin, and other things.

Happiness...is $2.50 from Jazzman's. It's imitation McMuffin, but it imitates well enough. What it lacks is sickliness and the diabetes tablets that McDonalds secretly hides in their food products, along with 1 inch squared blocks of pure cholesterol that is more properly known as "secret sauce". I miss the taste of trans-fat.

Happiness...is only having to register for one class as all other classes were preregistered by my major department. Next semester's ultimate party class, Post Modern Drama, will be the first class I'll ever have with people I am already friends with. Apart from the fact that Norma Kroll cancels approximately fourty percent of her classes, the work load she gives is so light that I find myself craving for something to do. I miss ultra-stress.

Happiness...is being the first one in line to sign up for work shifts during the study period. Happiness is also realizing that Mondays mark the start of the new week. I was able to sign up for 30 hours in total, and it's frickin' awesome. I miss not having money.

Happiness...is realizing that I have a few hours until my next class and will probably have time to finish my paper for it if I play my cards right. If I know what I'm doing, I can write 700 words per hour. Being a 1200-1500 word paper, and factoring in distraction time, I should be in shape for a speedy recovery. I miss "working well under pressure".



Hey unhappiness, fuck you.

RIPTA, I loathe thee!

So RIPTA, Rhode Island’s ONLY means of public transportation, screwed me over once again. Twice.

I attended the PC Democrats meeting last night (just to see what it was like) and it wasn't too bad...kinda short but Pizza was abundant. A guy had a quick talk on the importance of New Hampshire in this election. He was damn convincing about it too. I would canvas but I don't think NH undecideds would fancy getting a visit from an Asian guy, with the biggest man-crush on a certain political candidate, being wildly obvious as to who he's supporting. I think that's illegal too. Also though, and I've mentioned it before, I can't actually vote so I don't see why I have so much interest politics. I'm a sucker for revolutions I guess.

So after that I chillaxed in a friend's dorm and busted my wrist trying to play Rock Band on Easy. "So it's just like dancepad for the hands right?" I asked naively to which Patrick replied, "Yeah...something like that". Needless to say, it was nothing like that and now I think have a mild case of arthritis and the sudden need to buy an XBox 360 or PS3. Self-control, don’t fail me now.

After that, I went to my first-shift-ever at my brand-spanking new job as a computer lab monitor. I walked around, pushed in chairs, picked up paper and when I got bored I wrote an essay. If only all forms of employment was this strenuous and satisfying. Even after gratuitous chopping of vegetables, endless wrapping cycles, anal-arranging of rounded fruits, demeaning scrubbing of floors and benches and earning a hefty HALF of what I’m earning now, I have no idea why I never went back to Woolworths. Oh that’s right…because everyone that’s ever worked for Woolworth’s, as well as all of its affiliated companies ending with an “-own” prefix, is a total bitch.

So after my two hour shift, I got to my bus stop at 12:05AM to wait for the 12:15AM. Half an hour later, the bus never came and I was getting kinda sick of drunk retards spattering about disobeying pedestrian rules. I was mildly amused at the conveniently placed hotdog truck that was probably ripping off drunkards with the munchies (do drunkards get the munchies? I have no idea). Anyway, I had to call Papa Jess which heavily guilt-rid me because he looked wicked tired.

Fastforward to this morning. I woke up at 8:30AM to the sound of women and children drowning outside my window (I think) and aptly sprung out of bed as this apparently leads to a more productive day. Cereal. Shower. Metrosexual Rituals. Etc. I got to the bus stop at 8:55AM wishing a little that I owned an umbrella and/or a raincoat but not worrying too much because the bus schedule said that the bus would arrive at 9:05AM. Oh but it didn’t. And I got drenched. And I got on the bus, which was 20 minutes late, stomping and giving evil eyes to the indifferent and probably alcoholic bus driver but the MOFO don’t give a FO.

An hour of wasted aggression, awkward hellos and spilling iced-coffee on my bright shirt later, I find that I got an A+ in my Child Psych paper and suddenly it no longer mattered that I had enough water in my clothing (and probably books) to bring the entire continent of Africa out of poverty and into the mediocre, wasteful, whine-filled, unfulfilling but privileged lives we lead today.

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It’s like missing your flight to Disneyland, finding out your passport’s been stolen, being falsely arrested by airport security, being falsely abused by airport security because you have an Obama shirt on and it’s one letter away from that other guy who did nasty things, being released with a short apology by the ugly bald man with a complimentary airport donut, getting malaria from the donut, realizing you’re in the wrong airport, being hit by a moped as you exit the aiport and then bending over to find a penny. Yay! A penny!

Yep, it was something like that.