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Of greetings and goodbyes

It’s been a strange few weeks. There aren’t many times in your life that you must come to grips with your own mortality, something I’m eternally grateful for, but losing a friend under circumstances such as these causes just that kind of introspection. I’ve severed my ties with Fiona, I’m dropping out of university, I’m quitting my shitty job, I want to start this life anew.

Despite the fact that we broke up almost two months ago, Fiona and I have maintained almost–constant sexual relations. There was no exclusivity intended, though it worked out that way, and no strings attached. It worked, to a degree, up until last week when she boarded a plane for an east coast holiday. “Piece of cake,” I told myself. “A week without sex is like a week without double–quarter–pounders–with–cheese.” I was right, a little too right, and though I haven’t forsaken double–quarter–pounders–with–cheese I have decided that this pseudo–relationship must come to an end. Whether it’s the product of a week without seeing her, or a week of increased emotional dependence on my friends, I don’t know for sure. I’m glad that our mad dance has come to an end; but once again I am loverless, one of the boys, having sex–dreams about unavailable women.

Yes, I am leaving university again. Right after high school I went to uni and was unimpressed; I dropped out, spent most of a year working and fucking around, spent the next year at a college of TAFE, and finally decided a proper university education might now be in order. Actually, “decided a proper university education might now be in order” is a damn lie. I was there for two reasons:

  1. Ensure another three years of government–funded living, thanks to CentreLink.
  2. Ensure another three years before I had to decide what I want to do with my life

So university has been given the proverbial boot. Again. The education system has never been for me. Study has never been for me. I sailed through high school on wit and charm and not much else. I “earned” enviable grades by doing the bare minimum. I never studied, I always did assignments the night before they were due, and I somehow made that situation work out for me. University doesn’t work like that. University requires study, dedication, and other things I have no patience for. I want to work, I want a job, I want to teach myself things in my spare time and maintain a bevy of side–projects. I can do that without a university degree, and I plan to.

My job? Woolworths has begun to suck ass in serious ways, and I certainly don’t plan to take up full–time work there when I resign from university–student life. So I guess I need to look for a real job, something I can do for several years… or until I grow tired of it.

Do I think life can work this way? Yes, of course I do. This is how life was lived before degrees became the worthless product of an “even morons can graduate” education system. This is how my parents lived. This is how I want to live. Watch me do it.