A Frightening Realization

I wake up pretty much every day. You probably do too. There’s nothing surprising about that.

But this morning was different.

Whether from the remnants of last night’s dream, or simply sparked by an email I received from one of my college roommates last week, I woke up screaming. Don’t worry – I was only screaming on the inside. No need for a psychiatric intervention. Yet.

The reason for my shock was this sudden realization: I’ve been out of college for 10 years!

!!

!!!

!!!!

My 10-year college reunion is coming up this June. I can’t believe it. I’ve been not-so-subconsciously ignoring the emails and messages regarding this event.

I do believe that if I continue to ignore my 10th reunion, then it won’t happen, and I’ll live forever. No 10th reunion, and my body will believe that I’m still living somewhere in the misty region of memories between the 5th and 10th reunions. If my theory’s correct, then I should find myself stuck in some sort of space-time feedback loop.

Being stuck in a time loop might suck. But hopefully, it means I’ll be able to make some very lucrative sports bets.

In any case, I think the real reason for my fear/shock/dread of this 10th reunion is that I don’t have any really impressive accomplishments to brag about to my former classmates.

I’m not a doctor, business owner, or professional athlete. I haven’t cured cancer, made a million bucks, or appeared on a Wheaties box.

I haven’t traveled to sub-Saharan Africa to teach the poor how to farm, or how to drill a well – for oil, or clean drinking water.

I can’t compete with any of that.

Oh, I know it’s not really all that bad. I haven’t been sitting on my ass all that time.

In the past 10 years, I’ve gone to grad school, published a few papers, had a few jobs, met some nice ladies.

I’ve tasted many, many different beers, played with many, many different dogs, watched a few ball games, ate some great ramen, and met Corbin Bernsen.

I also met Terrell Owens, which is an awkward story for another day.

And then there’s this here blog. Say what you want, but it’s mine – all mine. 100% original material (except for most of the photos).

Some kids aspire to be a baseball player, or a doctor, or a business owner, or maybe even President of the United States.

Me? There was a time when I dreamed of playing ball, curing autoimmune diseases, decoding the human genome, and solving world hunger.

That was when I was four years old.

But by the time I was six or so, I knew there must be something else for me to pursue:

Blogging.

Yes, I’ve known that I’ve wanted to be a blogger since I was 6 years old.

Between the Muppets, Sesame Street, and G.I. Joe, I’d dream of a magical electronic medium by which one could express random thoughts around the globe at the speed of electrons flying through miles of copper cable.

As a child, Big Bird helped guide me towards blogging. "H" is for HTML.

This would allow me to pass along completely arbitrary tidbits of advice and knowledge across the nation and the world – except where those damn commie Soviets and their cronies would censor this new form of communication.

Also, I’d try to make the stuff somewhat funny.

Anyway, my point is that this longtime (26 years) blogging dream of mine has finally been fulfilled.

Maybe I’m not a hedge fund millionaire. And nobody calls me doctor – unless I pay them to do so.

But I have a blog, goddamn it. And I will spend every waking hour between now and my 10-year college reunion convincing myself that this is something to be proud of.