Greetings Dogma,
My inevitable retreat to York College of Pennsylvania will be one filled with copious stories, excessively eccentric characters, and extremely stunning locations that shall dazzle and awe the readers (...that's you Dogma.) My blogs will continuously switch from Hamilton, NJ to York, PA and with my previous installment hailing from glorious Hamilton, this blog shall begin my York days.
Before we begin, however, the previous days leading up to York also play a monumental role in the grand scheme of my York escapades. Gunther, my oldest friend (not in the literal sense of course, he's a 21 year old hipster with an Edward ScissorHands haircut and possess a ridiculous sense of fashion.) ... (even though the fashion comment seems a bit contradictory with its placement being subsequent to an Edward ScissorHands reference.) I digress, I have known this kid my entire life, he most likely has me figured out more than most people. As clear as Walter White's Season 4 methamphetamine I remember how the exchange of words played out, like a luscious Shakespearian play. He wished me to deeply understand, when attending college, to always keep my mind tremendously open, to anybody and anything. He explained that the scholarly community that I am enrolled in holds no ties to that of high school and the "clickyness"which ensues it. (...and yes I did just make that word up ...if the guy with a false medical degree who's life's aspirations were to construct pictorial childrens' books can do it, why can't I?) He wanted me to make savvy with the concept and terrible reality that Hamilton, New Jersey is not the only place on this earth. It may be the place where you were born, it may be the place in which you were raised, attended school, made your first friend, went to your first party, met your first girlfriend, where you've set up your life... but it is not the only island in this vast sea of green. We made with the soil and got planted like trees...Gunther left the next morning.
A smog of glumness clouded the air, the last of my friends had departed for college. (except of course my community college co padres) I had purchased Lil' Wayne's "The Carter III" on vinyl just days earlier. Gunther and I were both big on The Carter III and exceedingly obsessed with vinyl; we indulged in them quite frequently for good fun and musical interjections. I knew that was one item that was a necessity when relocating to my new quarters. If not for musical stimulation than for the calming pleasure of reminising thoughts of Hamilton clouding my cranium.
The first day of college I awoke out of my delicate slumber no later than 10:30am. I lumbered downstairs, scratching my thicket of locks and stretching my rump in a disgruntled manner. (For it was asleep and very discomforting to my being) My sweet mother greeted me with a cheery and joyous "Good morning Baby D" (that would be I Dogma, Baby D is my childhood pet name...thus the "Baby" located previously to a D which in turn represents "Dylan" ...which is I ...not to insult your intuitive sense of perception Dogma.) She was anticipating an awake, excited, energetic, ready-for-college Baby D, yet instead she was delivered a sleepy, relaxed, unknowing, very forgetting Baby D for I had completely disregarded the fact that I was to be attending college in just a few hours. My mother then questioned "do you have all of your stuff packed?" Slowly I digested her comment, wrestling with the words in my head as if I were Dan Gable. Finally producing an answer to her posed inquiry I uniformed my lips to distribute the one syllable word that my mother had wished not to hear..."No." With that, I too came to a shocking realization ...my shit isn't packed ....I have to leave in under an hour to arrive promptly and I never took a moment to at the very least organize my belongings in a fashion that was fit for relocation. I scrambled to my bedroom, nearly stumbling over my various cats on my route, collecting anything and everything I would need to set up a new life. I obtained my blankets, my television, my playstation, my record player and all of the vinyl records which accompanied it. I compiled all of my chattel into black heavy-duty garbage sacks and hauled them to Manwhore. (Manwhore is the name of my 1989 Toyota Corolla, which was my first and main method of productive transportation at the time.) Filling my back seats, as if I were the grinch filling his sleigh with an assortment of plundered goods and children's happiness, my adrenaline rush soon subsided when I was standing in my now nearly empty bedroom. I turn to find my loving family, standing at my doorway, anticipating their farewells from me. It was at this sight that truly tortured me, this sight that I shall not see for quite an extended time. It is at this time that I viewed my current predicament and truly regretted the decision I had made. The decision in which I willingly donate my previous existence in exchange for a fresh start with a new set of socially conformed obstacles and peers whom may mold me like a child's play-dough set. My esophagus shriveled with anxiety, I individually bid my family (and pets) my sincerest of farewells as I depart from Hamilton, my hands shake like a hemorrhaging hospice patient and my head beats like an abusive father. I attempt to convey a positive side to the entire circumstance yet all my mind can muster is... the extensive car ride may give me an opportunity to collect myself before I must greet the new unknown individual in which I will be sharing accommodations with for next several months.
You see Dogma, I had no prior communication with this destined roommate of mine. I had been shifted from a previous dorm, which possessed two roid-abusive, elephantine wrestlers to a new dorm with an individual of unknown origin. This individual, however, was the first stimulation of hope in my not-so-long college career.
My family and I had arrived at the college within the specified timeline of required appearance. Parking the car just in front of the new building I was to be occupying, with luggage in hand I was able to quickly familiarize myself with the pavement of the introductory steps of the building as I stumbled and violently collapsed within seconds of leaving the safety of Manwhore. With scattered luggage and cackling parents I scanned my surroundings to observe if there were any witnesses to my embarrassing social exercise with gravity and reluctant lower ligaments of my person. Within my scanning, however, I took notice to the print located above the main door of the facility, the letters read "Penn Hall". Any knowledge was good knowledge I suppose, so I took my inopportune incident and received it as an experience that helped me gain knowledge rather than a calamity that lost me reputation amongst any on-lookers. I gathered up my fallen belongings and made my way up a single flight of steps. My room was not located far from the exit of the stairwell which was located at the end of a long corridor. With the last room of the hallway being 232, my new room, 231, was just adjacent to the end dorm and only a loogies hock away from the stairwell. Upon visual contact of the stamped numbers and child's-like name tags located on the door, I quickly scampered to the room, only to be greeted by two older women, one older than the next. These women claimed to be my new roommates guardians, one his mother, the other his grandmother. I greeted them with a low-key "hello" as I was somewhat surprised by their off-setting placement. I do not quite know why...I just had not anticipated the actual event of getting to the current predicament I was in. Due to severe nervousness and unbridled anxiety, I suddenly blossomed into a docile, relaxed individual soon after entrance to the dorm, the adults in the room would have contemplated that I had ingested a notable consumption of LSD if they didn't know any better. Anxiety makes my head light, my skin pale, and my words at a loss, yet in terms of a catastrophic state of disbelief I had played through the organized movements as if I were rehearsing for a play. I meticulously arranged my belongings (as if it made a difference) to prove I had some sense of organization in my life. As my family nears the end of their stay my roommate steps softly into the room.
Being relatively tall in stature, with short blonde hair, and a slender physique he extends the olive branch by announcing his name with a friendly wave of the hand. "Dan Mooney...and you must be Dylan?" A smile rings across my face with the comfort of knowing my new platonic partner has some well in which he can garner manners and politeness from...meaning that he cannot be entirely inadequate when filling my mental pictorial of a "good-roommate." The elder's in the room had collectively decided to depart and leave their blossoming, young, college students to their own demise. Bidding my parents one final farewell I hold back my tears, like a dam preventing a tiny town from becoming engulfed by the copious, sewage infested waters in which it holds back. The door was left open after their departure, wide open in fact, acting as some-sort-of metaphor to accurately describe how I was feeling right at that current moment. Dan standing by my side he looks down at me and asks "Sooo how does lunch sound?" I reply with yet another smile, suddenly having a positive outlook on the vast college spectrum, I am comfortable in knowing I may be brutalized in this social gauntlet of York in the upcoming weeks, yet at the very least I have a down-to-earth, positive roommate to face these challenges with.
Beginning my York endeavor I was down-right hysterical with stress and angst on multiple mental levels. The day-of and weeks previous to my appearance to the college were cluttered with an abundance of doubt and depression. Once I was thrown into the position, however, I snuggled-up to the fact that their is no exit door to life. You cannot turn around and decisively change your previous actions. You cannot jump ahead to your future decisions and map them out before their occurrence. Living in the moment is a trait most often forgotten by today's society. Depression, stress, and negative energy all derive from previous experiences or fear of future situations. The outlook I had possessed about my college experience became bi-polar when I was able to realize this, knowing that nothing else mattered except what I was currently taking part in.
My inevitable retreat to York College of Pennsylvania will be one filled with copious stories, excessively eccentric characters, and extremely stunning locations that shall dazzle and awe the readers (...that's you Dogma.) My blogs will continuously switch from Hamilton, NJ to York, PA and with my previous installment hailing from glorious Hamilton, this blog shall begin my York days.
Before we begin, however, the previous days leading up to York also play a monumental role in the grand scheme of my York escapades. Gunther, my oldest friend (not in the literal sense of course, he's a 21 year old hipster with an Edward ScissorHands haircut and possess a ridiculous sense of fashion.) ... (even though the fashion comment seems a bit contradictory with its placement being subsequent to an Edward ScissorHands reference.) I digress, I have known this kid my entire life, he most likely has me figured out more than most people. As clear as Walter White's Season 4 methamphetamine I remember how the exchange of words played out, like a luscious Shakespearian play. He wished me to deeply understand, when attending college, to always keep my mind tremendously open, to anybody and anything. He explained that the scholarly community that I am enrolled in holds no ties to that of high school and the "clickyness"which ensues it. (...and yes I did just make that word up ...if the guy with a false medical degree who's life's aspirations were to construct pictorial childrens' books can do it, why can't I?) He wanted me to make savvy with the concept and terrible reality that Hamilton, New Jersey is not the only place on this earth. It may be the place where you were born, it may be the place in which you were raised, attended school, made your first friend, went to your first party, met your first girlfriend, where you've set up your life... but it is not the only island in this vast sea of green. We made with the soil and got planted like trees...Gunther left the next morning.
A smog of glumness clouded the air, the last of my friends had departed for college. (except of course my community college co padres) I had purchased Lil' Wayne's "The Carter III" on vinyl just days earlier. Gunther and I were both big on The Carter III and exceedingly obsessed with vinyl; we indulged in them quite frequently for good fun and musical interjections. I knew that was one item that was a necessity when relocating to my new quarters. If not for musical stimulation than for the calming pleasure of reminising thoughts of Hamilton clouding my cranium.
The first day of college I awoke out of my delicate slumber no later than 10:30am. I lumbered downstairs, scratching my thicket of locks and stretching my rump in a disgruntled manner. (For it was asleep and very discomforting to my being) My sweet mother greeted me with a cheery and joyous "Good morning Baby D" (that would be I Dogma, Baby D is my childhood pet name...thus the "Baby" located previously to a D which in turn represents "Dylan" ...which is I ...not to insult your intuitive sense of perception Dogma.) She was anticipating an awake, excited, energetic, ready-for-college Baby D, yet instead she was delivered a sleepy, relaxed, unknowing, very forgetting Baby D for I had completely disregarded the fact that I was to be attending college in just a few hours. My mother then questioned "do you have all of your stuff packed?" Slowly I digested her comment, wrestling with the words in my head as if I were Dan Gable. Finally producing an answer to her posed inquiry I uniformed my lips to distribute the one syllable word that my mother had wished not to hear..."No." With that, I too came to a shocking realization ...my shit isn't packed ....I have to leave in under an hour to arrive promptly and I never took a moment to at the very least organize my belongings in a fashion that was fit for relocation. I scrambled to my bedroom, nearly stumbling over my various cats on my route, collecting anything and everything I would need to set up a new life. I obtained my blankets, my television, my playstation, my record player and all of the vinyl records which accompanied it. I compiled all of my chattel into black heavy-duty garbage sacks and hauled them to Manwhore. (Manwhore is the name of my 1989 Toyota Corolla, which was my first and main method of productive transportation at the time.) Filling my back seats, as if I were the grinch filling his sleigh with an assortment of plundered goods and children's happiness, my adrenaline rush soon subsided when I was standing in my now nearly empty bedroom. I turn to find my loving family, standing at my doorway, anticipating their farewells from me. It was at this sight that truly tortured me, this sight that I shall not see for quite an extended time. It is at this time that I viewed my current predicament and truly regretted the decision I had made. The decision in which I willingly donate my previous existence in exchange for a fresh start with a new set of socially conformed obstacles and peers whom may mold me like a child's play-dough set. My esophagus shriveled with anxiety, I individually bid my family (and pets) my sincerest of farewells as I depart from Hamilton, my hands shake like a hemorrhaging hospice patient and my head beats like an abusive father. I attempt to convey a positive side to the entire circumstance yet all my mind can muster is... the extensive car ride may give me an opportunity to collect myself before I must greet the new unknown individual in which I will be sharing accommodations with for next several months.
You see Dogma, I had no prior communication with this destined roommate of mine. I had been shifted from a previous dorm, which possessed two roid-abusive, elephantine wrestlers to a new dorm with an individual of unknown origin. This individual, however, was the first stimulation of hope in my not-so-long college career.
My family and I had arrived at the college within the specified timeline of required appearance. Parking the car just in front of the new building I was to be occupying, with luggage in hand I was able to quickly familiarize myself with the pavement of the introductory steps of the building as I stumbled and violently collapsed within seconds of leaving the safety of Manwhore. With scattered luggage and cackling parents I scanned my surroundings to observe if there were any witnesses to my embarrassing social exercise with gravity and reluctant lower ligaments of my person. Within my scanning, however, I took notice to the print located above the main door of the facility, the letters read "Penn Hall". Any knowledge was good knowledge I suppose, so I took my inopportune incident and received it as an experience that helped me gain knowledge rather than a calamity that lost me reputation amongst any on-lookers. I gathered up my fallen belongings and made my way up a single flight of steps. My room was not located far from the exit of the stairwell which was located at the end of a long corridor. With the last room of the hallway being 232, my new room, 231, was just adjacent to the end dorm and only a loogies hock away from the stairwell. Upon visual contact of the stamped numbers and child's-like name tags located on the door, I quickly scampered to the room, only to be greeted by two older women, one older than the next. These women claimed to be my new roommates guardians, one his mother, the other his grandmother. I greeted them with a low-key "hello" as I was somewhat surprised by their off-setting placement. I do not quite know why...I just had not anticipated the actual event of getting to the current predicament I was in. Due to severe nervousness and unbridled anxiety, I suddenly blossomed into a docile, relaxed individual soon after entrance to the dorm, the adults in the room would have contemplated that I had ingested a notable consumption of LSD if they didn't know any better. Anxiety makes my head light, my skin pale, and my words at a loss, yet in terms of a catastrophic state of disbelief I had played through the organized movements as if I were rehearsing for a play. I meticulously arranged my belongings (as if it made a difference) to prove I had some sense of organization in my life. As my family nears the end of their stay my roommate steps softly into the room.
Being relatively tall in stature, with short blonde hair, and a slender physique he extends the olive branch by announcing his name with a friendly wave of the hand. "Dan Mooney...and you must be Dylan?" A smile rings across my face with the comfort of knowing my new platonic partner has some well in which he can garner manners and politeness from...meaning that he cannot be entirely inadequate when filling my mental pictorial of a "good-roommate." The elder's in the room had collectively decided to depart and leave their blossoming, young, college students to their own demise. Bidding my parents one final farewell I hold back my tears, like a dam preventing a tiny town from becoming engulfed by the copious, sewage infested waters in which it holds back. The door was left open after their departure, wide open in fact, acting as some-sort-of metaphor to accurately describe how I was feeling right at that current moment. Dan standing by my side he looks down at me and asks "Sooo how does lunch sound?" I reply with yet another smile, suddenly having a positive outlook on the vast college spectrum, I am comfortable in knowing I may be brutalized in this social gauntlet of York in the upcoming weeks, yet at the very least I have a down-to-earth, positive roommate to face these challenges with.
Beginning my York endeavor I was down-right hysterical with stress and angst on multiple mental levels. The day-of and weeks previous to my appearance to the college were cluttered with an abundance of doubt and depression. Once I was thrown into the position, however, I snuggled-up to the fact that their is no exit door to life. You cannot turn around and decisively change your previous actions. You cannot jump ahead to your future decisions and map them out before their occurrence. Living in the moment is a trait most often forgotten by today's society. Depression, stress, and negative energy all derive from previous experiences or fear of future situations. The outlook I had possessed about my college experience became bi-polar when I was able to realize this, knowing that nothing else mattered except what I was currently taking part in.
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