The Life and Times of That Skinny Kid
Having spent the past five and a half weeks doing absolutely jackshit (no, really…I’ve done nothing productive whatsoever), I’m not willing to go back to uni. I may only have two days of it a week, but now I’m so used to staying up all night (insomnia, please drive off a cliff) and sleeping in until the late afternoon, that the entire prospect of a routine life that consists of more than being a sloth almost scares the shit out of me. And then I remember, hey, I’m 18, and I should be vibrant and excited about the university experience! AWESOME! *does a cheer*
Bullshit.
I’m having second thoughts about my course. I wish I’d chosen Journalism instead of Psychology and Education; the only reason I picked the latter was that it wasn’t 1.5 hours away by public transport (on the contrary - it’s ten minutes away) and I am, after all, the laziest ass you’ll meet within a 10-kilometre radius. I can always transfer to a different uni and a different degree (provided I maintain a certain GPA, the subjects line up, yadda yadda, and provided I can be arsed to socialise and whatnot), but…as I said before. Lazy ass. So while I sit here for weeks on end, not studying and cruising through uni life with a Distinction average, I’m plagued by thoughts of “Xuan…you’d be so much more content and adept at Journalism”.
So hello, I’m rather successful at mindfucking myself.
Briefly (ahahah…hah…) on the topic of university - I passed all of my first semester exams. I won’t screenshot the marks and everything (because that would require effort on my part, and I’m perfectly happy just to sit here and ramble ad nauseam), but I’ll just say that this entire deal reaffirms my previous theory - one shared by many, many alike souls: Bachelor of Arts is so. easy. to. bullshit. your. way. through. Joyous.
By the way - welcome, everybody, to the Centre of People Who Almost Died In The Duration Of World Youth Day Festivities. I head this committee of like-minded individuals who woke up every single morning last week to pilgrims on the corner of the street singing their asses off, took congested public transport wherein pilgrims were so irritating that they should have all been kept in a cage, and really couldn’t turn around on the spot without seeing the trademark red children’s backpack worn by half a million people across the greater metropolitan Sydney area. Please wipe your shoes, relax your vocal cords, and prepare to join in the festivities.
World Youth Day in Sydney last week was a primary reason behind my staying home (on most days) watching re-runs of Gilmore Girls on loop and eating so much ice cream that if I didn’t have my current metabolism, I probably would’ve packed on 40 kilograms. Don’t get me wrong - I’ve nothing against youth-oriented activities, but when you see grannies (hey…wait…what happened to the youth part?) from the world over taking 583763847 pictures of the same fucking building whilst blocking the way of everyday commuters in the city, you can’t help but wish they’d hosted it somewhere else. Boo.
Other than the fiasco last Tuesday (the one day I was out of the house), I found myself completely oblivious to the actual significance of the World Youth Day events. Pfft, a 400,000 person strong mass gathering for Mass (mass Mass?)? P’shaw. Famous musicians and religiously-affiliated bands playing concerts at all hours of the night while pilgrims stood in awe of the fact that Sydney harbour has a bridge that looks like a coat-hanger? Wut? Should I be glad I didn’t pay attention to anything that was going on outside of my house? Because, in retrospect, I’m quite glad.
I go back to uni (AHA! He returns to the uni talk once again…) in one week. I’m on campus Tuesdays (11:00AM-6:00PM) and Thursdays (9:00AM-1:00PM), and my non-uni time will be spent sleeping, sleeping, sleeping, going out with friends, not paying attention to any prospect of study, and drinking until I’m adept enough at walking in a squiggly, Z-like line. I look forward to it.
So tune in next time. I may actually update within the month!