Redundant

Going to school for nearly twenty years fucks you up. Not in a sinister, plot-to-mangle-your-brain way, but in a subtle, unassuming way. Like a roommate who rearranges your furniture one piece at a time until you don't recognize your house anymore. My brain is fucked up.

Academia enables people, same as any other drug. College is a get-out-of-responsibility free card. Consider this. You're at a party and an adult asks you what you've been up to. If you reply, "I'm in school," you are immediately pardoned for all further interrogation, save the obligatory major follow up. However, if you answer in the negative, a firestorm of questions rain down on you like Dresden in 1945. God forbid you've already graduated. I have even contemplated reenrolling simply to escape the looming spectre of academia. The college campus is the parent's house you're afraid to move out of. It is comfortable, social, and above all, tranquilizing.

This haven is not without its tolls....

Wow. It's late. I just realized that the rest of this idea was already written. By me. Recently. Maybe it's further evidence for my thesis. Wow. Well, you can read "The Other Side of the Desk." Consider this a companion piece rather than me running out of gas. Yeah. A companion piece.

Now I have to write an entirely new post to prove to myself that I'm not out of ideas. It's not such a foreign notion. All pens run out of ink. Excuse me while I lick the tip and scribble on a piece of scratch paper for a moment.