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In Which I Need A Moment.


I will not rant here. Perhaps that should be a rule on Plaid Forever: thou shalt not rant about stupid shit. But I want to share a concern.

I am worried that I am getting dumber.

After leaving college, you’re faced with two choices: that of becoming a respectable citizen of planet Earth who works a full-time job, putting to use your college degree, living on your own, and doing other things that happen on CBS comedies (marriage, babies, buying a house where the couch conveniently faces the audience). Or you could be someone who wanders around, doing a variety of things that engages their interest but doesn’t put them in a place to buy said couch in said house. I chose the former and now, two years after graduating with a degree in something I once found exhilirating, I’m wondering if I am getting dumber. I wonder if I made the right choice in becoming a respectable adult.

Here’s my thought process: I am no longer held accountable for what I do or do not know. I could never read the paper and blissfully live my life without a care in the world. It’s true! You can do that. When you think about it, you only need to know your surroundings and barely that. You have to be good at your job– a hard worker, cheerful and ready. You have to be friendly and good to get along with so you have company. That’s it. I know what you’re thinking: Are you crazy? You need to know what’s going on in the world! What about health care reform? What about the price of tea in China?! Sure, yes, you can say that you should think about those things. But if you were to stop paying attention, the world would keep spinning and these things would happen for better or worse. If you didn’t care too much, you would just shrug, pay for health care, and go on with life (or die, due to lack of health care).

And people do that. They get stuck in the mire of work, relationships, and sleep and it turns into a world in which they wear blinders.

I am worried that I am in this world. In college, I was required to read a lot. It was sort of expected since I was an English major, but beyond that I read more and kept up on what was happening and had arguments in bars about everything–metaphors, women’s rights, the importance of poetry, all the usual crap that college undergrads shout at each other about and feel pretty smug. But these days, I’m losing it. What am I talking about now? Music and pop culture and what I made for dinner. Who gives a fuck?

Perhaps I’m just self conscious about what I can provide to a conversation, but I know it’s there; the fact that I have nothing good to discuss. I should be talking about healthcare and the war (that’s still going on) and human rights and campaign promises. But I have nothing to bring to the table. Without college holding me accountable for what I know, I’m damn lazy. I’m putting all my energy into an office job and blogs and not worrying about the world around me. I know I need to invest myself into things like jobs (to be pragmatic and not childish) and blogs (to share the shit I think about when I’ve had a few to drink) but what do I do with 93% of my time? I bake things and I listen to music and I look at facebook.

Trust me, I am just as disappointed as you are.

So where have I gone wrong? I blame me, mostly, for not holding myself accountable for not keeping up with the world. Just because I work in an office that isn’t really affected by the climate talks in Copenhagen, doesn’t mean I should just forget about them. I need to keep myself challenged and talk about these things, rather than shrugging it off. I need to stop being a selfish ass and remember that there’s a whole world out there. When did it become socially acceptable to be an ass? We don’t live in New Jersey. Come on. (It will, however, always be okay to make fun of New Jersey)

The point of this is… Well, I’m not entirely sure. I’m okay with being up-to-date on pop culture, it really helps with pub trivia, but I need to be well rounded. I’m worried and thought you all should know. “You all” being the other three writers and their girlfriends who probably lie about reading this blog. Or maybe they don’t; I would lie about reading it, though. And then ask said writers to make me some kind of delicious soup because they’re so good at writing, they must make great soup, too.

Obviously, my jokes are suffering as well.

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