I was unemployed for about six months. During that time, I finished approximately one and a half sessions of school; about twenty seven units in total. As of last week, I am once again employed, learning my craft as a loan shark. Also, I’m taking 22 units, almost the same sum I took during my whole labor-free experience. I wish I could say I’m proud of myself, but I can’t proclaim pride until I’ve finished with grad school. I mapped out this crazy scenario where I would leave school with a total of five degrees; two doctorates (political science and law), one MA (rhetoric) and two BAs (political science and communication studies). The sad part is, I could see myself attempting this path and succeeding beyond a mortal’s wildest dreams.
But am I a mortal? I do not know anymore. I barely eat, sleep, and have little time to explore the finer pleasures in life, such as dancing. Even still, the only way I could incorporate dancing into my plans was by scheduling it as a course. Somehow, I’m lucky enough to be fully committed to Salsa Club. One thing remains: whenever I step foot onto the hardwood, I own the night. I’m a complete hybrid…an intellectual killer meets fleet-footed virtuoso.
During this time, I barely know my neighbors. I barely know the single room that grants me respite from the frenetic world I impress. I have familiar allies in all classes, but familiarity breeds contempt in the outside of world. I wonder will I have as much fun as I feel I am owed, but I’ve learned to cope all the same. I still occasionally have football and Eric Foreman past midnight.
I also seem ready to have a love life. Curious, considering I haven’t spoken with my friends in about a week. Jordan should be breaking in his new place in Westwood, while Brandon is starting to piece together his farewell ride. I’m somewhere in the middle, but back to the story. I’ve been flirting with a couple of girls, both happen to be touchy-feely. One is artsy and dabbles in erotica, and the other is a fellow comm major with an affinity for the Chargers. On top of this, I’m starting to connect with one of my favorite dance partners, who might be the smartest of them all. She could either be falling for my charms, or disgusted by my antics. It’s all relative, or it will all be after I get well; nosebleeds aren’t fun, but neither is a lack of rest.
Is this happiness? A hollow delusion?
Skibbedebebop. Much later.
Current Track – Creed “Faceless Man”