It’s senior year, and I’m ready to bring things to a close — no, don’t worry, this isn’t my last column, so all 10 of my faithful fans can exhale.
But Susan, my editor, has already started down that path, as this is her last week of editing for the News, meaning she’s one step closer to moving on. In the words of Napoleon Dynamite, “Luckyyy.”
I just cannot handle this “school” thing anymore. I can’t do it. I like school as much as Billy Joel likes driving while sober. Trying to do school work right now is more frustrating than trying to open DVD packaging … except I’m excited when I open DVDs.
I cannot buy another overpriced textbook. I know it’s just going to get soused with neon ink in a matter of weeks. So, then, why should I spend three digits on a bunch of glorified coloring books?
I cannot motivate myself to read from these expensive coloring books. I could be reading about one of my favorite things in the world (say, terrorists being killed by the U.S. military), but if it’s for a class, I will hate every second of it. It’s gotten so bad that I actually have a mini-party in my head when I see half a page is used for footnotes and references.
I can’t sit in those uncomfortable chair-desk combos for an hour to take notes on a topic I will never encounter again in the real world. Trust me, I don’t need to know about the political economy of El Salvador, nor will I even need to know what a political economy is.
I can’t stay awake in class anymore. I don’t want to have to do the stupid Yale Daily News crossword to keep myself awake. I don’t want to look around the lecture hall for an hour wondering if there were more hot girls in my high school biology class than there are at this entire university. I can’t keep telling my eyes to stay open, because they just won’t listen to me. I am the parent and my eyelids are the renegade teenagers.
I can’t eat dining hall slop anymore. Tofu is not a food group, stop treating it like one. I can’t drink water that is pink from the Hi-C spout. I can’t look at another crusty stain on a supposedly “clean” piece of silverware.
I can’t study anymore.
I can’t go back through my notes and try to decipher the squiggles I made when I was falling asleep in class.
I don’t care about short-answer or multiple choice or true/false or essay questions.
I don’t need three blue books for a 50-minute test.
I don’t want to form my schedule based on which classes have early finals.
I don’t want to form my schedule based on which classes have sections.
Speaking of, I can’t do any more reconnaissance to figure out which section has an easy TA. I can’t go back to my room after dinner, excited to watch Seinfeld, but then realize I have to go to section. I can’t sit in section and listen to another Yale tool turn what should’ve been a 20-second comment into a verbose three-minute soliloquy of redundant self-profundity. Ya know what, we don’t care what you have to say. Seriously, we don’t.
(That was the Yale equivalent of telling a kid there’s no Santa Claus.)
I can’t write another paper. I can’t choose another paper topic. I can’t do another Orbis search. I can’t sort the results of another Lexis-Nexis search by date and by relevance. I can’t introduce another cogent argument with a concise thesis. I can’t properly cite all of my sources. I can’t type 15 more pages of hot air. I can’t write a bibliography at the end. Bibliographies are like the doctor kicking you in the shin after giving you a rectal exam.
School? I’m over it.
Like Phil Collins, I don’t care anymore. It’s not like I’m Matt Leinart, back in school for another year to try and cement my legacy as the greatest college quarterback of all time on the greatest college football team of all time.
I’m just trying to graduate so I don’t have to deal with school anymore.
The only problem is, much as I hate school, I don’t want college to end. Because then I’ll have to do the whole “job” thing, and that, I really cannot handle.
*On another note, I want to bid farewell to my editor, scene queen Susan Posluszny. Without her, I never would have been able to write about GESO tools, sports, Richard Head, lacrosse douches, Fox News, terrorist bestiality, or anything else my sick mind could come up with.
So if my columns suck after today, feel free to blame Susan.
Carl Williott would like to thank the members of the Yale men’s lacrosse team for their notes of encouragement. You love him, you really love him.