Sitting in the dorm room, drinking my fifth cup of hazelnut coffee - Second pot, using non-dairy creamer. At this point, the hazelnut flavor does nothing to cover the taste of vomit that naturally comes when one refrains from rinsing the permanent filter. This rancid flavor does nothing to change my current mood. I'm living with the knowledge that, in a few hours, I am going to fail a chemistry quiz, and I don't really care. It's the lack of caring that gets to me. I should care, but I don't. I came to college prepared to go into research or medicine. Now that I'm here, I no longer feel that drive. I feel like my life has lost meaning, and I'm trying to find a way to fill in the gaps. Unfortunately, there are too many gaps to be filled without some form of physical exertion - the scars on the back of my hands are evidence of that. As I type here, I look down and see the knife marks, running in perfectly straight, parallel lines across my flesh. They're almost gone now - they are two weeks old - but there is no denying that their existence is due to no accident.
It wasn't really due to any self-loathing that I cut my hands, either. True, I am self-loathing, but hurting myself is not something I would do for the sake of the pain. Rather, I was checking up on my sharpening job. I want to be sure my knives can cut through human flesh. You never know when you may need a good, sharp knife. Hell, it's not like my hands were without scars in the first place. The worst part is, I have no idea where many of these scars came from. They have no history behind them to my knowledge. How fair is it that I bear the remnants of injuries I can't even remember? I have no idea what caused me this pain. Perhaps this is the reason behind my self-inflicted knife wounds, but not necessarily. After all, the only scars on me that really matter, I know the stories behind.
My entire left elbow is a scar. It was caused at a little shit-hole of a summer experience called Camp Pinehurst, somewhere in Maine. Perhaps you've heard of it? I haven't found anyone who has. Anyway, we were playing tennis one day, and I slipped and fell. I managed to skin my elbow rather messily. This was not, however, the primary cause of scarring. My skin shriveled up into an intricate maze of scar tissue because the stupid bitch in the nurse hut put anti-insect lotion on the open wound. I was a little kid, still in elementary school, and I knew she shouldn't have done that. It is a sad state of events when the kids know more about proper medical care than the nurse. Now, so many years later, the scarred elbow remains. I have been presented with the option of cutting the scar tissue off, and letting the elbow re-heal, but I declined. I prefer to keep the scar, like a badge, a memorial to the stupidity and incompetence of people, and how they directly affect me.
Now I'm ranting. I hate it when I can't stay on point. I'm writing tonight, or this morning, to tell you about the greatest thing ever: Broken Lizard. They came to Colgate to give a private screening of their new movie, 'Club Dread'. Of course, these Colgate alumns - the three of them that showed up, at least - received a warm welcome, which was followed by their truly genius new movie. To me, Broken Lizard is the best comedy team around now. Of course, I'm naturally biased because of our common alma mater. After the movie, the floor was open to questions, which were primarily 'Super Trooper'-geared. But we had fun with old college grads, and we shared shots of rum at the Captain Morgan party after the movie. It was an excellent night, ranging from 4:00 pm, when I started waiting in line for the movie, to 7:00 pm, when the movie began, to 9:00 pm, when the Captain Morgan party began, to 12:00 pm, I think, when I finally stumbled back to my room. All in all, a very eventful night, to say the least.
Well, I'm done for the moment. I've run out of things to say. I now have almost 4 hours before my quiz, and after that I'm free. The rest of the day will be comprised of sleep, if I feel like it, and the Friday frat party, which is a must. How can I ever give this up? Maybe I'll do what this guy I learned about today did. He's currently an 8th or 9th or 10th year senior. I love college.
Until next time,
Goose
©2004 by Goose
