Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Grow up.

I don't know what it is about today. I had more fun killing pixelated strangers (strangling pixelated killers would have done more for society, but since when has society done anything for me?) than scuttling through reality today. There's a thin veneer of plastic over my senses, and I can't pinpoint what makes it return with such regularity. Maybe it's because nothing tastes like it did when I was out on tour. You can bring the Cheerwine home, but it doesn't taste the same.

I will be graduating college soon and I dread having to decide what comes next. I have two excellent options in front of me: pursuing music or grad school. Both of them shield me from the "get a job, settle down" path for a few more years, but how long can I keep that up? I am not in college for monetary reasons; I'm in it for the education. For the challenge. The same could be said about music.

The sad fact is the world does not exist to make me a better person. Nor do I exist to make the world better, so we're even. The current social-economic structure we live in dictates that my brain and soul have to die in order for me to continue my adulthood outside of the fields of education or music. How fucked up is that? Who wants to live like that?

Apparently, we all do. I say that not because I'm being facetious or arrogant, but it's true. Living is all we have, so of course we will put up with a lot of shit to hold somebody close to our bodies, or laugh with a friend, or just sit outside and feel the world hit our faces. I want to be able to say I would rather die than live that buttoned-down life, but I have tried that before, and it was a stupid thing. Every amazing thing in my life since that day is proof that I am willing to continue mortgaging increasingly large portions of my happiness for the chance at smaller, more concentrated ones. It just hurts when you're making the payments. The rent is too damn high.