A mix-up of some academic records has left me without a torture pit (school) to call my own for the next few days. What’s worse is the fact that ALL of my friends have found something to do in the mean time. The ones who weren’t victims of the mix-up have all gone back to school, or are setting foot on the bottom rung of ye old career ladder. The others who have stayed back to do over a subject or two to raise that pesky GPA are enjoying the sweet life, walking on that wonderful duplicitous edge of “I’m in school but not really”.
And that’s just my school mates; I have other friends whom I witness cresting the sweet, sandy dunes of campus life. There are the ones at UWI aka the fun-central of all Trinidadian academia and the intellectual mating ground for all post-pubescent young sluggers of all shapes and sizes. Yes I would love to go there, yes the thought of every fine, sexy kaiyo from here to Caracas all in one area is a formidable one, yes I know that guys who go there get luckier than a dollar bill at a strip club and yes, I know my girlfriend goes there (I try not to think about it, especially after previous point) stop! … I really forgot where I was going with this paragraph…
Look the point is, is that it’s usually an old friend of mine sweating his brains out through the ear at some academic institute who would ask me what I’m doing with my life these days. What am I to tell him, that I’m in academic purgatory? Or that old chestnut, “Residing in a temporary state of limbo”? I mean come on! It is in these times that I stand and babble for words because I feel like I’m wading in the shame surf because I chose to vacation on Incompetent Island. I want to be sweating my brains out through the ear; it’s how I feel most comfortable. WHERE IS MY PORTION OF SCHOLASTIC TORTURE???!!
The point is I’m bored as hell, and right now I feel like life is passing me by like a black cab in London. Sadly, I can do naught but wait, wait for my little “sichiation” to be resolved and for the schooling system to open its mouth up wide and swallow me with a gulped chaser of immense workload and unreasonable deadlines.
Hey coming to think of it, this is kind of like Burn Notice except that Michael Westen was accused of selling secrets to Bosnian intelligence agencies, and I’m being accused of… well, nothing; one of my grades was just misplaced. Oh, oh, I got a better one – Michael is trying to get back into the Central Intelligence agency and I’m trying to get back into… UTT… ok this is nothing like Burn Notice at all. Dammit!!
