understandable

woo. tired.

You know, I have often argued that choice is a strange bed-fellow. We all want choice, hate being told what to do, aggressively assert our desires and occasionally buy the walnut burger when we know that we like the regular veggie burger. Life on the edge, etc.

And, despite the upcoming rant, I do like choice. I think.

rant: fuck choices. fuck them outrageously. fuck signing up for a career. fuck paths. fuck hand forcing and fuck symbolic gestures. fuck mandatory exams and the agencies that (sometimes) provide them. fuck funding. fuck economic downturns and litigious societies. fuck dark windowless rooms and fuck iterative research. fuck student loans. fuck being afraid of not being able to pay for school. fuck deferrals and definitely fuck not knowing. fuck stretched out degrees. fuck limitations. fuck fine print. fuck salesmanship. fuck pretty binders.

okay, I finished my last class of undergraduate studies today and am fully sober. This is a bad sign. I feel ... uneasy.

I have so many good options and I am completely stressed out. This is the opposite of what should be happening. Options should relieve stress. blah.

Anyway, New York was good, marred slightly right at the end, but that probably had more to do with a lack of sleep than anything else. People were friendly, although we didn't have the mind-blowing, earth-shattering, radical discussions I expected. Still, I can imagine it would be a fun city to be in, especially once I found that free stuff. But, it was busy, pushy, focused and aggressive. Fine for a while, but for at least 3 years plus however many years of indentured servitude I would have to endure. And NYU was exciting. Full of people doing things. I like things.

Oh, who am I kidding. I am full of fear.

Deadlines approach and people expect me to tell them things and I just keep stalling while somehow concurrently increasing my options. Most recent idea: 1 year masters at UVic. Got offered it today. The prof thinks we can push it through. Yay! Options!

The natural history museum in NY is the most amazing place ever. I truly believe that one could spend a year reading every sign in that place and come out as well educated as any university graduate. Schools should set up comprehensive exams at the exits, multiple choice with scantron machines waiting and hand out degrees to hardcore New Yorkers who just want to learn "outside the system, man." These hardcore New Yorkers are apparently also hippies. We went and spent two hours checking out rocks before Colin pointed out that we hadn't even seen all the rooms on the first floor. Near closing time, we were literally running through the exhibits trying desperately to find the dinosaur room. Stegosaurus used those fins for heat dissipation, not protection. And there was a big note about how we don't know the colour of dinosaurs, so now I imagine them in terrifyingly vibrant colours trying to hide behind shrubbery. Pink Rexs hunting bright blue beasts. No more subdued natural colours for you, suckers. Colin is still mad that we looked at rocks for so long. my bad, sorry. Why were dinosaurs so big? Someone explain that aberration.

I have much more to say, but it in midnight and I must sleep. I will rant more later.

Wait, something good (besides the obvious: communists):

I love my volunteer job so much. I love interacting with people I normally wouldn't have a chance to. I love hearing the students say "I hadn't thought of that." I love when I see one of them sat at the edge of their seat absorbing what the professor is saying. I hate saying this sometimes, because it makes me feel like an entitled jerk (I have a definite belief in respecting ones elders, wisdom and all that), but I really like helping people learn. Education, dudes - it rocks. And yet, I have no real desire to be a teacher. Well, maybe a small desire to be a teacher. which is another big reason why I shouldn't go to various law schools.