Exit Deluge

It's rained for three days here, three days straight. The Red Cedar River is a bog, creeping dangerously close to the bike path alongside it. It's not that I'm afraid of getting wet, it's just that the small river, now bloated and still, is doing nothing but hoisting nasty shit next to the bike path. Instead of ducks to look at, I have chip bags and water bottles. The grayness is kind of taxing on my soul, too. I know this entry is dry and boring, but after being stuck inside all day with nothing to do but zone out to the staccato of a three-day downpour, I'm just a little reluctant to sit here and think, but I'm determined to write as much as I can. In his guide to writing, Stephen King recommends that all young writers dedicate five to six hours every day to reading and/or writing, and I think his advice is well grounded. Writing is a skill that needs to be practiced in any way possible, whether it's a blog about stupid shit or a formal paper. I don't care if this is good, it's something.

I saw a shirt today that read, "I love boobs!" It had to be the best "support breast cancer research" shirt ever. I think it has fad potential. They probably have a "I love penises!" shirt in some liberal European country already. Other than that, my day has been restless, desultory, and quiet. My focus washed away, I've been drifting between the internet and my book constantly. There's even a pace-path between my bed, where the book is, and the computer. We have a couple of highways already embedded in this damn fine rug. There's the one already mentioned as well as one from my roommate's desk to his banana cache, which he guards like a Doberman. I think he's losing his prehensile thumbs.

I guess I should talk about him since he's really the only person I see on a daily basis, but I don't think I can do his character justice so offhand like this. Suffice it to say that I like him and our arrangement seems to be working. He hasn't whipped any vodka bottles at me or spat any sunflower seeds on the carpet like my last roommate. Really, if he walked around stark naked all the time and drew pentagrams on all my posters, he'd still be an improvement.

I've seen almost as many Obama tables as hoodies on this campus. Politics... It seems to be the most popular topic on these blogs. Politics, though, seems to be more of a grim reality than a freaking hobby, and I wish that kids, especially, would agree with me. My generation has all their lives to worry about what happens to their taxes. I'm not saying we shouldn't care or remain ignorant of politics, just that we should have an educated opinion without the avid attentiveness of a columnist for the Wall Street Journal. There's so many things that we and only we can really appreciate, for ours is such an awesome time to be alive! Movies are better, music is louder, people are friendlier when you're in college. Cynicism, which I think is inherent in all things political, should be years away, and welcoming it in early is both a shame and a burden. Even if the kids at the tables are on a fast track to responsibility and adult sensibility and financial stability, God help them.

But what am I saying? Being insecure, confused, and naive is no picnic either, but I'd take it before being a slogan-quoting, convention-taping, zombie, or, even worse, a smug asshole who hates both candidates, but backs the candidate who he believes will be more influenced by congress or his party and, thus, who will be more in line with the asshole's wants, as if the kid himself were manipulating the Big Cheese.