The Rower

Two weeks into the new year, the year of my university graduation, and I'm shitting bricks. You know what question I damned sick of? "So, what are you doing when you're done university?" I dunno, what are YOU doing with the rest of your life? Actually, don't answer that, 'cause I need to hear your solid future plans like I need a hole in the head.

I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. That's was barely acceptable when I was in grade 10, and teachers and guidance councillers were making us choose between college and university courses, warning you that "if you don't make the right decisions, you might not get into the program you want in University, and then you won't get a good job, and then you'll be in the wrong career..." like, FUCK, I'm 16!!! Now, 6 years later I still don't have much more of a clue then I did in high school.

And pretty much everyone else I talk to has a step-by-step plan of what they want to be, where they want to go. I know that's not a guarentee for anything for anyone, but at least they got that something to hold on to. I also have no money, pressure for payback of loans, and my mother bitching about my child support ending and not being able to pay the rent. Meaning I got to get a well-paying job, and fast. 700 bucks a month for rent alone don't come easy.

I think I may want to go back to school, get a college degree. That kind of thing is great for media work, or so I hear. But I've had enough stuggle trying to get my deadbeat parents to help me out with school, so its definately not going to happen a second time around. I'd love to travel, but no money. And work? I don't want to get into a dead end job I hate because I made the wrong move when I was desperate for a job coming out of university.

I read in this novel last year, out of the 20 I read in the first semester, I can't remember which one, a metaphor of how humans go through life. It's like the river is our path, and we're rowing toward the end. We're facing backward, seeing our past clearly but rowing into the future blindly. So simple, so cheesy, but damned accurate. I've never felt so rower-like before.

Arg. In the words of the Superbad Beerstore clerk, "Fuck my Life".