Mind Your Own God Damn Business

One of the benefits of my life being a cycle of going to school, stumbling around for a while, picking a different direction and then going to school again is that, at 30, I am still enjoying Spring Break. I’ve used the free time, as I often do, to get inside my own head and then sabotage myself.

Right now, I’m the happiest I’ve been since I can remember.

For the first time in my life, I think I have slightly below a normal person’s self-esteem, which is, by far, the highest that it’s ever been. This allows me to be happy during hours that I used to spend picking at my flaws or avoiding social situations that I would have enjoyed,  since I was convinced that no one wanted me there (even though they invited me and were obviously upset when I didn’t show up).

I have actual long-term goals that A) I’m actually working towards, B) seem achievable, and C) are sustainable, all firsts for me.

My attempts at school are a lot more successful than they have been in the past, and as a result, I’m enjoying school much more than I did in during my past attempts. 90% of that is that I go to class, which improves my grades, my relationship with the teacher and makes it easier to form friendships with the other students, who, thanks to my child-like senses of wonder, maturity and fashion don’t appear to realize how old I am. As a result, they think that I am some kind of 22 year old genius and foolishly accept me as one of their own.

Most importantly, I can play video games, which I avoided for a year, which not only helped me become more selective about what I play, but makes me appreciate it more when I do.

My life isn’t without it’s shortcomings, some of which are pretty significant, but enough things are going right that I’m feeling pretty good.

Which, naturally, sends me into a panic.

First of all, being happy has really brought how unhappy I was before into focus. More specifically, how brutal the years between the last time I was in school and when I re-enrolled were. My social circle constricted, the jobs I could pursue with my degree seemed like they would make me want to kill myself, making it almost feel like I didn’t even have a degree, and I got more and more down on myself.

Work wasn’t any better – Subbing is a good crash course in finding out if you’re interested in a career in teaching, but it’s not exactly a real job. Since I was at a new school every day, it was nearly impossible to form friendships with coworkers, further isolating me.

Don't let them see you cry, Johnny.

The results were devastating. I made a string of…let’s call them “questionable” relationship decisions, had less energy, was even less healthy than I normally am, and went a little crazy, turning into one of those bored people who magnifies the importance of the everyday minutia of their day because nothing else is going on. I was reduced to an old retired man who, when you ask them how their day is going, will get worked into a lather and rant for 45 minutes about last night’s episode of “America’s Top Model” because watching that show is the most interesting thing they’ve done in six months. There was one especially dark period where the highlight of my day was raiding with a bunch of people that I didn’t like in World of Warcraft. On it’s own, playing World of Warcraft probably isn’t that bad. There are plenty of functional people who play it regularly, and I’ve heard that they’ve added a lot of features to make it more fun for casual players, those motherfuckers, but it was the ONLY interesting part of my life. It was essentially the only thing I could talk about with other people, because nothing else was going on. It’s embarrassing to even talk about it, so naturally I’m going to put it out there on the Internet.

The worst part, though, was that I wasn’t really even aware that I was unhappy. I mean, on some level I probably knew, but I never really had a moment after crying and masturbating for a few hours or being completely stumped when someone I hadn’t seen in a few years asked me what I’d been up to since we’d last talked where I stopped and said “Holy shit. My life is in the fucking toilet!”

I would just stumble along, and then think to myself “I’m feeling a little bit down. Oh well, it’s nothing that a few hours of jumping through hoops in WoW won’t fix!” or “This girl that’s clearly a bad match for me will do a fine job of filling this gaping hole in the pit of my soul!”

Maybe things will be different when I graduate this time. Maybe if I’m watching for it, I won’t get blindsided.

Then again, maybe I will, it’ll be “Graduation II: Electric Boogaloo”, and I’ll be earning 3500 dollars a year, making out with a girl I shouldn’t be and getting choked up by episodes of “Welcome Back Kotter”.

You would think after fifteen years of constant Internet use I would realize things like this, but there are a surprising number of horrifying pictures that come up when you google "Older Man Younger Girl". This was the least creepy one by far. I'm probably on seven or eight government watch lists now. Maintaining life-ruining blogs for seven years and going strong!

I’m also in a strange spot with the girls I’m going to school with. I have enough self esteem now that I can kind of tell when there’s some interest, but it’s hard for me to know what to do. On one hand, almost every girl I know has some story about their early 20′s where, for a brief amount of time, they would date a “wiser, older man”.

At first, they were enamored with his sophisticated, worldly ways, gushing about how men their age were too immature to keep up with them so this older guy who had nothing better to do than hang out with a 21 year old was PERFECT for them, while all of their friends would talk about how weird and creepy it was behind their back, until two weeks later they came to their senses and dumped the old guy and would go on and on about what a weird, scarring experience that was to be in their early 20′s dating someone ten years older than they were.

I COULD BE THAT GUY.

On the other hand, being the wiser, older man has some requirements. Like your own place. And a car. And wisdom. And a willingness to forgo quite a bit of dignity and self-respect in exchange for some inappropriate relationships. I’ll probably have at least one or two of those things by next year, but then I won’t be in school, meaning I won’t be around the 20 year old girls anymore. IT’S THE ULTIMATE PARADOX.

Eh, who knows? I spend way too much time worrying about crap like this. The fact that I’ll be finishing college again is the same as it was in 2006, but almost everything else is different than it was when I finally made it through the first time. With any luck, that also means that I won’t spend the years after confused, lonely and INSANE.

Besides, as anyone who has followed my life at all over the past decade knows, this cycle will never stop. When I’m 60, I’ll still be living below the poverty line and in school with a wild hair up my ass about some random new career that I’ve decided is right for me. I should just enjoy the next few months.

I need a pick me up. In the form of a late 90′s slow jam that I will use to attract only the fliest of college bitches (kids still say “fly”, right?)

I’ll bring her back to the back of my parent’s minivan, light a few candles, crack open a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, and say something smooth like “This is what we got it on to back when you were six. Now let’s get you out of that skirt!”

I need to take a shower. This post is making me feel dirty.