Woe Days

Well, for the first time in recent memory, the weather people predicted snow and it actually came true! Who would have thought that one of these days, a 50% chance of snow might actually produce...SNOW!!! It blows the mind. It's not supposed to snow in the K-town hood. Especially not on 50% chances. But it did, so I, like so many others, stayed at home and basked in the glory that is wasted time.

As a result of poor planning, I ended up doing homework until 1AM last night, and even then I wasn't close to being finished. So, of course, I rationed out my time and went to bed. Then I woke up at 7 to find that, like a powedery cloud, a wave of glorious white stuff had fallen over our fair city. Was I ecstatic? No. Was I glad? No. Was I thrilled to the point of almost spontaneous combustion of the sheer joy of being able to avoid the toil and grind that is our grand public education system? No. No, I merely lay in bed, wondering if there was any reason for me to get out. After an hour or two, I finally got motivated enough to move the small space from my bed to the computer where I have remained to this very point.

Yes, oh cruel cruel irony. The very substance that gives me a day of blessed freedom only serves to block me from escape. Of course, I say that. Really, I wouldn't do anything at all differently if school was called off because wild packs of ferrets had been unleashed upon the surrounding countryside by corrupt businessmen, bent on intimidating the working class into a constant of fear in a desperate attempt to stop the imminent Communist Revolution that will sputter and die in a matter of minutes, but will, in the process, give the CEO a gnarly headache, thus resulting a bad day for everyone and possibly a few public stonings. No, the sad truth is I'm the victim of that oh so popular disease I like to call "Apacrastinothingtodoitis."

In other words, I've got nothing to do anyway. Oh sure, I could do my homework, read a book (or fourty-six), save the world from an invisible virus known only to me and Christopher Reeves (who just so happens to have forgotten the entire incident; believe me, I called), or even go outside and wander aimlessly, starting a gang of wayward youths such as myself, and sending them on a war of epic proportions where the stakes are higher than life and the price of failure is so horrible, I scream in agony even thinking of the first syllable of the sentence meant to describe it! But no. Instead, I sit at the computer, desperately searching for some incentive to do something even remotely productive.

And here we come to the moral of the story. Don't philosophize or try to figure your life out. Really, it sounds like a good idea, and English class makes it seem like such a noble pursuit, but really, it's only a drag. When you figure out what you need to do, how you should get there, how incredibly easy it all is, and the reasons you won't do it, you're really left with nothing at all to do. Sure, you could twiddle your thumbs for the 10 hours a day you're not sleeping, but in the end, it all comes out the same. So what should you do instead? Might I suggest spades, or if the mood suits you, some other board, card, or physical activity that will engage the mind, body, and possibly spleen in some sort of contest that means absolutely nothing in the end, but is fun to do in the process.

That's enough of that icky existentalism and savage board game propaganda. Let's branch over into something much more enjoyable: rhyming. Yes, the matching of two similiar syllables in a rhythmic phrase is indeed a jovial past time. It's especially good if you've nothing to do and want to drive everyone you talk to crazy. Try it sometime. Speak only in rhyme. Don't say anything at all unless it's in a solid rhythm and has a rhyme scheme. It's easier on IMs, but even speaking it is entertaining. So then the next question logically becomes "But Dylan, if pie is squared and round at the same time, how on earth am I expected to get to St. Louis in under an hour flying on top of a giant winged-walrus?" To that, I'll merely say "Look to your left. Now walk three paces due east. Jump up and down twice. Now quack like a dog. There, don't you feel better about sanity now?"

The real next question is "But Dylan, where are all the riddles if you like rhyming so much?" Well anonymous, annoying, pestering voice, I'll tell you where. They're nowhere. It's all part of that motivation bit. What I will tell you is that I will get more up eventually. But first, you've got to answer the past ones! So from this point forward, until you've answered all the ones I've done, you can't answer any future ones. "But Dylan, that's giving an unfair advantage to the all-powerful Derek and his ub3r 1337 (That means uber leet, which is turns means grand elite, which is all part of the d00d language, which only those who have ventured into the dark, endless caverns of online gaming know) knowledge of all that is riddle!" Tough luck! The man knows his words, that's all I can say. You all have things to do. Get crackin'! The story's still there too, so stop your belly-achin!

Oh, and one last thing. If, for whatever reason, you decide to go on a grand adventure of society shaking porportions, with your goal of "Success, Bust, or at least a groovy Bumper Sticker", invite me along. I need to rebel somehow. And frankly, throwing snowballs at pigeons just doesn't cut it. Go figure.