Empty Space in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

School finally limped to an end on Friday. I say limped because the end of school marched as inexorably slow as a George Romero zombie. It seemed never-ending. My finals started three-and-a-half weeks ago... so for nearly a month I've heard about nothing but "the end" and "it's over" and "I'm graduating" and the like. For me, on the other hand, it was a little like Avril Lavigne at the Academy Awards... all this celebrating has nothing to do with me, I just happen to be there at the moment.

I have a job... well, actually I'm trying for another job. I don't have a job for any other reason than I need something to do with my time. As school wound down to a close, I briefly attempted to resume my crazy lifestyle... but one night out and just three cocktails made me realize that that ship has sailed.

So basically, I have no life. I have nothing to occupy my time. That's not good. I need to do something with myself and I'm starting to wonder exactly what that is. You know, I'm not trying to harp on the age thing, but there is a certain way that people look at me. They have certain expectations, and while I'm not really going to worry too much about what those expectations may be, I still have to have some kind of response.

I still have to argue that my life is enriching even without a corporate job, a house of my own, a relationship that is deemed stable, or some kind of hobby.

I have given all those things up in order to create my own category of life. I gave up all the things that already exist in order to have the freedom to fill up the empty spaces with something of my choosing. Ironically, now that I've finally really emptied the space, I've been thinking more carefully about the things that usually occupy it.

For whatever reason, I've been daydreaming about what my wedding would look like. Not once in my entire life have I ever dreamed, mused, hallucinated or otherwise spent one moment thinking about what my wedding would look like. It's actually kind of amusing because I've never allowed my mind to go there. I've decided that I will not allow any music that came out after 2002 at the reception (unless it's Madonna or Stevie Nicks) because between the Chicken Dance, the Macarena, YMCA, Cotton Eyed Joe and the Hustle, there's no need for all the shitty line dances they've come up with like that wobble mess.

For the last two weeks, the women that live with me have both been MIA and amazingly the house has been calmer, cleaner and saner than it's been since I moved back in October. I have been trying to let go of all the stereotypes that I have of people, but situations keep confirming them. Now one of them is back and the whole house has become a gigantic bummer.

You see what has happened? I'm spending time thinking about the roommate situation. I never cared about that before. I am in serious need of something to do with my time...