College has officially started. I’m officially not there.
You’d think this was a free country, what, with all the flag-waving and Extra Value meal choices, but apparently only idiots don’t go off to college. And therefore, logically, I am a bonafide idiot, complete with my UnMensa card and slobber rag. That’s that. End of discussion.
For weeks–nay, months–I’ve been bombarded from every side. High school teachers ask where I’m going and very politely smile when I say I’m not. My old classmates post pictures of their roommates on Facebook and Twitter “Buying a sexy dress for rush” or “Cramming three metric tons of clothing into my Impala.” My grandma actually shook her head and told me I was a baby and would amount to nothing.
And my parents! “What do you plan to do?” they ask. Do? How should I know? I’ve gone to school for the last 14 years of my life. Maybe I’m sick of it.
You can get a good job with an education. Yeah, and I can learn more in 30 minutes on my own time than in a semester in a crowded room with 500 slackers.
You might make some friends. I survived high school just fine with one close friend. I don’t need to share a dorm with two dozen vapid blondes and one dozen verifiable nutjobs, thank you very much.
You might meet a boy. Ah, yes, spending twenty years of future earnings to maybe meet the man of my dreams. Practical. Frugal. Romantic as a classified ad.
I’m so pissed off right now.