We're living in repetition. Content in the same old shtick again. Choreographed and lack of passion. Prototypes of what we were.
Though those words aren't mine, the meaning behind Billy Joe Armstrong's "Redundant" is. Or so I've made it.
Now I could play into my Generation-branded "emo kid at The Spectrum" role and eloquently break down my love life, or lack thereof, and how every day and every fight seems exactly the same, but at least for today, I'll pass. Sorry Andrew Blake, I'll throw you a bone, and possibly some Rogaine, next time.
But as that track plays incessantly inside my head, I can't help but think about how every semester of my college career has been exactly the same. New friends surface, new girls drive me crazy, and new distractions reignite my ADD, all of which lead to the same inevitable problem: John digging himself deeper and deeper into an educationally neglected mound of excrement.
Normally, as I'm stumbling through the first two months of the semester and watching my GPA decline faster than Jaime Lynn Spears' virginal, non-whorish image, I can still see a 3.0 just beyond my outstretched fingers. And then I'll break down right around midterms, play the "woe is me, I'm gonna fail" game and jump into my parent's always-comforting arms. Well, more or less.
Though the studying habits never really improve, I cram extra hard the day of my exams, get my work done, and somehow manage to salvage my GPA. Basically every semester is a bad Lifetime movie about the autistic kid who overcame the odds and nabbed a 3.0. Except I'm not autistic, I'm just far too easily distracted.
During break, as my hands begin to shake, my stomach becomes uneasy and I log into UBlearns to check how I've done, the strangest thing happens. I find out that I have in fact defied the odds and gotten a formidable, some might even say solid GPA. And then I have an epiphany: the same one, every time.
I can see and think clearly for the first time. My head and heart are completely focused and at ease. Without a single burden on my back, I make the vow to change my ways.
"This is going to be the semester where I change my antics. This is going to be the semester where I study every night, get all of my work done, and cruise-control my way onto the Dean's List," I confidently say to myself.
And then the semester comes and I'm in no way, shape or form ready to come back. My studies get postponed inevitably. Assignments get neglected for nights out with my brahs and/or a certain girl that drives me absolutely insane, but is inevitably worth the neurosis.
For all the semesters past, I have a saving grace. A light. A successful ending. But as I'm sitting here and for the first time fully aware of the cycle that I continually ride, something feels different.
I've had my breakdown. I've gone through that phase where I feel like no matter what I do, I'm beyond salvation. And then I give up, start listening to Jimmy Eat World and Hawthorne Heights on repeat and write the queerest poetry this side of Walt Whitman.
But that's nothing a little pot and or Led Zeppelin II couldn't cure, according to Professor Andrew Blake of the UB Botany department.
In all seriousness though, since this semester started freefalling, I've been watching it from a bird's-eye view. I know what normally happens, but that in turn makes this year different. That uncertainty of success and the fear of being unable to escape failure ignites a fire inside and literally forces me to do better.
Without that flame, my motivation has more than begun to burn out and my faith in myself is dwindling. But there is hope, if only a little.
If I've made it out of this hole before, though my hands are scraped and worn from doing so, I can do it again.
With all of that being said, next semester is going to be different. I'll be on top of my game. I'll get all of my assignments done. I'll study every night. I will make the Dean's List.
And hopefully I'll stop lying to myself.
Photo: Courtesy of Laron Fomby
