pomelo golden days

It is 6:30 in the morning on a Monday in State College, Pennyslvania. It is the happiest place on Earth. The sun is gently creeping over the hills and I'm pondering the meaning of life again. I think it was Alfred Camus that once said that you can't live while searching the meaning of life. Maybe he was Albert. At this point, what's the difference? For the last ten hours I've consumed nothing but alcohol and the occasional snack. To say that I'm not thinking clearly is a vast understatement, as the alcohol has freed my mind in a way that I didn't think usually possible. I guess I'm sitting on the porch looking for inspiration. Not inspiration to write. More like inspiration to be. Be anything.

I go to class at 9 and 10 with a massive hangover that still has me stumbling down Pollock Avenue. I come home and am greeted by two of my roommates and a bad 90's comedy. I sit down for what I say will be a few minutes, but turns into an hour and a half after we put in mario kart and I grab a quick lunch. I'm starting to feel tired again. I think it's all the television, but I can't really be sure. I go to my room to take a nap. At first, I can barely fall asleep as the golden rays from the sun pierce through my bedroom. Fuck, I think. The sun is in the worst position of the day as the rays won't be far enough down for me to sleep for several hours now. I look over at my phone. Still nothing. It's been surprisingly quiet over the last two months. I'm not sure if I like it or not. Finally, after an unknown duration of tossing and turning, I'm able to get some sleep.

I wake and look over at my clock, and it reads 4:08. At first, I think that has to be wrong. I just fell asleep. My class started 33 minutes ago, but I quickly dismiss it as a whatever thing. It's okay to miss one or two classes a week, I think. However, I repute that immediately with the fact that I've never been the kind of person to not show up. It just seems that since I've arrived here, I have not wanted to do any work whatsoever. I'm not sure what it is, but usually I'll find my groove right about now in the semester and I'll get down to doing major work. I pause for a second and glare at the globe in the corner of my tiny room. It's a big fucking world, and I only probably have 80 or 90 years here. What's the use in studying something that millions of people already know? If I have such limited time here, shouldn't I be doing something that I actually want to do? I used to be so sure that economics and finance is what I wanted to do until I learned that in the whole scheme of things, what's the point of improving our economy's efficiency by .00004 %? I go back to the doing what I love thing, and realize something quickly. I have no clue what would actually make me happy.

It's 10:30 at night and I'm out again. Where and with who aren't important. I think the drink of choice is watermelon vodka that tastes like jolly ranchers and a bucket of lemon gin that tastes too much like lemon and not enough like alcohol. As I'm pouring myself another drink, I wonder if this is the night that I snap out of it. Maybe I'll finally get back to the person I used to be. I smile for a second. The truth that I've known for awhile comes back to me now: attitude is anything and everything. If you just get up and say you're going to have a good day, it's pretty much certain that you are going to have one. I realize that I have snapped out of it. I go back to that scene in Pink Floyd's The Wall documentary where Pink finally knocks down the wall. I still see the bricks falling down.