Nearly 22; Existential Crisis
I don’t deal with birthdays well.
It doesn’t make much sense that somehow, despite all the celebration, I always manage to feel startled by how quickly life is passing me by, and/or how little I have achieved. And then of course there’s the quintessential “what is the meaning of life” crisis where I truly explore where my head is at in relation to the world around me.
On top of all of that, I never seem to be able to decide where I want to eat, how I want to celebrate, who to invite, and what presents I want. Maybe it’s because I have so much already. Or perhaps there’s too much choice in my first-world society.
Turning 22 has got to be the worst so far, but perhaps I will think that every year from now on. Who decided that the 22nd birthday was to be some sort of proverbial whip, forcing the assumption of responsibility from that day onwards? Shouldn’t it be just like any other day of the year, except with more attention on me?
Waiting for the kettle to boil
Although I am probably ADD, I feel like the kettle always takes an unnecessarily long time to boil. This often results in me walking off to do something else and forgetting about the hot water I wanted five minutes earlier. By the time I remember, I usually have to re-boil, meaning that the water loses its ingredients and I have to stand around waiting for it so as not to forget again.
Expired media links
To the guy who spends his time disabling download links:
It would save everyone’s time if you stopped. You’d save time not disabling stuff (and still get paid), and we’d save time not having to look for new links. And you should know well by now that new links are inevitably been created while you sleep. I don’t care that the album isn’t due out for a month - what’s the point of neoliberalism if I can’t trade the funds I’ve spent on unlimited wi-fi for new unreleased tunes that I can converse about at the cafe?
Pimple
As if my life isn’t stressful enough already, the other day I woke up with a pimple on my forehead.
What’s the deal with pimples? They always seem to appear overnight; I don’t think I’ve ever seen one gradually appear. My current one is dead centre in the middle of my forehead, like I’m off to an Indian wedding or something.
If I didn’t have a fringe, I have no idea what I’d do. I am currently spending my day in fear that my fringe will split to reveal evidence of too much sugar-free red bull and exam-stress.
Don’t my hormones get it? I’m trying to appear CHILLED OUT.
Facebook woes
In an ongoing technological revolution it is not unreasonable to assume that staying in touch with friends is becoming easier than ever. Like most people, I get marginally excited when I notice that red notification on facebook. However, sometimes shit happens that makes you feel like despite globalisation, life can be a very solitary experience.
Reasons to feel unhappy and unloved:
- Some stranger has commented on a status or link that you recently commented on
- Someone has sent a mass message that strangers are replying to in the main thread
- Someone changed the event time again
- “Hello I would like to be friend” from Brazil has sent a request
- Someone wrote on the wall of a massive charity event that you’ve obligatorily been invited to
- Someone invited you to play Farmville
- Extensive wall conversations: use inbox. My wall is reserved for cool links and witty comments
- Wall disequilibrium - not liking the person who most recently posted
- “haPpY biRfdAe!! WAt r U up2 ThesE daez??” - READ MY PROFILE/ can you read?/ why have I not yet de-friended you?
- 22 friends just posted in Marketplace! What is Marketplace and why do I have more than 2 friends who post in it?
- Someone has tagged you in an incriminating photo. Luckily, this one is easily fixed by privacy settings
We live in a democratic society. As far as I’m concerned, ‘democracy’ implies taking into account the voice of the people. But as I sit here in the airport I can’t help but wonder how such an ugly sculpture made its way into the international lounge area.
In its most literal sense, the scupture I’m looking at consists of a marbled slug on top of an aluminium zig-zag on top of a silver ball on top of an upside-down aluminium triangle-cone on top of a metal cube with copper diagonal stripes.
Now, I know that this sculpture was probably not paid for by tax-payer’s money, but I can’t help thinking about all the hideous pieces of ‘art’ that lurk around the city. If true democracy existed, I surely would not have to avert my eyes as part of my daily activity.
I can’t decide which is more depressing: the possibility that such ugly sculptures would reflect the views of the society that I live in, or the idea that democracy is at best a descriptive ideal.
Having to do a 31hr take-home exam
…for an amazing degree from an amazing university. Why doesn’t money grow on trees?
Furthermore, why can’t I have been given a more normal exam? The internet offers way too many distractions. As if I’m supposed to remain focused.
Having to try not to sell out
Permanent predicament. All this excellent education means that I have the ability to shift my ideological alignment daily, resulting in constant theoretical confusion. To add to that, living in a capitalist society means that I am being endlessly confronted by overzealous marketing ploys, posing a consequently difficult challenge to my pact to save the world.
This isn’t even an over-intelligent rant; it’s a self-incepted meta-crisis regarding the striking of a fine balance between selling out to appreciate capitalism at its finest, and giving myself wholly to the final frontier of mankind (and is such a life void of material pleasure?).
What if contract law is strangely enjoyable? What if I get a kick out of applying my knowledge to the most novel of problems? Would it still be called “selling out” if I were to do something ideologically-compromising for want of a particular sort of mental stimulation? Well, yes I guess so.
In that case I must spend my days abstaining from finding joy in things that strengthen the wealth divide, and wave my pent-house dream goodbye. Life is so hard. I’m probably gonna have to have to fly economy class most of the time instead of owning my own jet plane.
Possible FWW captions:
*People using a Z rather than an S in an attempt to be dangerous
*Refusing to use an apostrophe, I guess that’s dangerous too
*Having to deal with rich white guys who think they are representing the rebirth of hiphop
Shit muffin
Yesterday I bought a muffin. I didn’t even want a muffin. I don’t even like the taste of muffins that much. I just like being able to nibble at something in class and muffins seem to serve that purpose really well. I don’t know why I have this incessant need to eat in class either. Part of me thinks it is a mechanism for staying awake or paying attention, but the other part of me secretly wants to be seen as the girl who always eats in class. What’s with this human desire to create an identity for ourselves? What’s with all this objectification of how people see us? How does it change anything anyway? Why do I have time to have all these thoughts? It’s just a muffin, and yesterday’s muffin was so incredibly mediocre. Seriously I had the option of walking an extra 100m to the place which caters to all the cafes on campus, and buying the same muffin FRESHLY BAKED but instead I decided to buy it from the place right next to me and get it heated up, and they heated it up in a microwave? Who heats a muffin in a microwave? The whole point is to heat it from the outside so that it doesn’t go soggy. I abstained from asking them to put it in their little oven and in not expressing myself had to come to terms with a soggy/crumbly/overall shit muffin. Anyway, what happened to the vegan muffins they used to sell? They had the best texture.
