There are certain postulates I live my life by. I used to be a firm believer in Occam’s Razor (the simplest solution is usually the correct one); I abide by Murphy’s Law (whatever can go wrong will go wrong); and I’m fairly certain the Law of Averages exists (things in life want to balance themselves out). Recently this pantheon of commandments has been shaken; the whole social universe seems to be in upheaval. And I’m not sure who I can finger for this cosmic crime.
I thought I understood how things were supposed to work at Wesleyan. For a good weekend, I could go to senior houses. Were I looking for frosh, I’d head to a frat party. I got used to seeing the same cliques hang out at the same eateries. But this semester (hell, this whole year) events have come to pass that frankly just shouldn’t be. Friendships have warped; long-term relationships have fractured; random hook-ups have gotten more random. Even Mocon and Davenport Campus Center (that wonderful cesspool of frosh-gossip) will soon be dead. What happened to the institutions and expectations I knew and loved?
In fairness, I’ve changed. You wouldn’t have recognized me four years ago. Back then people knew me as “that wasted kid who might be kind of gay” or “that kid who looks like that black kid who’s a music major.” And I was originally a Biology major before I switched to English. I tried a lot of things, but eventually I found my niche and settled down for a while.
Rather, I was settled until this year rolled around and sucker-punched me in the mouth. This year so many random elements of chaos have inserted themselves into my life and all my old hedonistic pleasures aren’t doing it for me. And in the spirit of all this upheaval, I will have to dispense this last Worst Week Ever award to the concept of stability. Where are you, and why aren’t you keeping things in order?
Stability really has gotten a bad rap lately, and I can see why. Being in an inert state is boring; just look at the periodic table. Helium, argon, radon—they’re all the loser elements, sitting around with their filled electron shells saying, “Yeah man, I can’t react with any of you crazy mofos.” Let’s be real—stagnancy is a snoozefest and it is wasted on the young. But still, I miss having it around. I want to be assured that some aspects of life won’t change and right now it just isn’t the case.
Perhaps part of the reason why stability is having a tough time is because of this epidemic of awkwardness sweeping the campus. It has taken hold of us with the stubbornness of herpes, flaring up at the most inopportune moments. Even simple things such as a greeting transmogrify into queer situations where the dialogue becomes stilted and the hand gestures get spastic. And whereas normally acting like a spaz would get you ostracized, now it has become a banner of pride. Students now walk around jerkily, parading around their quirkiness, in the hopes to shock and get a rise out of people. Peaceable hellos and goodbyes are now eschew for perplexing interactions, where the main goal is to be different and unique.
Or maybe it is a sign of getting older. At least for us seniors, we are moving on to bigger and better things. Soon we will emerge from this cave of blunders called college and enter a world where late work is unacceptable and inappropriate behavior will not be laughed off but could get us fired. And even for the underclassmen, every semester completed is another clue that our carefree days in school won’t last. May has become a huge neon sign, reading: “You have one less year to screw around.” So people decide to shake things up, make mistakes, and defecate on stability yet again.
Stability isn’t having that bad a week though. I may have changed and accrued a lot of stories, one-liners, and downright bad rationalizations over the past year, but I’d like to think some of my core emotions have remained unchanged. I am still horribly forgetful (HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIZ! MY TOTAL BAD!), and I tend to hug and touch people a lot when drunk (which has gotten me into some awkward situations, but I digress). But I can’t predict the outcomes of actions anymore. I’ve lost the tarot cards to my life, and the only card still in my hand is a Chaos of Spades.
Bah, enough waxing poetic. I bet our lives were never consistent. Enjoy the rest of this crazy-go-nuts year. All I can say is “Big ups to Zimbabwe,” and I hope Order is doing its job in someone’s neighborhood, because it sure as hell has left my zip code.
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