Before you ask, yes, the title of this post was inspired by an actual Google search I had about 20 minutes ago.

I’ve been meaning to write another one of “these” columns, where I share whatever, because that’s so much fun to read for you, my loyal fans!

Yeah, not really. I enjoy writing these because it gives me a chance to vent, because somehow the person who complains about everything still needs a place to pour out. I’m not this negative in real life. Honestly, I don’t like working myself up because the fall down always hurts a little more when you build the pedestal yourself.

I used to be terrible with this; I remember in my many failed attempts to gain a romantic partner in high school, one pickup line I ran was me making fun of my own head size. While I have a bigger head, I don’t really think it’s like George Lopez-big.

Speaking of Lopez, I can’t be the only one who remembers waking up at like 2:30 am with “Low Rider” by WAR blasting the fuck out of their eardrums? I’d wake up in a pool of sweat with Benny Lopez staring my poor third-grade ass down.

But back to my other story, I’m standing next to this girl and this other guy. The dude was a dickhead to me (and everyone else) — even though he was the most excited to see me at the one party I actually drag my ass to every year — which made my decision to make my first move at this moment even odder. But as Steph Curry (probably) said at some point: shooter’s shoot, baby.

To be fair, Steph and I have a lot in common: we both have parents, siblings, and our names contain vowels. Despite these astounding similarities, we also have a fatally different trait: Steph hits his shots.

Within about ten seconds, I blew months of nervousness in one dumb comment making fun of myself.

This story has no significance in my life at all, to be honest with you. I don’t even know why I’m sharing it, the girl was an asshole, I dodged a bullet. There isn’t some funny twist or turn. Like an episode of Seinfeld, it’s about nothing.

Stories are so amazing. I’m probably wrong (Haleigh, if you’re actually reading this, I look forward to you correcting me,) but one of the many things that make humanity so fucking cool is our ability to share stories with one another. What makes that cool fact even cooler is how we can convey them through so many mediums. For me, I specialized in not only the saddest but also the least profitable!

Like, I could’ve picked up a guitar or painted or did something slightly interesting, but instead, I’m trying to make a career out of making other people read. I barely even fucking read. It’s so hard to justify a career of wanting to make other individuals read your stuff when you can’t even turn around and help someone else out. I still love writing though.

Writing is the greatest method to tell a story. We can challenge a good painting or song, but it’s very difficult to read a beautiful line and deny it of its glory. But even in that statement shows a flaw within writing, who the fuck can even achieve greatness anymore?

I think of this all the time. Here I am, at Mercy “Harvard-on-Hudson” College, a tiny, insignificant, school in Westchester trying to kick start a writing career that can not only provide me, but any potential family I ever have. I feel like going to the batter’s box with a spoon, or trying to eat Ramen with a….

Back to my main point, the American Dream is bullshit.

I went to high school with a bunch of pricks. Within those assholes, will be doctors, lawyers, or other important individuals. And they aren’t pursuing these goals for any interest, other than for making a fuckload of cash. I understand it, but I can’t respect that mentality of life.

I’ll never accept those sorts of people. Money is necessary for our society, but what good is capital without substance? Or character? Or happiness?

Now hear me out, I’m not (necessarily) equating happiness to not having money. But I can’t be the only one to find people like this so dull? There’s no urgency or interest behind so many of these people. It annoys me so much.

So you spend 18 years going through elementary, middle, and high school trying to just get by. Then suddenly you’re expected to pick out the rest of your life at like fucking 20? That’s crazy. I don’t even know why I’m sharing this, this isn’t a new take, capitalism is fucking boring.

I want to be happy. I hope I can turn my writing into a career. I’d love to write a children’s story. They inspired me so much as a kid, when my mom made me read every day before dinner, if I could make one child get that sparkle in their eyes, much like I did when I was captivated by a good book, my career would be a success. I’m convinced that no journalism major wants to be a journalist sometimes, I think we wish to share our stories, whether they come from our heart, or if someone else’s story finds its way in, too.

I hope I get to tell mine.