Scholarship In Bullshit

You took the tests, you bested the rest. Cap and gown in hand, you stand attested and arrested. What is to become of Higher Education high hopes channeled through the Matrix of bygone best intentions?

I don’t even know what to say. It really is too much. The effort, study, late nights, “thank you very muchs”, overburdened schedules, backpacks packed with notes and electronic devices causing an early-in-life need for chiropractic treatment all too ardent and necessary — for what?

It is not like Grandma’s hopes and predisposers were ever a force in your decisions, but locked in your teenage bedroom, looking at the posters your mom never bothered to remove and smelling the sheets you first test-kissed in JR High — GrandMom matters. The thing about dreams is that we never miss them as much as when the ones we did not know we wanted disappear.

Graduation seemed stupid. (Like, a square hat? WTF?!) But here you are, on hold with the bursar’s office near tears. You were supposed to be drunk. Getting laid. Breaking up. SnapChatting. Instead it is laundry and some lame app where you upload a paper you Wiki plagiarized. Who cares? Your professors sound high. About as absent as you feel. In that you should relate, find common ground. No such luck — you both resent each other and the convention that has you together in pixels til you part.