Tuesday, April 01, 2003

THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL: I don't know why I always dread the first day of school. I mean, I've been going to school for something like 20 years, so I should pretty well know that nothing bad is going to happen. My teacher will probably be nice, and the other kids won't make fun of me, at least not on the first day. Especially since I'm in grad school now. That's the thing with college... before you get there you've only got one first day of school per year. Once you start college, on the quarter system no less, you get at least three first days of school, and maybe more.

I should be excited. I get to leave work for a few hours and go learn something I'm interested in. Traffic won't be bad like it was last quarter because of the time my class is at. I'll get to meet some new people, some of whom are sure to be nice and interesting to talk to. All-in-all, it seems like a promising prospect -- on paper. In reality, I hate change; what can I say? I was sad when my last classes ended because I enjoyed them, and I'm sure I'll be sad when my new class ends. So why aren't I more excited that it's starting?

Who knows. By next week I'll be into the routine and everything will be fine.

I just checked my grades from last quarter, and I got a B in my psychology class. Geesh, that's lame.

Sunday, March 30, 2003

ANOTHER CHANCE: If I had the chance, I know I'd do it differently. What would I change? Maybe I'd be a little younger. I see the kids and they sure look like they're having a good time. Of course, when I was in high school I couldn't wait to get out. So I'd make myself younger again, and more popular.

I'd drive a Corvette instead of a Civic, for one thing. I'd think a lot more about what I wore than I did last time. I'd buy cool clothes; oh, and shoes. Girls always notice guys with good shoes, so I'd definitely get some good shoes. I wouldn't wear t-shirts, and I wouldn't wear white socks, only the colored kind that would match my perfect pants. I'd keep my hair nice and messy like the people in the catalogs.

If I had the chance to go back, I'd lose weight so that I wasn't the fat kid. I guess I just didn't care the first time; I didn't realize how important it really was. I'd work out every day and learn to play a sport. Maybe basketball. Or I could run track. Something like that. I'd have a six-pack and nice arms, and I'd have a tan.

I'd listen to more music, and learn about all sorts of underground bands that no one else knew about. I'd be able to recognize whatever was playing on the radio. I would learn how to play the guitar, and I'd stick with it this time. I would write lots of dark, brooding melodies about the girls I missed and all the people that just couldn't understand me, like my family.

I wouldn't tell so many jokes, and I wouldn't smile all the time. I'd be a rebel, and there wouldn't be anything to smile about because the whole system would be against me. But that's ok, it wouldn't bother me. I wouldn't need anybody - that's the point of being a rebel. No one could ever hurt my feelings, because I just wouldn't care.

Yeah, no matter what happened it wouldn't bother me because I wouldn't care. No one could hurt me, that's for sure.