stoic in the face of robbery

I usually have a lead in to a rant, tonight is no exception. It is the night of the day before the week of finals. Believing I can reproduce a term's worth of mathematical knowledge by scanning a few tests and selectively staring into my notes is easy. Justifying my enrollment in an electrical engineering major at age twenty-four takes some work.

I engaged a hockey player in conversation over some stuffed manicotti and mashed potatoes in the 'caff' this afternoon. Though completely noncompetitive in tone, it revealed our ultimate reasons for being here. He wasn't completely sure of the feasibility of his plans. And I of mine, less so. He dreamt American: of his own business. Responsibility isn't my strong suit, and I want time for other pursuits.

I'm putting my ass into this education thing, but what gets me wondering is if it'll be half gone when game time comes. Electronics are fascinating in their application. Ultimately I'd like to be working on medical equipment or sound reproduction. Upon hearing this, a friend asked, "Why not a doctor or a rock star?" I'd like to be a paperback writer, but I know what I can chew.

As I walked in from a cigarette, the television lounge blared something about plasma televisions. I remember being intrigued by the concept of a wider, clearer picture. It's kind of faded now. Maybe it's the times. I remember thinking those little toy rockets with real propellant were the greatest thing when I was a kid. Now, the idea of working on a cruise system that sends an explosive cargo several hundred more miles to its target doesn't excite me in the way rockets did when I was a kid. It excites me more in the way that I'd like to immediately take to the streets with yardsticks, tagboard and markers.

Is my interest in specific applications of electronics indicative of a thriving interest or a growing disinterest? With one major-related class in next term's scope (to this term's none), it should be revealed. Would transferring to an arts college confirm that I'm wasting my time here, or would itself be a waste? It would be romantic to drop school all together and try to write for a living, but I decided against that in the shower earlier. I decide a lot in the shower.

What scares me about universities of a more intensely intellectual curriculum is the kids. My friends would probably agree that I'd fit in just fine. These people bug me, though. I hear them at the coffee shop analyzing poetry at a volume deliberately set to preside over the smoking section. With my houndstooth slacks, rock t-shirt and smart spectacles I stick out at this school of visual normalcy. But there's something to be said for that.

to be continued