whatsanis
How much of this is being forced upon me? I think this, every day in class, as we sit in a huge lecture hall. Have we been selected? Do humans truly need to spend twenty years being educated, before they can begin to live? And, more importantly, have we been convinced to like it? I have always enjoyed school, but sometimes I wonder if it's all quite necessary.
What you win is less important than what you do. Some of the best actions yield no prizes, and some of the best things come free.
We were sitting in Clune today, listening to Canty give a little pep talk about graduation. He showed us a Powerpoint with little black dots that represented us, walking up the aisle and then into our rows of twelve. At the end of each row were two more seats, set apart a little bit, marked with an F that we assumed meant "faculty" - but it was nice to ask, "are those seats for the kids who failed?"
We went to the Brain exhibit in the museum of natural history. We learned about neurons and chemical reactions and everything that lets us see, feel, taste, fear, love. It was wonderful and very scary, because it says quite definitively that our entire consciousness can be explained by a few million chemical reactions and electrical signals. We'd like to think otherwise, but that's what it is - and that means that all that will be gone one day, and the world will be none the wiser to our innermost revelations. It'll be like we never were.
We went to the Planetarium yesterday. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring and incredibly terrifying. "What's outside of space?" "....more space." It's too much for us to comprehend. We exit humbled.
It's scary that we're here and breathing and that we can love and that we will die and that everything, all your memories and experiences and every little realization you've had in your life will be for nothing. It'll all be gone. You won't even be floating in a dark void - your consciousness will simply extinguish.
"How could I /not/ love you?" he said.
I sometimes wonder when, or if, you'll take me to see your mother. I wonder if she was buried, and where. Would you introduce me? I know I would tell her about you. I know she'd be as proud as I am.
Remember when we used to sit in the corner by the elevator, against the brick wall? It was "the corner" and we always sat in the chair by the butterfly-painted trash can, underneath the cheap foam tile ceiling into which someone had carved, "fuck."
I do a good job most of the time, but sometimes there'll be a little glitchy moment where I forget where I am, what I'm doing, and think back to moments, memories that I will never again experience.
Thanks to US Coachways, we won't have a limo for prom this year. They completely and unprofessionally denied that we had made a reservation and then later pretended that we had called to cancel it. Whatever. We don't need a bus to have a good time - and we will have a great time.
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