I'm leaving for college in 47 days. 6848 days later and I am 47 fucking days away from college. I'm going to school not in Ocean County, not in New Jersey, not in the tri-state area, but in Boston, Massachusetts, to a school that I applied to with no intentions of ever attending (until visiting). So much for things going as planned. But when do they ever? At orientation this past week (which on a side note, were three of the potentially best days of my life), we were instructed to fill out an anonymous survey in regard to our scholastic achievements, scores, and grades. I wrote down, "SAT Math: 780; Critical Reading: 720; Writing: 760; ACT Composite: 35". I glanced at the paper of the boy to the right of me; his read, "SAT Math: -; Critical Reading: -; Writing: -; ACT Composite: 27". I took the SAT twice, ACT twice, and six SAT subject tests. I could have submitted one of the ten tests I took and made it to the same place.
Driving down the road today I spotted a business sign for a person whose child I used to know well. I didn't say anything, but my passenger, a friend I made in high school three years prior did. He recognized the last name and, although this was not the first time we had acknowledged the existence of this sign together, pointed it out to me. As I began to reflect upon each time I passed this sign and pointed it out to or had it pointed out by another person in the car, I realized: this would all pass. Every single thing that happened to me in the last 6848 and next 46 days will be nothing but a short story, an anecdote at a dinner party, a "wow me too!" or "wow me neither!" moment with a new friend, and virtually nothing more. All the girls who changed my life (1), senior year soccer goals I scored (8), bones I broke (1), stupid jokes I made (∞), fights I was involved in (1), cell phones I broke (6), would all be nothing more than mere memories to myself and those around me at the time. These people, however, won't be following me to college. All the stories I used to share, tell, laugh about, cry over, feel remorse for, reminisce about, would no longer have the same value in college.
And so, I reflect upon my previous posts. They all followed two main ideas: pseudo-intellectuality, and blindsided and misunderstood distress. This post I'm sure has a main idea. What is it? I'll tell you the next time my mind rewrites itself.
