Homeward Bound

I’m standing on the proverbial pitcher’s mound once more, with the year still being 2001 at Yankee Stadium. Or is it 2003 while I’m a Marlin? Either way, I’m comfortable being on the grandest stage, pandering to the last and greatest of all human emotions. In other words, I returned to school…both secondary and college for old time’s sake.

I’d like to begin with my thoughts on college. I’ve painted myself into a hole, knowing that this time, I probably can’t wiggle my way out of the catastrophe that I’ve constructed for my own pleasure. I’ve been feeling quite old, 21 years swiftly becoming 51 in the span of a day or two. More accurately, a week of living on campus has me reconsidering my purpose and the platitudes before me. What is it like being 21 and not done with college? Shouldn’t I have been done by now? What about grad school? What about…everything? My finances have taken a hit because for once I valued school over money. Roughly, it’s taking about $200/month away from me, assuredly leaving me in the red. I’m concerned, but I’m more intrigued with the idea of not being defined by money. Unless I find another job, I don’t have much choice. Outside of that, I’m looking at roughly a 3.5 and writing my own ticket to Berkeley. If that happens, well, maybe I’ll find peace in a peace pipe somewhere near Oakland.

I officially take over as Salsa Club Treasurer in about a week, and I’m wondering if it will benefit me as much as I need. However, seeing my recently run on the salsa circuit, I could realize my last goal in college. It wouldn’t take long if I am snatched onto the floor everytime I gasp for breath. Literally, I have never recalled being more popular on the dance floor. I’m not sure if I’ve picked up any more moves; perhaps my personality has taken a turn for dominance. I hope that’s the case…it would make me happy. As well, I found my cocktail of choice for dancing; I just have to remember that it has a 30 minute fuse attached. Once it hits, it hits. Ask my sidekick; it destroyed him and left his knees out of service, which provided for laughs he probably couldn’t comprehend.

Lastly, I returned home this past week. Not so much my room, but thanks to my mother’s influence, I’m secure with what I have. Hell, a lousy six inches on a television makes all the difference when using random schmucks online for Tekken target practice. Sure, five belts adorn my wall…which comes in handy anytime I need to be reassured of my greatness, or potential for destruction. But no, I returned to El Segundo to bug a teacher. Oddly, I was well-received. I knew I was a kissass in high school, but it’s pretty ridiculous when teachers stop caring about their benefits to rub shoulders with you. Republicans, Democrats, Englishwomen, thespians…it was great. In fact, I was invited to give a couple of speeches on college admission and salsa theory. Yes, I’m now a visiting instructor at the high school to teach salsa in dance class. I thought after Starbucks and football that I’d be content to not return; I was wrong. I’m still a favorite son there, while Jordan hides from teachers…which is pretty meaningless, seeing as they ignored his ass. I’m not sure if it’s cool that anyone who rolls with me is essentially subjected to sidekick classification. Well, someone has to be the messiah, and every messiah needs a drunk, meek compatriot who probably does most of the heavy lifting with little fanfare.

On the horizon, I’m sure the fairer sex will come around. After all, I teach salsa and double as a teacher’s assistant while holding a post at the Russian Journal of Communication. SCORE! It is no longer a matter of if, but when. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Crush 40 “Fight the Knight”

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